Jock

by CM Foss

  “I’m going home.”

  “Come here, Midge.” He held out a hand. “Talk to me.”

  “Nope. We’re not talking about this.” I grabbed my dress and stepped into it, shimmying it up my body, not missing the way he sat up and watched.

  “We have to talk about this.”

  I huffed out a breath and turned to him, hands on my hips. “Why?”

  “Seriously?”

  “It was fun. It’s probably not gonna happen again.”

  One corner of his mouth quirked upward as he ran a hand through his wavy hair. “I think it will. So we should talk about it.”

  “I think we should never talk about it. With each other or anyone else. Ever.”

  “What? Are you afraid to take me home to your family?”

  I snorted. “No. I just don’t want to tell my brother I fucked his best friend.”

  His eyes narrowed but his smirk remained. “Oh, Midge. I think you’re confused on who fucked whom.”

  Chapter 16

  Two Weeks Later

  “Chrissy,” I whined loudly. “I don’t have time for this.”

  My sister chucked three dresses my way, all equally frilly and horrid. “Tessa,” she said, mocking me. “It’s my wedding. You’re my maid of honor. You have to have time for it.”

  “I take back my yes. Why don’t you pick another sister? We have a bunch of them. We even have a soon-to-be sister-in-law.” Lawrence had popped the question the day after the engagement party two weeks ago. That made three potential replacements. I was on board.

  She stomped her foot. I mean actually literally stomped her foot. “I don’t want a matron of honor. I want a maid.”

  I raised my eyebrows and pressed my lips together to keep from outright laughing at bridezilla, staring at her over the pile of colorful fabric in my arms. After a long, quiet moment suspended in a stare down, she smiled sheepishly.

  “Please?” She squeaked the word.

  Rolling my eyes, I dragged myself past her to the changing area, playfully nudging her shoulder with mine. Well, below her shoulder anyway, since my height prevented me from having any real impact. She jumped to the side anyway.

  “Geez, you’re strong for such a small fry.”

  “Something you should remember when you try to force these dresses on me,” I shot back.

  At the door to the dressing room, I stopped and she bumped into my back. “You’re not coming in with me.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “Because I’m capable of dressing myself. It’s not a group activity.”

  Her shoulders sagged but she gave in, walking across the room to sit on a plush green bench with a huff while I locked myself behind the door. Alone.

  Hands on my hips, I stared at my choices. Pink, light pink, or super bright pink.

  I did none of those pinks. Or any others, for that matter.

  “Can’t we pick a different color?” I called through the door.

  “That’s not the color I picked, you idiot. We’re just looking at the style.”

  “Thank God,” I muttered.

  “I picked purple.”

  Fucking super. I should have guessed. The girl’s hair was even purple. At least today.

  “Really?”

  “It’s such a dark purple it’s almost black. Like your heart. You’ll love it.”

  I doubted it. I yanked the first dress over my head and wrinkled my nose in the mirror. It looked like a unicorn had shat all over me, neck to toes.

  “This doesn’t fit. And it’s ugly.”

  “That’s because you’re not sample-sized. You’re pocket-sized.”

  “Ha-ha. You’re so funny.” I whipped the dress off and slung it over the door.

  “Hey, I wanna see. You have to come out and model.”

  “Hard pass. You can’t put me in a long dress with that much fabric. You won’t be able to find me.”

  She let out a chuckle. “Fair enough.”

  “And I’m not wearing the tutu.”

  “It’s not a tutu!” Her chuckle turned into an all-out laugh. “Can you just be a girl for a minute?”

  “This is longer than a minute.”

  “Only because you keep grumbling. Put on the one with the tulle overlay. It’s short and it’ll be so cute on you.”

  “The what one?” I stood in a bra and panties, rubbing my hands over my chilled arms as looked between both dresses. I was even turning purple.

  “The tutu.”

  “No.” Instead, I grabbed the lace one and pulled it on. Tilting my head back and forth, I stood on tiptoes to get the full effect. “This is… not bad,” I admitted begrudgingly.

  Chrissy clapped her hands on the other side of the door and squealed. The whole thing was too big, so I gathered the material at my back, holding it with a fist and pulling it up to midthigh. Turning to look over my shoulder, I admired the back of the dress where it dipped low, until I noticed each bump of my vertebrae, starkly visible. The sight made me blanch. It was the reason I usually avoided mirrors.

  “What? Why are you so quiet? Come out so I can see.”

  “I don’t know. Don’t you think the back is a bit scandalous for a church?” I suggested, praying she’d agree.

  “I can’t tell unless you let me see.”

  My heart fluttered in my throat, and I swallowed hard to push it back down. “How ’bout I try the tutu?”

  I screeched as her head suddenly popped over the door. She’d jumped up, hands clawing, knuckles white as she hoisted herself up and swung a leg over.

  “You crazy person!” I watched with my jaw wide-open as she climbed the door and dropped to her feet beside me. For a moment I forgot what I was hiding.

  Until she gasped.

  “Tessa.”

  I retreated into the corner of the room so my back wasn’t visible in the mirror. “It’s not a big deal.”

  Her mouth opened and closed, and her eyes held a telltale glistening.

  “Stop.” I held up a warning hand. “You know I have to make weight. Before I went to New York, I was a ten bug. Now I’m a five. It’s a little easier, but it’s still rough, and it’s not pretty.”

  “I know. I do know. I just didn’t… you know… know.” She laughed shakily.

  I walked up and gave her a one-armed hug. I wasn’t usually a hugger, so she stiffened in surprise, then wrapped both arms around me to squeeze back. Hard.

  “I’m fine. I promise,” I said with a grunt as a whoosh of air left my chest under the force of her embrace.

  She nodded swiftly and pulled away. “As long as you know what you’re doing.”

  “I do. This is just”—I shrugged—“the way it is. I’m not hiding it, not really. I just know that the reality of actually seeing it is, well, displeasing to the eye.”

  A little humor began to light her expression. That’s the way to any sibling’s heart, through self-deprecation. “And Chrissy…”

  “Yep?” She finally lifted her eyes to mine.

  “Don’t tell Mom and Dad, okay? They’ll just worry and there’s nothing to actually worry about.”

  She stared at me with pursed lips until her mouth curved into a grin. “Only if you say you’ll wear the tutu.”

  Chapter 17

  Pulling up to my house an hour later, I nearly turned around and drove away when I saw another vehicle parked by the curb. I’d been waiting for this with equal amounts trepidation and excitement. I hadn’t spoken to Jace since our night together. The good Lord blessed me and sent him away on a business trip. He sent a few calls and texts, clearly laced with the smug knowledge that I was avoiding him. That cocky undertone was precisely what made them so easy to ignore.

  That stupid red F-150, though. Why did the man even have a truck? It’s not like he hauled anything, spending his days behind a computer, clicking away on a keyboard. At least I thought that’s what he did. Actually, I still had no real idea…

  I shut off my engine with a sigh and slid out of m
y seat. Jace exited his truck at the same time, never taking his eyes off me. The sound of his door slamming shut, incredibly loud and resounding off the dark quiet of my little street, made me jump.

  I sat on my front step, resting my elbows on my knees and watching him walk up. Okay, I hadn’t exactly been ignoring his texts. Maybe I read them whenever I was bored. Maybe they made my little black heart pitter-patter when they said things like I’m coming for you. And maybe it took every ounce of willpower not to text back You already did. Whatever.

  He crouched in front of me, balancing on the balls of his feet and looking at me through the mess of hair falling over his brow. My fingers itched to push it back, to twist into the strands and pull him to my face.

  “Not gonna invite me in?”

  I shook my head slowly. I couldn’t invite him in. I’d just do him again.

  He inhaled through his nostrils and let the air out in a rush. “You’re not a mistake. I want you to know that.”

  “I know.” I did. I just wasn’t sure how I felt about it.

  “Am I?”

  The question startled me into raising my head. “Not… entirely.”

  He snorted and rocked back to sit on his ass, crossing his ankles in front of him.

  I hurried to clarify. “By the literal definition of mistake… I can’t say that it was one… entirely.”

  He nodded, chewing the inside of his cheek. “You’re young, Midge.”

  I stood suddenly, not wanting to hear his speech. “I’m aware of my age. And yours. That has nothing to do with this, so leave that aside as an excuse to brush me off. Time, age, years… it’s all fluid.” He opened his mouth to speak but I charged on, not allowing him in. “I’m not looking for anything. I’m too busy for you, or for anyone. My plans don’t include anything like”—I waved my hand back and forth stupidly—“this. So leave my emotions or your sympathy, or whatever it was you were trying to say, out of it.”

  He stood slowly, his jaw tight, eyebrow raised. “Sympathy?” He shook his head. “I wasn’t offering sympathy.”

  I stepped up a stair behind me as he drew closer. “Really?”

  “And I should have known better than to allude to your emotions.”

  I stepped back again as he stepped up. He stuffed his hands in his pockets as if to restrain himself, eyeing me the entire time. He still towered above me as he stood on a stair below.

  “You should,” I said breathlessly. Where was my breath? I felt like I was chasing it.

  “What I was trying to say, before I was so rudely interrupted, is that you are young, and in no way should I want you. And in no way should I have you.” He took another step, now pinning me against my own front door with nothing but his closeness. “But I have had you. And I’m pretty sure”—he dipped low and brushed his lips across mine, sending my heart beating erratically up into my throat, down into my stomach, and once again into my vagina because that seemed to be pounding to a beat as well—“I’m gonna need to have you again.”

  With that he turned and walked away, seemingly unaffected, just strolling down the concrete path to his ridiculous truck, fucking whistling and kicking pebbles, hands still in his pockets. It wasn’t until he was long gone that I snapped my mouth shut.

  After finally stumbling inside, I stripped off my clothes, my body still heated from our exchange. I was flushed and aroused, and even the whisper of a breeze from my window air conditioner was enough to set me off.

  But then I had to stare at a scale. Good news is that bitch could cool me off in a heartbeat. I stood naked on it, automatically calculating the additions to my weight for tomorrow’s race.

  Half a pound for my saddle.

  Half a pound for my boots.

  Three ounces for my breeches.

  Two ounces for my sports bra.

  Helmet, vest…

  Five pounds. It was always five fucking pounds.

  As a bug rider, the term referring to the asterisk that would remain next to my name on a program, I needed to weigh five pounds less than my journeyman counterparts. That weight advantage was my main selling point in gaining rides at this stage of my career. I rode well too, but there were a lot of jocks out there vying for saddles. They could ride too. That meant I needed to lose five pounds. In less than twenty-four hours. Truth is, I’m a small person, hence the multitude of nicknames referring to my size. But I wasn’t… that small. I’m five foot three, standing super straight. But if I were an inch or two… or three… shorter, making weight would be a lot easier.

  Could be worse. I could live next door to a bakery and constantly dream of cronuts. I could fuck up a cronut right about now.

  I pulled on a sports bra and some leggings, then sighed and flopped back on my bed, allowing myself one minute of rest. I’d been up at four thirty, on my first horse by five. I’d exercised three horses per hour until nine thirty. Then I’d met up with Drew, my overbearing asshole of an agent, to walk around to different trainers and convince them they wanted me to race their horses. I’d missed my usual time in the hotbox to sweat out some water weight because of my stupid maid of honor duties, so now I needed to run.

  I would have run anyway, but now I needed to run more. Harder, faster, hotter.

  I blindly reached over to a chair set next to my bed and grabbed my rubber suit, struggling into it while lying down. As I zipped it up, I got a whiff of stale sweat smell wafting up to my nose. Ugh. My eyes watered and my nostrils burned. I needed to wash it, bad.

  After tying on my shoes, I shuffled into the spare bedroom turned exercise room. Shutting the door, I switched on the baseboard heat and plugged my phone into a set of speakers, blaring Taylor Swift as loud as I could handle. It wasn’t necessarily my favorite music, but it was an excellent distraction. Woman power and all that.

  Okay. I loved her.

  A quick stretch later and I hopped on my treadmill, ready to purge.

  I ran until I reached the zone, that place where time doesn’t matter, fatigue blends into the music, and sweat pours into my eyes and I don’t even feel the need to blink it away.

  Chapter 18

  I woke the next morning with my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. Forcibly peeling it down, I swirled it around, trying to work up some moisture, but it seemed like a lost cause. My heart fluttered as I looked around my room. Race day. Looked like any other day. Way more exciting.

  I rolled out of bed and headed to my small bathroom, letting the faucet run water through my mouth and back out before brushing my teeth. The scale let me know that a grapefruit sounded super for breakfast. Crap. Why had I brushed my teeth already?

  I ate it over the sink after cutting it in half and loosening the wedges. The first taste slammed against the lingering flavor of minty toothpaste, making my taste buds shrivel in protest. But once I got over that, it was icy-cold and refreshing and I had to stop myself from gnawing at the rind. I always kept my grapefruit in the fridge. At room temperature they made me want to hurl. But chilled they were heaven, unless I had a canker sore. That was rough.

  A glance at the clock told me I needed to get moving. I threw on some clothes, grabbed my bag of gear, and ran out the door.

  “Riders up!”

  I heard the call and my heart rate kicked up a notch. Outwardly I played it cool, suppressing the smile that wanted to break loose, acting like this was any other day, any other race. Of course, that was actually true. It was just another day. Just another race. But I still got excited. Part of me hoped I’d never lose the feeling, but I was sure it would eventually fade.

  I was launched into the saddle, landing softly on my thighs so as not to come down too hard on the filly’s back. She was small and flighty, a quirky one I’d ridden more than a few times. She was my favorite and not just because her name was Trouble. I patted her dark gray neck and spoke soothingly to her, but my words fell on deaf ears as she jigged and pranced. She was more relaxed when I left my legs hanging down out of the stirrups, so I let them flop as I was l
ed around the paddock.

  A pony horse picked me up and we headed out onto the track. I didn’t speak much to the outrider beyond the usual pleasantries. I was thinking about my plan. Some of the guys around me were ribbing and carrying on, but I liked the quiet. And they respected that. For the most part.

  We were loaded into the gates one by one. I was in the second post position, which was a bummer because this little girl had very little patience. Every time another horse entered beside her, she jumped around and banged on the walls. The gate crew was there and available to assist, keeping her head straight and giving her pats and words of encouragement interspersed with cursing and jumping out of the way. Finally she’d had enough and somehow managed to sit down while leaping with her front end all at the same time, propping her feet on the sides of the gate and banging the rear doors open with her ass.

  As they gave with her weight, she nearly toppled backward, barely regaining her footing as she scrambled but stayed on her feet. I sat in the middle of her, debating whether or not to bail. Men flanked her sides, taking a gentle hold of the reins.

  “You okay, bug girl?” one of the guys asked. I wasn’t sure who, because I was concentrating on the horse.

  “Yeah, yeah. We’re good.”

  They nodded and circled her around once, allowing the rest of the horses to load before channeling her back in. I had barely a second to make sure my reins were set before the bell rang and the gates crashed open. The filly’s muscles coiled tight and then she sprang forward, launching us amidst the crowd of horses all vying for the inside spot on the rail.

  I was bumped and jostled as we all fought for position. With valiant effort, the filly took one giant stride to clear herself of the field, settling into her favorite lead position.

  She was small, but she was mighty, and she loved to run fast and long. I sat quietly, ticking off the furlongs. A glance under my arm informed me we held on to a three-quarter-length lead, and my mount showed no signs of tiring. She was biding her time as much as I was.