Jock

by CM Foss

  I could feel everyone begin moving up at the same time. The thunder of hoofbeats came in a rush, no longer a rhythmical four beats but a cacophony of sound and vibrations. I crouched lower, my arms working along her neck, keeping a feel of her mouth. I never looked back or even picked up my stick. I knew no one was close.

  As soon as we crossed under the wire, I stood up in my stirrups and felt her switch gears, easily slowing as she calmed down and cooled off. I gave her some enthusiastic pats and shouts of praise, and if her playful head tossing was any indication, she knew she’d done well.

  She was a total professional in the winner’s circle, standing stock-still as if posing for her model shots. The trainer was pleased; the owner was pleased. It was a good day.

  Until it wasn’t.

  Until my final horse, one I’d never ridden, turned out to be an asshole. He was sulking and bucking from the moment I got on. He was sour in the gates, spit out the bit, and I almost just pulled him up with a big fuck you halfway through the race.

  We loped in behind the rest of the field and I got out of there as fast as I could, passing him off to a groom and stomping off to find Drew.

  I found the man easily, outside the paddock, scribbling with his yellow number seven pencil. His dark hair was slicked back, and he casually wore a suit with the collar of his white shirt unbuttoned. Ordinarily I would take the time to appreciate him as a male specimen, even though there would never be anything between us. But right now he wasn’t looking all that hot.

  “The fuck was that?” I hissed at him.

  He raised an eyebrow, still looking at his paper. “Good ride on the filly.”

  “I know. Too bad I couldn’t end on a high note. That was bullshit.”

  He shrugged. “Horse was having an off day.”

  “The horse doesn’t want to be here.”

  “Not my problem.” He scribbled something, and I had to tamp down the urge to break his pencil in half. “Why didn’t you speak up?”

  “I don’t know that trainer. The last thing I need is to be blacklisted.”

  “Then you did the right thing by riding as best you could.”

  “I can’t do my best while I’m riding shit like that.”

  He tucked his pencil behind his ear with a sigh and finally looked up at me. His voice was tight and low. “Keep your voice down and stop your fucking tantrum. You want rides, you need rides, and I’m getting them for you. Pay your dues, keep your head down, and quit fucking whining. What do you want, a cookie?”

  I glared at him for another minute before turning on my heel and stomping away.

  “Happy birthday,” he called out.

  I flipped him off over my shoulder. I did want a cookie.

  Chapter 19

  Five hundred forty-seven texts from my family.

  Okay, maybe not quite that many, but it had to be close.

  I was a terrible daughter. I knew my family wanted to shower me with affection on my birthday, but after Shane died, it just wasn’t my thing. I could go and we could all wallow together while they gave halfhearted and awkward birthday sentiments, or I could just pretend the day never happened.

  Plus cake. Birthdays were about cake and I couldn’t have cake. Or a cookie.

  I sat in the parking lot for a solid ten minutes, returning all their texts with thank-yous and promises to see everyone soon. With a heaving sigh, I tossed the phone into the passenger seat. It was actually a really good thing I couldn’t bring it into the track with me. The damn thing would have been going off like a siren. Or vibrating so much that anyone within a ten-foot radius could have gotten off.

  And now all I could think about was cake. I didn’t even really like cake that much, but my stomach growled noisily and burned all the way up into my chest. I squinted against the discomfort, willing the sensation back down with a forceful swallow.

  Cake probably wouldn’t sit well anyway. But I still wanted it, or something. Tomorrow I’d race again, so there was no option of a cheat meal. Another reason I decided to forgo any family festivities. There wasn’t much of a point unless everyone wanted to sit around and chew gum. They did make birthday cake gum. It sounded horrible but maybe…

  It felt like I was crossing a sad, sad line, but I stopped for the gum anyway. It was pink and cheery looking, two things I was not, so I didn’t open it, just toyed with the packaging as I drove home, the sun setting lower with each mile. By the time I pulled up next to my house, it was pitch-dark with a heavy cloud cover, perfect for my mood. I tromped my way to the front door, too tired and irritable to even walk properly and too grumbly to notice my surroundings. Before I could slide my key into the keyhole, the door popped open, causing me to shriek and jump back. With rapid blinking, I looked up to notice lights on within the house and an amused Jace standing in my way.

  “What the fuck, dude?” I pressed a hand to my chest, my heart threatening to escape.

  “Happy birthday, Midge.”

  I shoved past him, dropping my bag and kicking off my shoes inside the door. “What are you doing here?”

  “I just came to wish you a happy birthday.” He shut the door and leaned back against it.

  “Shut up. How did you get in here?”

  He shrugged. “I can get in anywhere. And you need better locks.”

  “I don’t even wanna know.”

  I headed into the kitchen to peel myself an egg. Yum.

  Jace watched me as I sat on the counter next to the sink. He had his arms folded across his chest and a scowl on his face. “How were your rides today?”

  I shrugged, forcing nonchalance into my voice. “Some good, some bad. The usual.”

  “What stood out more, the good or the bad?”

  “At the time of each occurrence, they each beat the other out.”

  “How ’bout now?”

  “Now? Now I’m just tired.” I swallowed the last bite down my dry throat and dipped my face under the faucet to rinse out my mouth.

  He nodded at me, eyebrows drawn together. “Was that dinner?”

  “No.” I sighed. “Just a snack.”

  “What’s for dinner?”

  “Well”—I hopped down, brushing my hands off on my jeans—“I race again tomorrow. So probably some fish and veggies.”

  “Why don’t you go shower and I’ll make you dinner?”

  I cocked my head as I studied him standing in my kitchen for the first time. He was wearing a soft-looking pair of dark jeans and a ratty gray T-shirt. And flip-flops, of course. With one hip propped against the counter, he looked completely at home here, and his presence felt completely welcome. And that made me completely nervous.

  But nervous or not, his company during my self-imposed lonely birthday was too tempting to pass up. So with a nod, I reached into the fridge and pulled out what we would need. Everything was already portioned to the amount I would eat, so I grabbed three times the usual in order to feed Jace. Even that might be considered a light meal, but he’d have to deal.

  “There’s some vodka in the freezer if you want it.” I stood in the middle of the kitchen, suddenly feeling awkward and unsure of what to do or say as the air between us seemed to thicken.

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked at me with half a grin, maybe feeling the same as me. I mean, what the heck were we doing?

  “Um… yeah. Okay.” I raised my eyebrows and let my arms fall to my sides with a loud slap that rang in my ears. So I darted around him and ran to the shower. Clearly it was my birthday, because my level of maturity was skyrocketing with each year.

  I washed in record time, sudsing and rinsing and even shaving, managing not to nick myself. Not that I was expecting anything that necessitated a shave, but…

  As I toweled off, I heard Jace whistling from the kitchen and clanging around as he probably searched for tools and plates. I smiled to myself as I pulled on some long, soft drawstring pants and an oversized shirt. I’d never had a guy make me dinner before, never had anyone hang out
at my house before, come to think of it. I wasn’t big on dating. I was more of a scratch-an-itch hookup type. There was no shortage of men to have a good time with when I had the time. And when I did, I liked to make use of it and then move on. Lingering wasn’t really my thing.

  But this? It felt kind of nice. Maybe it was just our familiarity with each other despite the unfamiliar situation we found ourselves in.

  It was that sense of comfort that allowed me to shuffle out in pajamas, my hair wet and knotted on top of my head, face scrubbed clean and not bothering with deodorant. But I still did a quick check in the mirror to make sure that the look wasn’t too terrible and that my hair was artfully messy instead of just… bad.

  We came into the living room at the same time, me looking like a rag doll dressed in adult clothes and him looking scrumptious and carrying food. Look who wins again.

  He grinned at me as he set our plates down and sat in the middle of the couch. Right smack-dab in the middle. I stared at him, hands on my hips, considering my options. Probably if I had a grown-up conversation right about now, it would be good. Something like “What are we doing,” “Is this a date,” or… “What are we doing?”

  But I wouldn’t. Because I was tired and this felt nice and also because I wasn’t sure what kind of answer I wanted. Or worse, what I would say if he were asking me.

  “You gotta sit close to me, Midge.” He patted the cushion beside him.

  I huffed and plopped down, careful to keep an inch of air between us. All the little hairs on my body stood on end as if trying to reach out to him. A shiver ran down my spine, and I rubbed my hands up and down my arms, trying to smooth the sudden chill bumps.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  I nodded and reached for my plate, scraping half the contents off onto his. Then I leaned back with a sigh, digging in and trying to make it last.

  After a couple of bites where I might or might not have been moaning, I opened my eyes to Jace’s raised eyebrows. “What?”

  “Oh, nothing. Please, don’t let me interrupt you and whatever you have going on right now.”

  I snorted and nudged him with my knee. “I’m starving and this is delicious.”

  “It’s really not that good.”

  I shrugged. “It is to me.”

  “You need some meat on you.”

  “Yeah, that’d be great. And then I could go find another job.”

  “Well, maybe you need one.”

  Every muscle in my body tensed and froze as anger crept in. “Excuse me?”

  “I don’t see how starving yourself for a job is particularly healthy.”

  I set my half-finished dinner down with a clatter. Jace picked it back up and pushed it into my lap. He’s lucky it didn’t end up on his head. I jumped to my feet and carted both of our plates into the kitchen, my earlier appetite gone.

  “Midge. Get your ass back here and eat.” His stupid voice carried through the wall.

  I slumped over the counter, squeezing my eyes shut as I tried to calm down. “It’s not just a job, Jace. It’s everything I’ve worked for. Everything I’m still working for.” I clenched my fists tightly. “I’m not fucking done working for it.”

  There was a beat of silence from the other room, and I had this image of us standing on opposite sides of the wall, mirroring each other.

  “I know how hard you work. Everybody does. But everybody’s worried about you too.”

  “Not everybody. Just my family. And I guess you.”

  “Of course I worry. The only person you have looking out for you is Drew. And forgive me if I don’t trust your pimp.”

  I bit my lip to hide a smile, from myself more than anything. I hated he could make me smile. As his initial words replayed in my head though, it faded easily. “It’s a hard enough gig without the added pressure of the worry I get from all sides. I don’t have an eating disorder. It’s not like I think I’m fat. I have a career that requires me to weigh a very specific amount. That’s it. It’s not easy, but I can do it. And I need everybody to stop freaking out and just let me do it. Or throw me a real shocker and actually be supportive. Say what you want about Drew, but he does have my back.”

  “Well, that pisses me off too.”

  I walked out as he was stomping in, and we collided in the doorway. His hands automatically gripped my hips, his thumbs swiping across my belly. I felt that touch deep inside and it spread warmth through my core. My heart stopped and then started again, beating wildly and erratically, and my breathing matched tempo.

  “I don’t want to fight with you,” I whispered, keeping my gaze level with his chest. I was tired and ready for bed, the highs and lows of the day overwhelming me.

  “We’re not fighting.” He pressed a kiss to the top of my head and I frowned.

  “It feels like fighting.”

  “I would never fight with you on your birthday.”

  “It doesn’t feel like my birthday.” Now I was pouting.

  His hands slid around to the small of my back and pulled me close. I gripped the sides of his T-shirt, twisting the material in my fingers.

  “That’s because you won’t let anyone celebrate with you.”

  “It’s because there’s no cake.”

  “Because you won’t eat cake.”

  “I want cake.” I sighed and rested my head on his chest.

  I felt him draw in a deep breath and release it slowly. Pushing back, I looked up at him, his eyes darkened to a deeper, stormier blue, but one corner of his mouth quirked up.

  He cradled my face in his large hands, the roughness of his skin slowly tracing across my lower lip as he pulled it out from between my teeth. My tongue darted out to soothe the bite I hadn’t even realized was happening. He hissed in a breath when his touch met the moisture, his muscles going taut.

  I rose onto my toes and glided my hands up around his neck and higher to tangle into his messy locks. A groan from deep within his chest rumbled as I tugged slightly, encouraging him down to me.

  I expected something hard and fast, ravenous and fierce. But what I got was a slow torture. A teasing breath, a light brush, a tiny nip. And then finally a deep and languid kiss. The kind that melts you from your very core. That steals your breath and makes you tingle. Spots dance behind your eyes and you feel like you’re on the downward drop of a roller coaster, unsure if the feeling in your stomach is fear or excitement. You suck in oxygen but don’t really care if you get it or not because what you really want to breathe is him. And then it lightens. It eases and gentles. The kisses become softer, more brief. But you don’t want to open your eyes and break the spell. You want to stay in that moment and ward off the cold that comes when you pull apart. Because at some point you have to pull apart.

  So I didn’t. I didn’t open my eyes. I didn’t look when he kissed my forehead and whispered “Happy birthday” one more time. I only opened them when he added, “I have cake.”

  I reared back my head, betrayal written across my face. “Why would you bring cake here?”

  He walked away with a stupid smirk on his face and opened a cabinet, pulling out a small white box. Lifting the top, he tilted it to me so I could see.

  It was dark brown, clearly chocolate, which he knew was not my favorite, though he was pretty much the only one. Written in thick white letters was Throw Me.

  I clapped a hand over my mouth as I started laughing, my eyes suspiciously watery.

  He gave the box a jostle. “Come on. You know you want to.”

  “Where?” I looked at him with wide eyes.

  “We can throw it at the tree in your backyard.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “That’s going to get disgusting.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Really? Do you ever spend time relaxing back there, or back there at all?”

  He had me there, so I shrugged and led the way outside. I sat cross-legged in the grass, about fifteen feet from a large oak tree. He lowered himself down beside me, allowing his knee to rest on top of mine.
I stared at the sight of our legs folded together for a long while before the cake box was plopped in my lap.

  “Birthday girl goes first.”

  I lifted the lid and started to reach for the first handful. “This is about as weird now as it was then.”

  He nudged my shoulder. “So are you.”

  Quick as I could, I dipped my finger in the frosting and went for his face, trying to dollop some on his nose. But he captured my hand and took my finger into his mouth, tongue swirling around as he sucked off the sugary topping.

  “I thought you didn’t like chocolate either,” I said, completely out of breath.

  His lips curved into a smile. “It’s a little different coming off you.”

  My mouth formed an O as I let that sink in, until he pushed my hand back into the cake and I cringed in grossed-out delight.

  Once I was in though, I was ready to get messy. I grabbed a big chunk and tossed it with all my might into the trunk of the tree. It smacked and splattered and dripped down to the grass below. Taking another handful, I passed it to Jace, who took it with as much trepidation as I’d started with.

  He let it fly with a yell, and it sailed right past the tree. We both watched it sail over the back fence and into the neighbor’s yard. Then we sat in wide-eyed silence.

  “Well”—he cleared his throat—“I didn’t see that one happening.”

  I let out a loud snort, covering my face with my arm as I dissolved into giggles. His face was just a bit red, but he was shaking his head and laughing as he took another piece of cake and threw again, this time hitting his target with a bit more precision.

  We continued taking turns until there was nothing but crumbs left in the container, crumbs neither of us were even tempted to eat. I leaned against his shoulder, adrenaline leaving my body a limp mess. Jace linked his frosting-covered hand in mine, sticky and uncomfortable if it weren’t him.

  “What are we doing, Jace? What’s next?”