“I ended up never cooking for her because no matter what I made it had too many carbs,” he said.
“You cook?” I said, surprised.
“I can do things other than ride a horse,” he said.
“Like cook.” I couldn’t imagine any of the guys in my high school cooking. It made Chris seem so much older and more mature. Oh yeah, and totally sexy. You wouldn’t think something like cooking would make a guy seem sexy, but it made him seem self-sufficient and competent.
“Like cook. And I can ski. I’ve been known to crack a book every so often.”
“How’d you learn to cook?”
“Dale taught me. Going out every night can get old. I can’t really cook complicated stuff—just a few healthy meals.”
“You and Dale seem really close.”
Chris nodded. “He’s family. He’s been there for me through everything and anything. There’s no one I trust more in the world.”
I remembered the way Dale had looked at me—like I was a distraction Chris didn’t need. Getting close to Chris would seem like it would involve Dale approving of you. I wondered how Dale had felt about Mary Beth.
I asked about what it had been like growing up on the show circuit. Chris said he hadn’t completely. “I played soccer and baseball when I was a kid. I didn’t get serious about horses till I was fourteen or fifteen so it wasn’t like I’ve only ever done this.”
“How did you know you wanted to only ride?”
“It just got more and more fun, and intense. I love the horses, the competition. I can’t imagine doing anything else, even on my worst days.”
“So you knew what you wanted to do since you were like sixteen?”
“Pretty much.”
“That’s really cool. I have no idea what I want to do.”
“You don’t have to. You’ll figure it out.”
The rest of the meal was just like the garlic bread—simple but unbelievable. I began to wonder if Chris wasn’t trying to take me somewhere that no one would see us, but instead take me someplace he liked.
The whole drive back to Weathersville felt charged. We talked some, but I had this feeling that we both wanted to get back and see what would happen next. I kept thinking about our make-out session in the car. Would we make it inside this time? It took too long to get back. The roads were dark and Chris had to go slow. Once we saw three deer on the side of the road. As we were nearing the show, Chris said, “So do you want to go back to your condo, or would you want to come over to mine for a while?”
“I’ll go to yours,” I said. I was surprised at how easily those words came out of my mouth. It was like how I’d jumped off the rocks at the quarry. I was nervous about what would happen, and whether I was terribly inexperienced in an embarrassing way. But something about Chris and his assured nature made me think everything would be okay.
Finally, we pulled into the driveway, the gravel crunching under the tires.
Jasper greeted us, wagging his tail and nuzzling Chris. Chris let him outside. I’d learned that Jasper was a rescue. He looked like a German Shepherd, only all white. He adored Chris and was crazy attached to him—always sitting right by him whenever Chris was around. We watched in the light of the porch as Jasper ran to a tree, lifted his leg, and then ran back.
“Good dog,” Chris said.
We walked into the kitchen. I looked around, unsure of what came next. How did this go from here? I tried to think of something to say to make the moment less awkward. What was I supposed to do? Then, Chris stepped close to me. Any awkwardness between us evaporated as I looked into his eyes. He knew what he wanted and how to go about it. That’s how it happened. One of us knew what he was doing.
With assured movements he kissed me, and it was easy to follow his lead. Soon it was just like in the car, both of us hungry for each other. He ran his hand up my back, under my shirt, and then around to the front over my bra.
He took me to the couch in the living room and peeled my shirt off over my head. Chris pulled my bra-straps down over my shoulders. Was this it, I wondered? Was I going to have sex with him tonight? Was I ready for that? This was Chris Kern. What girl wouldn’t want her first time to be with him?
As he kissed my neck, I said, “Was that you, the night we all went out to dinner? Did you come by the horse show when I was checking on Logan?”
“Yes, that was me.” He put his lips to my skin again and then said, “Are you weirded out, like I was stalking you or something?”
“No.”
“I liked you and I wanted to see what was up with you and Nick. I also wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Soon my bra was off. Chris took off his shirt. This was getting more than real. I placed my hands on his chest, like I’d thought about doing when he’d been shirtless at the quarry. He undid my jeans and with my help, shimmied them down my legs.
“Just one thing,” I said.
“Yeah,” he breathed into my ear.
“I’m not sure I want to have sex yet. I’m, well, I haven’t before.”
“Okay,” he said. It didn’t seem to upset or deter him. He said in a forced breath in my ear again, “Do you want to stop?”
“No,” I said.
He reached for my hand and put it against his crotch. Through his jeans, I could feel his hard-on. “Neither do I,” he said.
I undid his jeans and moved my hand first over his boxers and then under. It felt unexpectedly powerful to feel his dick, all firm and strong. I liked it more than I ever imagined I might. And it was hard for me. I had made him this way. As I held him in my hand, his breathing quickened. I could feel the want in him and it thrilled me that it was all because of me. The word ‘cock’ ran through my head—I had never really thought of a penis as anything but a hard-on or a dick, but Chris’s hard-on was so big in my hand, so firm, the word cock seemed right to describe it. I liked holding him in my hand. I liked the feel of him. But at the same time, I couldn’t quite imagine him being inside me. That seemed like it would hurt.
He moaned as I kept touching him, moving my hand up and down. I guess I was doing something right. Soon he moved his hand down. He started out touching me lightly over my panties. It felt good, but I almost had a hard time concentrating on him and myself at the same time. He slid his hand under my panties and it started to feel really good, and I concentrated less on what I was doing to him. It didn’t seem to make much of a difference as his breathing was quickening. A hand-job. The word ran through my mind. That’s what I was doing. I was giving him a hand-job. The few times I’d heard the expression it had seemed so industrial and emotionless. This was totally different. He pulled down my underwear and I held him a little tighter. A few moments later he groaned and I felt a spurt of liquid on my upper thigh. He took a breath, blew it out, and took his hand off of me. I missed his hand, but I knew it was over for him. I didn’t quite know what to do about the mess on my leg, but Chris stood up, pulled up his jeans and went to the kitchen. He came back with paper towels and dried me off. “Sorry,” he said.
“It’s okay,” I said, as I took in the sight of him in his jeans with no shirt.
It was all very okay.
Chapter 25
After that night, Chris and I fooled around whenever we could. It seemed like all both of us ever thought about was riding and hooking up. I spent every night at his house, on the couch, giving him hand-jobs and moving on from that to having him rub up against me until he came. He always came and I felt proud that I had made him come. He hadn’t made me come yet, but I had been close a couple of times. It was funny how hooking up came naturally. Here I was having only messed around with one guy before and within a week I was doing things I’d only imagined. I learned how to give Chris a blow job and it turned out to be something I didn’t really need to learn. I went down there and opened my mouth and the rest all came rather naturally. It made me think again of birds. No one told them how to do a mating dance or how to mate. They knew how in their DNA. It fe
lt kind of the same for me. Maybe it helped that Chris had surely done it all before and so he wasn’t awkward about any of it. He also wasn’t shy about signaling what felt good with a moan or an “oh yeah” so I learned quickly when I was doing it right. I went back home every night—I guess so Cheryl didn’t get suspicious although I didn’t think she really would have cared. But that was all I needed—somehow it getting back to my mother that I wasn’t coming home some nights.
We continued with our morning lessons at the show and Logan kept getting better. My eye was getting better too. At the show, Chris and I hung out some and texted all the time. I’d go by his barn or we’d sit by the ring together sometimes. Often it was with Jed or Zoe. Chris was busy during the days, so I’m not sure anyone really suspected what was going on between us. Zoe and Jed surely didn’t, or else I know they would have said something. Unfortunately, Zoe had a new guy in mind for me—Teddy. He was an amateur, only one year out of the juniors, and showed in the jumpers. He went to Trinity College, horse-showed in the summer, and flew back and forth to Florida to compete in the winters. I knew it wouldn’t be long before I had to tell her about Chris. What I didn’t know was that I wouldn’t get the chance to tell her the right way.
On Monday, Zoe arranged for us to go to Bromley. Zoe, Jed, me, and Teddy. Although I didn’t want a repeat of the awkward dinner with Chris and Nick, I wished Chris was coming. But he had to drive to New York to look at a horse that a horse-dealer friend of his had gotten in from Europe. Chris was constantly checking out horses on Bigeq and other sites, and watching streaming of classes all over the country and world. He said it was hard to find a grand prix horse or even a young horse with potential to be a first horse because in the digital age when a horse had talent, everyone knew about it fast. So he felt he had to work extra hard to be the first to find out about a promising horse.
I hated going to Bromley without him and I wished I’d been able to road trip to look at the horse with him. I hadn’t asked—it hadn’t really occurred to me then, but now I could imagine us driving together, stopping for coffee along the way. It would have been fun to see the horse go, and watch Chris in action. But he probably wouldn’t want me going with him. Who would he say I was, without rumors being started?
So I was going to Bromley, knowing that Zoe had told Teddy all about me.
Teddy was good-looking in a strong-jawed, toothy Kennedy-esque kind of way—I had to give Zoe that. He was well-dressed and ultra-confident. He and Zoe both had water bottles with them and when we were waiting in line for our tickets to ride the alpine slides, they clinked water bottles, which I realized meant that the bottles didn’t have water in them. Zoe managed it so Teddy and I rode the chair lift up the mountain together. Teddy offered me a sip from his water bottle, which he explained was really vodka, and I said no thanks. His phone rang. He took the call and talked loudly, like what he was saying was supposed to impress me.
“Hey, man. Yeah, totally. Of course I’m going. It’s a 100K class.”
His talk continued—when he was getting to the horse show, plans for drinks and dinner. He finally hung up and said to me, “That was McNair Sutter.”
I nodded. McNair Sutter was another young, amateur grand prix rider. Somehow in this instance it was maybe worse that Teddy used McNair’s full name—like he was making sure his name-dropping had its full effect.
“I’m going up to HITS next weekend on Sunday to ride in the big class there, then coming back,” he explained.
I could maybe understand why grand prix riders like Chris, who were professionals and made their living off their results, show-hopped for the prize money, but it didn’t really make sense for someone like Teddy or McNair, who didn’t need the winnings to survive financially.
We got off the chair lift, but not until I had to endure Teddy’s stories of heli-skiing in Alaska. I had never done alpine slides before. They were fun, but I didn’t like going super fast. Of course, Teddy and Zoe did—especially fueled by vodka. The second time down they raced each other and Zoe went all out to beat Teddy. She lost control around one of the turns and tore up her elbows and knees on the cement track.
Somehow she was laughing—maybe she was so drunk it didn’t hurt.
We stayed and had lunch and the whole time I had half my mind on Chris. Sometimes I’d think of the things we’d done together and my stomach would get all crazy-feeling. Teddy kept telling stories that seemed like he was a giant snob—how he’d sat in the front-row at the Jason Aldean concert, how he’d gone to the Super Bowl in Miami, and how he’d been to Macchu Picchu. Maybe he was trying too hard to impress me and it wasn’t the real him, but it didn’t matter. I felt zero attraction to him.
On the drive home, Zoe said, “Let me guess, you don’t like him either?”
“He’s pretty arrogant, don’t you think?”
Zoe let out a frustrated sigh. “He’s got money. Piles of it. Is that so bad?”
“Then why don’t you go for him? Let me guess, too young?”
“I’ve known him forever. Like since we were doing ponies.”
“He didn’t seem interested in me either,” I said.
“You didn’t try very hard.”
“What was I supposed to do?”
“Flirt with him! Drink a little! Loosen up!”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I think I’m hopeless. You should just give up on me.”
“No way,” Zoe said. “You and Teddy could still happen. We still have three weeks.”
Three weeks. That was all I had left with Chris? How had the Circuit gone by so fast?
On Tuesday, Zoe was in a bad mood all day, sending me total downer texts. My life sucks. This summer sucks. She begged me to go out Tuesday night. Who goes out Tues? I texted her. Just a few drinks, she wrote back. Okay, I said. I guess I was still feeling badly about Teddy. I’d go out with her and then go over to Chris’s.
I was surprised to find quite a few horse show people at Backcountry, including a bunch of young juniors, probably fourteen and fifteen, who managed to sneak in and were having the time of their lives. A couple of the young grand prix riders were buying them too many drinks and the girls were flirting outrageously with them. Here I still hadn’t lost my virginity and they probably already had, or would by tomorrow morning. They were the next Zoe Tramell in the making.
And as for Zoe, it wasn’t pretty. Dermott wasn’t there and Zoe was pounding drink after drink. Her arms were bandaged from the road rash she’d gotten at Bromley.
I texted Chris and he said he was coming over. He showed up when Zoe was at the bar ordering another drink.
When Zoe came back to the table, she saw Chris and brightened for the first time that day. “Chris! When did you get here?”
“Just now and we’re leaving,” he said.
“Leaving?” Zoe made a pouty face. “We haven’t even danced yet. Chris, when’s the last time you’ve been out on the dance floor?”
“Not really my thing,” Chris said.
“Well, tonight that all changes.” Zoe stood up and suggestively shaped her hands down her body, shimmying her hips.
Chris shook his head. “Not tonight. You’ve had too much to drink and you know it.”
“Chris! You’re being such a buzz-kill.”
“That may be, but we’re leaving.” He stood up.
Zoe took a defiant sip of her drink and said like a petulant child, “Well, I’m not.”
“You don’t have a ride home,” I pointed out.
She glanced over to the dance floor. “I can find a way home.”
I was sure she could and that was the problem right there.
Zoe made a show of storming off toward the bar. Sitting with his friends was one of the sleaziest members of the jump crew, Trevor. He looked half-stoned most of the time and had the work ethic of a slug. He was just doing this to make some bucks for the summer, goof off, and get laid, and didn’t care at all about the horses or horse shows. He was the perfect target because h
e wouldn’t ask any questions or think twice when a pretty girl made a move at him.
Zoe wiggled in between Trevor and another jump crew burnout. A lot of the jump crew were South Americans. But sometimes white kids filled in the holes in the crew. It was the South Americans who typically worked hard and took pride in their jobs—the white kids were the slackers and they generally never lasted more than a season. Sometimes they got fired mid-circuit for showing up late, still drunk, or high, or for falling asleep when they should be shagging rails.
While Zoe came on to Trevor, Chris and I discussed what we were going to do.
“We can’t just leave her here,” I said.
“Right, no way,” Chris agreed.
“So how do we get her out of here?”
Zoe had pulled Trevor onto the dance floor. She threw her arms around his neck and in a matter of moments his hands had migrated from her hips to her ass. I had never witnessed such a fast coupling and probably never would again. What had Zoe said to him? Had she told him it was his lucky night and he was going to take her home? Maybe she hadn’t said anything—maybe her body language told the story.
When they started making out, right there on the dance floor, Chris stalked to where she was and pulled her off Trevor. I had followed a few steps behind.
“Zoe,” Chris said. “We’re your friends and we’re taking you home. No argument. Let’s go. Don’t cause a problem—that’s not the way you want this to go down with people watching.”
If I had said the same words, Zoe would have ignored me. But she listened to Chris. Of course by “people” watching he meant the horse show people there who were addicted to gossip like other people were addicted to pain killers. Gossip was always best when it featured a top rider—and a junior, no less. Zoe was impeccable and unbeatable in the ring—and too many people would love nothing better than to see her screw up outside of the ring.
“What’s the problem, man?” Trevor said to Chris. “She’s having fun. I’ll take good care of her.”
Summer Circuit (The Show Circuit -- Book 1) Page 13
