He took her hand in his. They gazed down at their fingers intertwined.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. He looked into her eyes. “Sorry for the way I first treated you. Sorry for the way your father treated you, and every spoiled rich boy...”
She pressed her finger to his lips. “Shh... You had me at sorry.”
He stroked his thumb over her skin, still too unbelievably soft to have worked a 9 to 5. “There’s this thing coming up. The track puts it on every year....”
“The charity ball? I heard about it.”
He wasn’t sure how to ask her now that she knew about it.
She smiled coyly. “You can escort me.”
When she winked, he broke into laughter. Lord, when was the last time someone had made him laugh so freely. So often?
“You look distressed,” Wyatt said.
Oliver grimaced. “It’s the charity thing I invited Dascha to. It’s black tie.”
“I heard.”
“I have one suit. It was my dad’s. It’s good for important race days, but not so much for a ball.”
“Don’t worry, my friend.” Wyatt squeezed Oliver’s shoulder. “Ask and ye shall be provided for.”
“I couldn’t.” Oliver shook his head.
“Of course you could.”
“No, really. Wyatt, you’re at least a foot taller than me.”
Wyatt shrugged sheepishly. “So we’ll get it hemmed.”
He dragged Oliver back to the hotel room he shared with Dascha and opened up his closet. Wyatt encouraged Oliver to pick any of the four suits he liked. Right after a fashion show.
Wyatt made Oliver try on each one, and gave him his opinion on which one looked best on Oliver, but it was still up to Oliver to decide.
It’s not that Wyatt walked around in Tuxedos, but it was sure nicer than the suit Oliver had.
“I still don’t feel comfortable doing this,” Oliver admitted.
Wyatt hung up the suits Oliver had passed on. “That’s it, then. We’re going shaaaaw-piiiing!”
Oliver groaned. Wyatt sounded way too excited. Shopping was a girl thing.
“I’ll make sure you look smashing for Sis,” Wyatt assured. “And, while we’re at it. Keep the suit.”
Oliver was practically drowning in the beautiful periwinkle ensemble he had on, but with a snip and a sew here and there it would look exquisite on him. He sighed, sounding more reluctant than he felt. “Okay.”
Wyatt shooed him to the bathroom to change, and then whisked him off to the best tux shop in town. “Dascha won’t know what hit her!”
Dascha wore a gold sequin dress with dark undersides. The kind that if you brushed against them just right, they’d change from gold to black. She looked like a mysterious mermaid. The front went up to her throat, and the back dipped to the curve of her spine. Her dress contrasted perfectly against Oliver’s neatly pressed tux, which Wyatt had generously purchased for him.
Wyatt hung back, giving him an encouraging thumbs up as Oliver’s hand gently slid to the middle of Dascha’s bare back.
She hung on Oliver’s arm like the perfect jewel accessory Oliver needed. Oliver introduced her to some of his connections, not that he had many.
Wyatt vowed to stay out of their way. Seeing them together was bittersweet. They looked... happy. Something Wyatt wished for himself. He still had feelings building for Oliver, but he knew he could never act on them for fear of destroying their happiness. Dascha deserved to be happy. After getting to know Oliver, him so much so.
Wyatt sighed and strode off to fetch himself a drink and mingle. Maybe he’d meet someone too.
After an evening of drinking and dancing, Dascha was getting a little bold. She wanted to go back to Oliver’s place. He did not.
Not that he didn’t want her, but that his quarters were nothing compared to her own hotel room. He barely had a cot and a TV at the Gulfstream Staff apartments. But Dascha’s words were starting to slur, and Oliver thought it might be best to get her out of here before she made the wrong kind of show of herself.
He was still so nervous when they got to his place. He unlocked the door. It jammed anyway. He jiggled it, before Dascha took the opportunity to straight up grab his face and kiss him.
Oliver’s eyes bugged-out. Was this really happening? She pulled him against her, their weight freeing the door. They practically tumbled into the one room apartment. Dascha immediately took to the small couch in the middle of the room, leaving Oliver standing alone, admittedly shaken.
“This is...” She looked around. “Cozy.”
Oliver shut the door and tossed his keys on the counter, still processing what had just happened. “Yeah.”
He intended to hang back. He should probably call Wyatt to come get his sister. But Dascha patted the seat beside her.
Oliver blew out a breath and sat. He rested his hands between his knees, leaning forward on his elbows. He hadn’t wanted their first kiss to be like that. Cheapened by too much alcohol. He was torn inside.
Dascha fell over into his lap with a contented sigh. “I like you, Ollie.”
Oliver raised his elbows to avoid bonking her on the head. He looked like some cop was holding him at gunpoint.
“I...” he hesitated as she got comfortable. “Like you too, Dascha.”
She reached for his elbow, pulling it down until his arm hung over her waist. “What happened to you?”
“Hmm?” He looked down at her awkwardly.
“You weren’t always a cynic. Nobody’s born that way.”
Oliver finally leaned back against the couch, thinking of the one that got away. “There was this girl.”
He watched as Dascha intertwined his fingers with hers over her stomach.
His whole body buzzed. He’d had a couple of drinks, but the fancy stuff wasn’t really his thing, so he had laid off them. He couldn’t believe he was seeing this side of Dascha; a side that was so casual and carefree. He felt like she had told him a great secret. He’d protect it at all cost.
"I was so in love with her, and racing. But she wanted me to spend fewer hours at the track and be more of a family man. I promised her I could do all that and still be at the track. I loved racing too much. So she gave me an ultimatum: her or racing. I thought she was joking. I mean why would someone who says they love you ask you to sacrifice your passion?"
She squeezed his hand. "They wouldn't. They'd push you forward instead."
"That's what I thought... until she never showed up at our wedding. I was left standing there looking like an idiot in a tux I didn't own and friends I didn't have. So I threw myself into racing, full force."
"I'm so sorry you had to go through that," she said, her eyelids drooping.
"At least when horses leave you in the dust, you’ve got broken bones to show for it. Love just leaves you wrecked inside with bruises no one can see."
When she didn’t answer, Oliver looked at her. “Dascha?”
She snored. Loudly.
Wyatt looked down at his phone. It was getting late. Oliver had invited him over, but didn’t say why. Gulfstream Apartments. I need you. Come.
Oliver swore up and down he was straight, but if he needed Wyatt... Wyatt wasn’t about to hesitate taking up an invitation. There had been plenty of drinking at the fundraiser with its open bar.
But when Wyatt finally got there, he had to squint in the darkness. Was that...? "Dascha?"
She jumped, squealing. She spun around, the angriest look on her face. "Wyatt!"
He started laughing. "Are you doing the walk of shame?"
She flung one of her shoes at him, which he caught. "Shut up."
She rushed down the stairs at him, putting a hand over his mouth to stop his laughing.
"You've been drinking," he mumbled behind her hand. "You're drunk."
"You know I can't hold my liquor. I had like two glasses of champagne."
"And my mother was Whitney Houston," he quipped. “You smell like a sailor.”
Dascha finally let him go. "It's not what it looks like."
"Then what's it like?"
She balanced against him as she pulled her shoe back on, then took the other one from him. "Nothing happened. He was a perfect gentleman. I got tipsy, I passed out, and that's that."
Wyatt smirked. "Okay, sure sis."
He gently lead her to the car, got her back to the hotel and situated in her bed. He was a little disappointed Oliver’s invitation wasn’t really for him, but Dascha’s safety was important, so Wyatt didn’t mind. And, hey, kudos to Oliver for once again being exactly the kind of guy Wyatt thought he was.
“I bet that other girl can’t even shoot whiskey,” Dascha said, her words still slurred.
Wyatt’s brow knit as he pulled the covers over her. “Other girl?”
Dascha nodded, already drifting off.
“Alright, whatever. You can tell me all about it in the morning, Miss Featherweight.”
Dascha flipped him off as he finished tucking her in.
“...If you remember.”
Dascha jumped at the sound of her phone blaring. The room was still dark, until she realized the curtains remained closed. She looked at her phone.
Her head was splitting. She had to squint at the screen just to read it. The alarm said breakfast with Oliver.
Dascha groaned. Not because she didn’t want to spend time with Oliver, but the fact that she didn’t want to get out of bed. What did she do last night?
Wyatt snuck in with a mug of coffee and two aspirin. He also fished through her purse and produced her sunglasses. “I’ll drive you.”
“Don’t yell,” she hissed.
Wyatt hissed back, “I wasn’t.”
She sipped the coffee, wincing. “Seemed like you were.”
Wyatt shrugged and went back to his room to change.
Dascha worked through the coffee, popping the aspirin, and hoping she’d be presentable for Oliver.
She winced as she scanned her memory. There was the ball, and then Wyatt took her home. That’s what she remembered.
Dascha dressed carefully, hypersensitive to every tactile sensation-- even her clothes sliding over her skin. She put the sunglasses on and fixed her hair in a messy bun, then knocked on Wyatt’s door.
“Ready?” he asked.
She had an impulse to flip him off, but decided to be nice instead. She followed him downstairs and passed him her phone so he could look up directions to the cafe.
“Are you going to be okay?” he asked when he dropped her off.
She shut the door without answering.
Inside, she found Oliver fidgeting with his silverware, trying to make the bottoms of the handles line up. But then the tops got out of joint, and he’d start over again.
When he saw her, he leapt to his feet and tugged her close for a hug.
Lord he smelled good. He’d gone through the effort to shave and take care of himself. His voice was as warm as his scent. Her internal attraction barometer went through the roof. And it sucked because her splitting head was ruining it all. It elevated everything.
“Morning,” he said. He let her go.
Dascha pulled out a chair.
She nodded, secretly wincing behind the sunglasses. The waiter came to take their order.
Her voice was raspy, “Orange juice, and an egg.”
“How would you like that cooked, miss?”
She waved her hand as though to shake off the notion. “No. Just bring me an egg.”
The waiter shrugged and took Oliver’s order.
Oliver reached for Dascha’s hand. “I had a nice time last night.”
She didn’t pull away, but didn’t really acknowledge him either. She glugged down her entire glass of water. Then immediately regretted it. She pressed her fingers to her forehead, and started to cry.
Oliver leaned forward, concern on his face. “Are you alright.”
“Hangover,” she whimpered.
He frowned sympathetically. “Do you remember any of last night?”
The waiter brought their drinks. Dascha cracked the raw egg into her orange juice and stirred with her butter knife. “We had a nice time at the ball, didn’t we?”
Oliver swallowed, holding back his disgust. “What is that?”
“Hangover juice.” She lifted the glass to her lips and drank.
“But... why?”
She set the glass down, dabbing at her lip with her napkin. “Vitamins help.” She blinked. “You’ve never had a hangover?”
“Years and years ago, but my dad just gave me coffee.” He gestured to her glass. “That must be some rich girl thing.”
She didn’t have the willpower to be offended at the remark. “We danced. You were lovely. Wyatt took me home.”
Oliver sank in his chair. “That’s all you remember?”
She drank the rest of her orange juice concoction. “Oh, and I had a few drinks.”
He guffawed. “No, really?”
“You seem upset.”
“Well... yeah.” He shook his head incredulously. “You don’t remember...?”
“What, Oliver? Remember what?” The tone of her voice sounded as though it dared him to free her memory.
His shoulders slumped just as the waiter brought their breakfast. “Nevermind.”
Oliver tried to make idle chit chat while he worked on his omelette, but Dascha didn’t say much in return. He looked as though someone had deflated him. And it made Dascha wonder what she was missing.
She thought she’d go to Gulfstream with Oliver, but when Wyatt showed up she looked at her date confused.
He still looked pretty stoic. “I’ll catch up with you later,” Oliver said.
Wyatt waved. “Should we go to the track?” he asked Dascha.
She shook her head. “Take me back to the room.”
And catch up with Oliver Wyatt did. The trainer seemed quick to air all his grievances. Wyatt shifted gears without a hitch. Master Yoda in the house.
“I don’t get it, Wy. She doesn’t remember.”
“What doesn’t she remember?”
Oliver gulped, cautiously putting it to Wyatt. “We kissed.”
Wyatt pressed his fingers to his chest as though it shocked him. “Really?” he asked, exaggerating. Obviously.
His nonsense made Oliver chuckle.
“Was it squishy? Were there tongues?” Wyatt pressed. “Tell me all the juicy details.”
Oliver shoved him like they were teenagers.
“What’s there to tell? She was drunk as a polecat on moonshine, and doesn’t remember a thing. She fell asleep on my couch and I left her there to ask you to pick her up.”
So Dascha was telling the truth. Wyatt sobered up himself. Looking at Oliver, he saw the man he was inside and out. He fell a little more for him, but his resolve grew deeper as well. Dascha was in the hands of a knight. Chivalry wasn’t dead afterall.
Wyatt knew he had to walk away before he fell deeper for Oliver. He had to walk away an let Dascha and Ollie find their own path together.
He clapped Oliver on the back, smiling. Then nodded, patted him again, and walked off, never turning back.
It was too painful to be there with him. Wyatt loved both of them too much. But he’d never be with Oliver.
“Where you going? Did you fight?”
Wyatt had packed so suddenly, Dascha couldn’t understand.
“I’m leaving,” Wyatt said, shutting his suitcase with finality.
“What do you mean you’re leaving?”
Wyatt smiled subtly and kissed Dascha on the cheek. “I wish I could say I’ll see you back home, but... I hope I don’t.”
She turned on her heel as he left, wanting to follow, but stuck.
What was she supposed to do now? She didn’t have a Wyatt to babysit anymore. Then she remembered she had asked if he and Oliver fought. She should probably make sure Oliver was okay.
Wyatt was kind enough to take a cab and leave the rental for Dascha. She dro
ve to Gulfstream, finally having the drive memorized after these last four weeks, and thought only of Oliver and how he was doing. How was he taking Wyatt’s departure? She hoped it hadn’t hit him too hard. They seemed close.
When she arrived, Oliver was tending to Faith. Sometimes Dascha wondered if he paid as much attention to the other horses in her stable. All the ever seemed to talk about was the Lane horses. But she knew they were all well cared for. Racing was everything Oliver was about.
She smoothed her dress, feeling nervous for some reason she couldn’t pinpoint, and called to him. “Oliver!”
He turned and smiled at her, not looking too worse for wear.
Dascha exhaled and steeled herself. She was going to be his shoulder to cry on. Wyatt had been there for them, now it was her turn to repay the favor.
She took a bucket he was filling with water and carried it for him. “I’m really sorry Wyatt had to leave.”
“Yeah, me too,” Oliver glumly replied.
“You know if you ever need anyone to talk to...” she implied.
He took the bucket from her, smiling gently. “Thanks.”
She stepped back to allow him to pass. “Soooo... when’s the grey’s race?” She reached to scratch Faith who nibbled at her fingertips.
“Still working on it,” he said as he took another bucket to fill.
“You know I wouldn’t mind investing in a horse and trainer.”
Oliver’s eyebrow cocked. “Don’t make the same mistake your father did.” He finished filling the bucket with water and carried it. “At least your brother was smart enough to go home.”
Dascha tucked her lip. “Oh.”
So maybe Oliver didn’t want her around either. That stung a little. But it made sense. When someone dumped you, did you really want to be around their bossy little sister?
Fools Rush In Page 6
