17. Jasmine
JASMINE
The drive is chaos in motion—windows down, music blasting, and Brooke singing Britney Spears like her life depends on it. I match her energy, yelling Paramore lyrics out the window and drumming my boots on the dashboard while she laughs and messes up every other lyric.
Every now and then, her fingers graze mine on the center console, light and teasing, like she’s not trying to set me on fire.
I don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone this badly and wanted to know all their little favorite things.
I want to know everything about Brooke from how my name sounds on her lips when I’m between her legs to her favorite cereal as a child.
By the time we hit a winding dirt road lined with towering oaks, the world gets quieter—less like we’re driving and more like we’re being led somewhere. Brooke’s practically vibrating with excitement, her giddiness spilling into the air like static.
We pull up to a wide, open ranch that looks like it was carved straight from a dream.
Rolling fields of golden grass stretch out under a sky so wide it makes you feel small.
The fences are old but strong, weathered wood bleached soft by the sun.
A big red barn sits off to the side, flanked by pastures and a faded sign swinging gently in the breeze.
There’s dust in the air and sunlight everywhere, and for the first time, Brooke looks still. Like something inside her just clicked.
We roll up to a tan-brown house with a wraparound porch and hanging ferns, and she parks the car with a quiet exhale.
I lean forward, eyes wide. “Where are we?”
Brooke smiles, her voice soft. “Home.”
She’s practically glowing as we both hop out of the car, boots crunching over the gravel driveway, the air thick with the kind of late-summer heat that clings to your skin and smells like dry grass and open sky.
Brooke doesn’t wait for me to catch up—she spins in a slow, full circle with her arms stretched wide, head tipped back toward the fading sun like she’s soaking in every inch of it. For a second, she looks untouched by the world. Like this is the version of her no one else gets to see.
“This is where I spent every summer to train for horseback riding,” she says, glancing over her shoulder with that lopsided grin that’s starting to live rent-free in my chest. “ Just me, the dirt, and the horses. This is my safe haven.”
I follow her toward the stables, drawn in like gravity’s realigned itself to center on her.
The house behind us is still, quiet. The porch light flickers like it knows it’s not needed tonight—the moon already climbing high, casting silver shadows across the fields.
Everything around us glows with that soft twilight haze, the kind that makes me feel like I’ve stumbled into a dream I forgot I had.
She walks ahead, hips swaying, confidence soft but steady. I trail behind her, smiling at the way her soft curls bounce behind her, at the faint dust on her boots that clearly never left.
“I should warn you,” she says as we pass a fenced paddock where two horses graze lazily under the fading sun, “the horses here? They don’t take orders very well, but they’re sweethearts.”
“So... you,” I smirk.
She shoots me a look over her shoulder, all raised brow and hidden amusement. “Excuse you—I can take orders very well, thank you very much.”
“Good to know, babydoll,” I murmur, stepping in just close enough for my breath to graze her ear. I don’t miss the subtle shiver that runs down her spine. “Promise to let me test that later?”
She laughs—real, unfiltered, and warm enough to melt every thought I had before she opened her mouth.
With one hand gripping the stable door, she lifts the other and forms a crooked peace sign—ring and middle fingers twisted in front of one eye like a makeshift vow.
“Promise.”
She tugs the stable doors open like muscle memory, and a wave of scent rolls out—fresh hay, sun-warmed leather, cedarwood, and something distinctly animal.
“Jesus,” I cough, swatting at the air. “That is... aggressive. ”
Brooke grins as she steps inside, her silhouette lit by the glow slipping in through the slats of wood.
“Welcome to my kingdom,” she announces, sweeping an arm dramatically through the dust-swirled light. “Just don’t breathe too deeply.”
I follow her in, already gagging a little. “Too late,” I manage between coughs, though I’m still smiling.
Brooke whistles low, and from the far stall, a horse steps forward. He’s tall, muscular, and coated in this stunning silver sheen that practically glows under the moonlight. His mane falls like silk, and his eyes are dark and sharp.
“That’s Osy,” she says softly. “And before you ask, no—you can’t ride him unless he lets you. He only listens to me.”
I blink. “He looks like a mythical creature. Like he should be guarding a treasure chest or a cursed sword.”
Brooke chuckles, moving past Osy to grab a saddle from the rack with the kind of practiced ease that makes her look carved from this place. “He’d be terrible at that job. He’s kind of lazy,” she says, throwing the saddle up over the edge of a stall. “But he’s mine.”
Osy lets out a soft, snorting breath and immediately noses her shoulder. She reaches up without even looking and strokes his muzzle. He leans into it like a dog and huffs out a sigh of relief.
“But you ”—she turns and gestures me forward—“will be riding Josie.”
The horse she leads out next is smaller, older, and coated in a soft dappled gray that fades to near-white around her nose. Her ears flick when she sees me, and her eyes are deep and kind, as she rolls her head.
“She’s an absolute dream,” Brooke says, brushing Josie’s mane with the same affection she gave Osy, but gentler. “She’s slow, stubborn on hills, and obsessed with carrots. But she’ll take care of you.”
I step closer, and Josie noses at my palm like she’s already decided I’m harmless.
“Hi, pretty girl,” I whisper.”I’m sorry I don’t have any carrots.”
“She likes you,” Brooke says with a little smile. “Which means she’ll behave. Probably.”
She lifts a brow, hips cocked to the right, a smirk tugging at the corner of her glossed lips. “Mmm, I don’t know if that’s true.”
I step in behind her just as she finishes securing the saddle on Josie, the leather creaking softly beneath her hands. My palms find her waist like they were made for it, fingers brushing the soft curve of her hips, and she leans back into me like it’s instinct.
My lips ghost over the warm skin of her shoulder, just where the strap of her tank top falls, and I breathe her in—sun-warmed skin, sweat, and something sweet like honey and danger.
“Want me to fact check?” I murmur, the words barely more than breath against her skin.
“After I teach you how to ride,” she says, her voice tighter now, low and full of things unsaid.
Then she bends forward to adjust the stirrup, and her ass grazes against me— just enough to make my breath catch in my throat, and the girl fucking giggles at my demise. She’s doing this on purpose. This girl is trying to kill me.
I eye her, hands still on her waist. “This your idea of foreplay?”
She straightens up, face flushed but grinning. “Only if you behave.”
Then she tosses me a helmet over her shoulder, like the smug tease she is and I snort, securing the helmet onto my head. Brooke immediately helps me mount—her hands at my waist, her body warm against mine for just a second longer than necessary. I steady myself in the saddle.
Surprisingly, I manage to hold my posture. I sit tall, reins in hand, boots snug against the stirrups just like she showed me.
“Look at you,” Brooke calls, arms crossed as she watches me from against the gate. “Naturally hot and talented. I might start getting jealous.”
“Jealousy looks cute on you,” I toss back. “Adds to your whole tragic Southern debutante vibe.”
She flips me off over her shoulder, and I laugh—full, loud, and more at ease than I’ve felt in weeks.
Brooke grabs the reins and leads Josie and me out into the small field in front of the stables, bordered by a low wooden fence and dappled with moonlight. The grass glows silver, and everything feels soft and slowed down, like we’ve stepped into another version of the world where only we exist.
“Easy, girl,” Brooke murmurs, her voice gentle as she strokes Josie’s neck. “We’re just going on a little walk.”
Josie snorts quietly, flicking an ear back as if listening, then steps forward without hesitation, completely trusting.
Brooke glances up at me, hand still on the reins, eyes twinkling. “You ready?”
I shift in the saddle and smirk down at her. “As ready as I’ll ever be…but let me remind you I’m not much of a rider.”
She grins. “I’ll tell Landon to teach you. I’m sure, he’d love a spin.”
I’m sure he would, but I want a ride from you.
I roll my eyes at her, biting down a grin, and Brooke just smirks like she knows exactly what she’s doing. With a click of her tongue and a low whistle to Josie, she starts walking us into the moonlit field.
For a few minutes, I actually feel it—that high, that freedom.
Josie moves steady beneath me, her gait smooth and easy, and the saddle fits like it was made for me.
The night air slips cool against my skin, and Brooke walks beside us, her hand brushing the reins, the other occasionally resting on Josie’s flank like she’s checking to see if I’m still breathing.
“Relax your grip,” she says softly, her voice like honey over gravel. “Let her lead a little. Don’t fight the rhythm—feel it.”
I do. I let my body fall into the movement, hips swaying gently with each step, spine straight, boots secure in the stirrups.
I circle the paddock once, then again, growing bolder, more fluid. Brooke eventually lets go of the reins and leans against the fence, arms crossed under the soft rise of her chest, eyes glinting beneath the moonlight.
Brooke lets a slow smirk crawl across her lips. “ See? You’re a natural rider,” she purrs, voice low and teasing. “Knew you had it in you.”