Page 64 of Hotshot

I was lost. “What barbecue?”

“Smitty and Bryson’s Start of Summer barbecue, dummy.”

“Oh. Right. Good idea.” Great idea, actually. I chomped a few fries, dragging them through the last of the ketchup on my plate. I reached for the bottle and held it up. “No judging.”

“I’m not judging, I’m?—”

“You’re…” I prodded as the first warning bell sounded in my head. “What’s up?”

She nibbled her bottom lip and blurted, “Sometimes I wish we were still together.”

I froze. “Oh…”

Mary-Kate made a funny noise, half cry, half squeak. “Don’t say anything. You don’t feel the same way…I get it. I wish I knew what happened. I wish I could undo whatever I did and?—”

“Hey, stop.” I grabbed her wrist and laced our fingers. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Then what—never mind.” She waved as if erasing an invisible chalkboard between us. “I’m sorry. We already did that dance. There’s no reason to rehash anything. Tell me about riding horses. Maybe I should try. Is he giving lessons? Vinnie and Nolan’s kids would love that too and…”

I pushed the ketchup aside and took a sip of water. My mouth was dry as dust as I nodded along, grateful she didn’t expect a response. Good, ’cause guilt was a hard pill to swallow.

I hated that I’d hurt her, but I wasn’t sorry I’d initiated the breakup. Shared high school memories, afternoons at the rink, post-practice fries at the diner, or a drink at the Black Horse weren’t enough. It wasn’t the distance, like I’d told her. It was a feeling in my gut that I couldn’t ignore.

We were great friends, and I loved my friend. But I wasn’t in love with her. I’d told her she deserved someone who’d put her first. Someone who wasn’t broken and fucked up.

But this was me. I couldn’t say all that again.

So I held her hand instead and hoped she’d let it go.

Let me go.

Honestly, it stressed me out. And when my agent called, my anxiety ratcheted up a few notches.

New York wants you. Big money, Hotshot. BIG money. Time to talk.

Panic hit me like a fucking brick dropping out of the sky. I sank onto my bed, hands between my knees, and worked on my breathing exercises.Inhale good vibes, exhale the bad.Over and over.

When I had my pulse under control, I picked up my keys and headed for the door, passing all my old haunts and safe spaces. I needed something new. Someone new.

If Hank was surprised I came by unannounced, he didn’t say. He made me an omelet and told me about some new contract he’d scored for the mill. He seemed pretty excited about it, so I just listened.

And when we fell into bed, I thought this would be where I’d fuck him into the mattress and finally lose this tension. That didn’t happen either. He held me and called me sweetheart while he moved inside me.

Sweetheart. What the fuck was that? Why did I like it? What was happening to me?

14

HANK

Denny came by for lessons every day. Each time was the same. I’d open the door and we’d come together, sparking into an inferno strong enough to burn a house down. We’d shed clothing as we stumbled into the living room, collapsing on the sofa or the rug in front of the fireplace.

We couldn’t get close enough, fast enough. There was a manic edge to us, a craving that consumed us. We couldn’t form coherent sentences until we were sated, panting in a mess of cum and sweat.

I was pretty sure I’d licked every square inch of his gorgeous body. He’d finger-fucked me, rimmed my ass, and sucked my cock till I’d seen stars. And I’d paid him back in kind. It was…glorious. I’d had plenty of sex, but this felt different and I couldn’t figure it out.

I also didn’t try too hard. Denny was the perfect distraction from difficult days at the mill, where every other suggestion or new procedure I implemented was questioned. It was exhausting. I craved the company of someone who just seemed to like me.

And my horse.