I crack a grin. “How kind of you.”
“Just promise me you’ll consider it, okay? It doesn’t have to mean anything. We can be roomies.”
The more he talks, the more I know he’s lying. I’m fully aware he’s been tiptoeing around me like I’m a bomb he’s afraid of detonating if he says or does the wrong thing. I hate that he has to do that, and more than that, I hate that it’s the only option I’ve given him.
Why is a great guy like Maverick even interested in me? He could easily find someone who doesn’t treat him badly. Who doesn’t talk back and give him shit. Who makes his life better, not harder.
His ex and his friends fucked him over by lying to him, so what do I do? The exact same thing. Deceiving him by not telling him about my condition after I promised we would be completely honest with each other. He even made a point of mentioning no lies by omission.
I have to tell him the truth. And I will. Next week, when my cabin gets bulldozed and I move back in with Clancy. I’ll tell himeverything. And I’ll end things with him at the same time. It’s the right thing to do.
But for now…
“You know what really helps me think?” I ask, thrusting my ass against him.
“What?”
“You fucking me. Now, get back to it.”
“Well, if it helps your thinking…” He retreats, and the slick friction of his meaty cock sliding against my inner walls sends a fissure of sparks shooting up my spine. “I guess I should keep fucking you.”
And with that, he slams into me, unleashing a series of unrelenting thrusts. One hand latches onto my waist to keep me in place while his other hand presses my cheek against the warm tile. I squeeze my eyes shut, my body on fire, my heart so happy and breaking at the same time.
It’s the last thing in the world that I want, but it’s unavoidable. One way or another, I’m going to hurt Maverick.
I hate this time of day.
Dusk.
The light starts dimming, and my remaining vision gets shot to shit. But I had to wait and make sure everyone had left for the day. Even Maverick.
EspeciallyMaverick.
I relied on the pace counts I’ve memorized—eighteen from my cabin to the barn, then twenty-five paces from the barn to the parking lot—to make sure everyone was gone. Once I made sure the lot was empty, I retraced the twenty-five paces to the barn and went inside.
The internal layout of the stable is pretty easy to navigate. Not to mention, I’ve spent so much time with her over the years, I know it like the back of my hand. A staircase immediately on the left leads up to Maverick’s office, while on the ground floor, a central aisle runs the length of the building with twenty stalls on each side. The feed-and-tack room is located by the staircase, while the wash bay and grooming area sit at the far end.
I walk down the hallway, counting in my head until I get to the eighth stall. Hope’s.
After months of turnout therapy and ground training, he now stands tall and attentive. He’s been trained to respond to soft verbal cues, and with his even gait and patient temperament, he’s the perfect pick for my experiment.
I’m only going to take him into the center ring for a very measured walk. Not even a trot. Slow and steady is what it’s all about.
And not falling off. I would very much like to not fall off.
Because I’m about to do something I’ve never done before. Something I need to know I can do if I have any hope of working with horses in the future.
I’m going to ride blindfolded.
With a silk band tucked into my back pocket, I knock gently on the stall door and say, “Hey, buddy, it’s me,” before sliding it open.
He’s leaning against the stall wall, and I hear his nostrils flaring softly as I enter. Stepping close, I slide my hand along his mane, smoothing it back while murmuring soothing words to let him know he’s safe.
“You ready to do this?” I ask, fitting him with a clean, snug-fitting halter and clipping on a lead rope before heading out via the tack trunk. There, I place a thick saddle pad across his back, smoothing it down to prevent any rubs. I cinch a well-oiled saddle securely over the pad and adjust the stirrups to the proper length.
“There you go, buddy. All done. Now, the real question is, amIready to do this?”
I lead Hope out of the barn and count out the eighteen steps to the center ring, my fingers gliding over the latch to open it. At this point, I almost don’t need the blindfold, but I want to use it anyway. I’m going for a complete blackout.
