A Photo Finish: Chapter 12

THESE ARE the questions I’ve resorted to asking to keep Golddigger engaged. I can’t figure him out. Some days he seems talkative, and other days he’s quiet and withdrawn. On those days, I usually let him be and then wake up to a message from him the following morning.

But tonight, I’ve cracked a bottle of wine by myself, and I want someone to talk to. The ranch has been launched into turmoil, and they finally hired a new trainer. And she’s awesome. I tried to play it cool around her, but I’m pretty sure I just got all quiet and weird.

Either way, I’m excited. Because my days just got a lot less lonely.

My phone dings, and I snatch it up.

My cheeks flare. Now and then, he throws out something super sexual. Something that makes me squeeze my thighs together and wish we were more than just avatars to each other. I wonder what his voice sounds like. What his mannerisms are. Does he have an accent? I wonder what color his eyes are. Does he do this with other girls every day too?

That last one makes my chest pinch uncomfortably.

I spend a lot of time imagining the details of Golddigger’s appearance, trying to piece him together with the few puzzle pieces he occasionally drops. Mostly, I imagine his muscles.

Every man I’ve been with has been lanky and boyish, but based on that one photo of him, that’s not the case here. I’ve had nice boyfriends. I’ve had nice sex.

But I’m tired of nice. What I really want is for someone to manhandle me. Cross that consuming type of lust off my bucket list.

I read that sentence over and over again. Coming from anyone else, it wouldn’t sound sweet. But coming from him, well, I can’t help but smile and stifle a laugh on a sip of wine.

Golddigger likes me.

HE LEANS IN CLOSER and glares at me, big fat raindrops rolling down his masculine face. His gray eyes bore into me from underneath thick lashes and then skim down to my mouth. He looks mad, like every muscle in his body is held taut. Like a predator coiled and ready to strike. But I haven’t been afraid of him before, and I won’t start now.

I keep rambling to fill the space. “Don’t worry about it. Billie has talked to me about this too. Not everyone is going to like me, and that’s fine.” I edge forward to turn myself so he can lift me down the way he has in the past. The way he demands. But his hand pulses on my leg before lifting it higher and dragging me toward him. And I don’t resist. We’re like two opposite ends of a magnet, naturally drawn to each other.

His waist takes up all the space between my thighs. I almost lose my balance, or swoon—I’m not totally sure which—but I let go of the handle above me to catch myself, my palm landing in the middle of his hard chest to brace against him.

His opposite hand shoots forward and captures my chin, the pad of his thumb pressing gently on the cleft there. The intense gray eyes scouring my face freeze me in place. He’s so close I can feel his breath fanning down across my throat. His cologne wraps around me like a comfort blanket, all spice and cinnamon and warmth.

“You are not an inconvenience.” His voice is rough, low, a growl. “Anyone who doesn’t like you is an idiot. Do you understand me?”

I nod, feeling a bit breathless at his nearness. At his words. The way he overwhelms me. The way he’s holding my thigh.

My fingers grasp at the fabric of his T-shirt, not wanting him to pull away. Wanting him closer. Even after everything.

I angle my face up at him, watching the shadows play across his features. The glow of the headlights highlight all the prominent ridges and sharp lines. His jaw ticks as he stands frozen, staring me down. But somehow the meaning behind that glare has transformed. I’m not sure what it is, but it’s different. The flicker of desire reflected from my own eyes, maybe. Because I would have to be a blind idiot to pretend I don’t want Cole Harding. I’ve wanted him for years—before I knew what he looked like—when he was just a faceless avatar providing a lonely girl company. The friend I needed as I set out in the world. The hand giving my bike a push as I took off on my own for the first time.

“Okay,” I whisper, blinking once to give my eyes a rest, even though I don’t want to take a break from looking at him. And holy hell, am I glad I opened them back up in time because his stony gaze goes straight to molten lava as he lifts that thumb from my chin and rubs it across my slack lower lip almost possessively.

The rumble that breaks free of his chest is like a shot of electricity to my core. My entire body tingles, goosebumps and intense awareness shooting out through every limb. Emboldened by his touch, I reach up with my spare hand and run it across the scar that cuts through his thick brow. I trace the raised tissue and hear his sharp intake of air as I trail my fingers over the line, reveling in the feel of his skin under my fingers, of his hands on my body. The leg he has nearly wrapped around his waist. The way we’re just almost lined up perfectly. The soft pattering of rain around us. It’s like we’re frozen in time, in this tiny bubble of curiosity. Because that’s what I see on his face now.

And it makes me brave. I fist his shirt tightly between my fingers and yank him to me, wanting to feel the swell of him against my thin pants. I sigh when I do, right as he groans, right as he drags that thumb across my lip again.

Jesus. I like that.

I lift my good leg and wrap it around his other side, wanting him closer. Our heavy breaths mingle wordlessly between us in the cold, damp air. His eyes devour me, confusion written all over his face now. I don’t even want to think about what’s written on mine as he hikes my thigh up higher and presses himself against the apex of my thighs, making my eyes flutter drunkenly. Pure lust, I imagine.

I let my other leg trail down the back of his, rubbing against him right as he rocks against me. But then he freezes and steps back abruptly, holding me at arm’s length, panting into the night air, his breath like steam rising between us.

I want to launch myself back at him. I want to beg him to keep going. But I know Cole isn’t the type of man that bends. I know he’s complicated. I know he has rules. Rules that he doesn’t break.

“I’m sorry.” His voice cracks as he sets me down gently and brings his trembling hands back down to his sides.

I’m sorry?

Everything that was hot goes cold. Cold with dread. I shake my head. I’ve been here before. This is so like him—so like me. To let myself get carried away where he’s concerned. To think something is there when it’s not.

I can’t even look at him as I feel myself go bright red. I send up a silent thank you that it’s dark out, as I stare out at Pipsqueak’s paddock. And like she knows this moment needs to be broken up, she whinnies. Long and loud and shrill, like an alarm bell that makes us both jump.

“Can I take your truck for a minute?”

Cole shakes his head as if to clear it, trying to keep up. “What for?”

“I need to run up to the barn and get her a rain sheet. She’s getting soaked. No blanket. She doesn’t even have a shelter in there.”

He steps back quickly, putting space between us as he looks over at the little filly. “Horses have survived for years without waterproof coats.”

Frustration surges up in me, fueled by our interaction. Fueled by my embarrassment. I can’t be this close to him right now. “Can you just throw me a fucking bone and not tell me what to do?”

Now it’s his turn to stare back at me wide-eyed. Dropping an f-bomb always does that to people. When you don’t use the word much, it certainly packs a different punch.

He holds his keys out, looking adequately chastised and more than a little shocked. Good. I swipe them and walk away to the other side of the truck, leaving a motionless Cole behind me.

“Drive carefully, please.” His voice is all gravel with a pleading tone to it.

I snort and continue to the driver’s side. My legs propel me, even though my head is spinning. It’s like that night at Billie’s. I just need to get away. And my new horse needs a blanket. I start the truck and pull out of the driveway, only sparing Cole a glance as I drive past where he’s still standing like a statue in the rain. He looks shocked, and I don’t care.

I need some fucking space.

BANG. Bang. Bang.

I peel my eyes open and look at my clock. It looks bright out. 10 a.m. I never sleep this long. But then, I hid out at the barn for a while, trying to get my bearings before coming back to the house and hanging with Pipsqueak, who is now privy to some of my deepest, darkest secrets, including the fact that Cole still gets under my skin.

Once I tracked down a small enough rain sheet, I drove back to the farmhouse. With my left foot. It was a short, slow drive, and my left foot worked fine, though it’s definitely not something I plan to make a habit of. Sitting on top of the fence in the rain, I stayed with Pippy until I was soaked and cold to the bone. She rested her chin on my lap, like the dog she obviously thinks she is, and let me braid her forelock. The best company I could ask for as I grappled with whatever the hell happened between Cole and me in the rain last night.

I genuinely thought he didn’t like me. And I assumed the attraction was one-sided. But the rock-hard bulge in his pants that he pressed against me told another story. I just couldn’t reconcile the cool, removed man I know with the person he was last night. None of it makes sense. Laughing, the odd, reluctant tip of the lips, and then the way his hands gripped my body. The way I melted for him.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The noise finally registers. Is that the door? I roll out of bed and strap the walking cast on my leg. I almost feel like I don’t need it anymore. The pain is gone, as is most of the swelling, and only the yellow remnants of the bruising remain. After grabbing my robe from the back of the door as I head out into the main living space, I move toward the front door, hoping I don’t run into Cole on my way.

When I yank it open a crack, because I don’t feel like I’m appropriately dressed to be answering the door, I’m met with Billie standing on the front porch with her palms cupping her eyes like blinders.

“What are you doing?”

“Open the door, Pornstar Patty.”

“Ugh.” I groan and tip my head back. “It was one picture. One time!”

She pushes the door and shoves herself through frantically, almost tripping in the process. “Holy shit. Let me in already. And close the door!”

“What’s going on?” I’m so confused.

“I’m trying not to check out my future brother-in-law. You’re going to need to put up some sort of neon sign on the driveway if he’s going to waltz around shirtless like that. Smoke signals would be effective too.”

Wait. What? It’s my turn to almost trip pushing past her, but I’m going in the opposite direction—back out the door. And holy hell. She’s not joking. I swallow hard and feel my mouth go dry.

Cole is just outside of Pipsqueak’s paddock, unloading lumber and setting up sawhorses, and he is gloriously shirtless. His body ripples in the bright sunlight. No rain today; instead, it feels hot, damp, and muggy. Apparently, Cole is a sun’s out, guns out kind of guy. And irritated as I am with myself for last night—I’m not about to complain.

“Like . . . couldn’t he just put some shorts on and call it a day? A glass of cold water does wonders to cool a person down.” I look over my shoulder to see Billie leaning against the wide-open doorway.

“I thought you weren’t looking?”

“I’m engaged to the love of my life. Not blind.”

I laugh. That’s so Billie. Turning away from the mouthwatering masterpiece on the front lawn, I usher her back into the house.

“What do you think he’s doing out there?” she inquires, now moving to watch out the front window.

I roll my eyes as I head to the kitchen. “You’re such a perv, B.”

“I know.” Her eyebrows waggle as she walks to the kitchen island and starts making coffee like she lives here too. “Go get dressed. I’ll make some coffee. I don’t know what kind of internet-sex-nudist commune you two are starting, but I’m not here for it.”

I look down at myself. “I’m wearing a robe.”

“What’s underneath?” she asks before she hits the coffee grinder, effectively cutting me off.

Okay. She has a point. I turn and walk to my room. Cutoffs and a T-shirt so old and broken in that it’s almost see-through are my picks. Perfect for a lazy Sunday. All I have planned today is spoiling Pipsqueak and practicing some basic groundwork with her.

By the time I’ve brushed my hair and teeth and twisted my hair up into a bun, Billie has a cup of coffee ready for me on the counter.

“Okay.” I slide up onto a stool and wrap my hands around the old clay work mug. “Why are you here banging on my door and absolutely not checking out your fiancé’s brother?”

Before she can answer, the front door swings open again. “Can we have our coffee on the front porch?” Mira, our veterinarian and other member of the girl squad, waltzes in like she owns the place.

“We just came to visit our favourite little Por—”

“Billie,” I warn, widening my eyes at her and knowing exactly which new nickname she’s going for. Not that I wouldn’t tell Mira. I mean, she probably would have been a better choice to confide in anyway. Cool and collected, the woman is almost impossible to get a read on. It took me a while to figure out that she’s actually nice. It’s just hard to tell with Mira. She keeps her cards close. So, yeah, I should have told her instead.

“Oh, Vi. You should see the pictures I send Vaughn.”

I clamp my eyes shut and let out a dramatic sob. “Billie!”

Mira, all shiny black hair and intelligent almond-shaped eyes with a smirk on her face, raises one shapely brow without inquiring and pours herself a cup of coffee before changing the subject completely. “How’s Pipsqueak, Vi?”

I sigh, and I’m sure hearts pop up in my eyes. “So good. The best. Exactly what I needed.” I shoot my gaze up to Billie and quietly add, “Thank you.”

Her hand lands on my shoulder, and she gives it a firm squeeze. “Don’t mention it.” Billie seems like she’s joking around all the time, but you’d be a fool to underestimate the size of her heart. She knew exactly what she’d been doing when she trailered that filly over here for me.

“When you get her going, let me come check her out a couple of times. Just make sure she’s doing all right. No soreness or breathing issues.”

I nod and sip my coffee, watching Mira meander over to the front window again.

“Come to the races tonight. You need to get out. Leave the farm. See some humans, not just the cyborg you live with.”

“He’s not so bad,” I snap, a little more defensively than I intended.

Billie rears back a little, letting the corners of her lips tip up as she silently mouths “OK” before adding, “That’s good, because you’ll have to catch a ride with him. Mira and I are heading down there for the early races right after this little visit.”

I glance down at my coffee cup, trying to hide the pink stain I feel spreading across my cheeks. I hate how easily I blush; it’s so blatant. I can’t pull a fast one on anybody because I blush like a teenager at the drop of a hat.

“I think he’s . . .” I look over at Mira’s form as her head tips to one side. “Building your horse a shelter?”

“What?” I almost shout. “No chance.” But I also don’t want to go look. If she’s right, it will confuse me even more about where I stand with Cole Harding.

Billie hustles over to the window, peering out beside Mira. They look like two snoopy old women watching the hot pool boy.

“He is! He’s right in the paddock. Vi, come look.”

All my joints lock up as I try to wrap my head around what they’re saying. There’s just no way. Cole hates horses. He wouldn’t do that for Pipsqueak—he couldn’t even understand why I wanted to get her a blanket last night. Why would he go get wood and spend his spare time building her a shelter?

“Oh. He sees us.”

“How can you tell?” Mira asks, neither of them looking away. No shame.

“See?” Billie points out the window. “He’s scowling at us.”

“Huh. I wasn’t looking at his face, I guess.” Mira waves at him, like this is perfectly normal.

I groan. “You guyssss. Time to go. Out!” I march over to the front door and swing it open.

They don’t argue; Billie cackles, and Mira winks at me knowingly. Mothereffer. They’re both totally on to me.

“See you tonight?” Billie asks as she pulls me into a bear hug.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there,” I reply as they file out like little kids in trouble.

Billie keeps her head down as she heads back to her truck, but Mira gives Cole a long and thorough once-over before grinning at me over her shoulder and giving me a discreet thumbs-up.

I roll my eyes and blush all at once.

As they both pull out, I finally spare Cole a glance from where I stand on the front porch and feel my heart stutter as I watch him duck between the fence posts with a drill in his hand. He’s like every construction worker porno I’ve ever watched rolled into the perfect package. And the fact Pipsqueak is following him around happily is just the cherry on top. When he stops to look down at the setting on the drill, the little filly wraps her neck around his side and sniffs the tool.

He gives her an absent scratch under her chin, and I almost implode. Hot guy with a horse? It doesn’t get better. He walks over to the boards, and she follows on his heels, observing, like she might learn how to make a shelter if she focuses.

“What’re you doing, girl?” he grumbles as he reaches down, and I can’t help the quiet swooning sound that bursts out of my throat.

Not quiet enough, though. Because Pipsqueak hears.

Her head shoots up, and she bobs her head in my direction with an ear-piercing whinny. Little traitor. Her signature hello just threw me right under the bus because Cole stands up, looks over his brawny shoulder and pins me with those gray eyes.

“Hi!” I shout a little too brightly, not knowing what the normal thing to do here is. I’ve had the odd relationship over the years. More since leaving my overbearing dad and brothers behind, but nothing with the intensity of whatever this is. Whatever last night was. Nothing where I feel like a mere look from the man might make me burst into flames.

“Hey,” he says a little cautiously.

My inclination is to run and hide back inside the house. But that’s not the new me; that’s not how adults handle this kind of situation. Fake it ’til I make it.

I force myself to walk toward him and try even harder to keep my eyes from roaming his body. I mean seriously. The guy is ripped, so it’s hard not to stare. I guess that’s what working out multiple times a day gets you.

When I get to the fence, I rest my arms against it. “What are you doing?”

One hand on his hip, he holds the drill up to me like I’ve just asked the most obvious question in the world. “Building a shelter.”

My brow wrinkles as I hear him confirm what Billie and Mira guessed. “I thought you hated horses?”

“I don’t hate horses.” Pippy snorts and bats her eyelashes at him. Another one down, apparently.

“Okay. You said you don’t like horses.”

“Yup.” He grunts as he turns his back on me and crouches down to line up two boards. “But I like you.”

And then he silently gets to work while I stand there watching him. Dumbstruck.