Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
GABE
Irubbed at the tight knot in my back and tried to stretch as I waited for the coffee to brew and the pot of water on the tiny stove to boil.
My muscles were stiff from sleeping on the pullout sofa last night.
Jasmine had fallen asleep while watching TV, her head lolling to the side and landing on my shoulder.
I’d let her stay like that for a long time, not wanting to risk waking her up by moving her too soon.
When I was satisfied she was good and asleep, I carried her to the bigger bed on the platform behind us.
Then I adjusted the sleeper sofa so it was flat and stretched out across it.
It wasn't the most comfortable bed I’d ever slept in to say the least.
The sound of rustling came from the back of the trailer, and I glanced over to the bed.
My chest tightened with longing at the sight of Jasmine stirring beneath the blankets.
It had been tempting to lie down beside and hold her for a little while last night, especially after she sleepily confessed that was exactly what she wanted.
My reply slipped off my tongue before I could stop it, but I prayed she wouldn’t remember this morning.
I retrieved two mugs from the cabinet and grabbed the zero sugar caramel coffee creamer I’d found in the fridge. She yawned and stretched before slipping out of bed and descending the few steps that led to the main living area.
“Mornin’,” she said, her voice scratchy from sleep as she rubbed her eyes.
Her bun was a mess, listing to one side with several strands of hair coming loose from her scrunchie, and her skin was flushed pink from sleep.
I liked seeing her this way far too much.
She was a beautiful woman, but first thing in the morning, she was kind of adorable.
She stumbled to the bathroom, and I fought the urge to watch her retreating form.
Her sleepwear was far too enticing, though in the light of day, I found it was a little easier to look at her and not imagine things I had no business thinking about.
She’d caught me off guard last night when she came out of the bathroom wearing those tiny shorts and tank top.
I hadn’t had time to put up my defenses, and I’d nearly swallowed my tongue.
She’d noticed too. Her breath had hitched, and a blush had spread over her cheeks.
I’d practically ran to the bathroom to get away from her.
Looking at her like that made me feel things I didn't want to feel for my best friend’s daughter.
Jasmine reappeared a few moments later, looking only slightly more alert.
She had thankfully thrown on a robe, and though it was one of those short ones that still revealed plenty of leg, I could no longer see the outline of her nipples through the thin fabric of her cami or the crease at the top of her thighs revealed by her short shorts.
“Coffee?” I asked, glancing away and shaking the image from my head. She’d forgotten to set her alarm last night, but I knew the smell of freshly brewed coffee would rouse her...
“Please,” she said and sank down in one of the chairs at the tiny kitchen table as I poured some into a mug. “My creamer is in the fridge.”
“Already got it,” I announced, bringing it to the table along with her cup. She added a generous pour to her coffee, and I chuckled as it nearly overflowed. “I guess I should’ve left a little more room for your creamer.”
“I like it sweet,” she announced unapologetically.
“Noted,” I said as I went back to the tiny stove and dropped some eggs into the boiling water.
She’d revealed that on race days, she always had two hard boiled eggs, a banana, and one slice of sourdough toast for breakfast. While I waited for the eggs to cook, I poured myself a cup and brought it to the table.
Pulling out the chair opposite Jasmine, I winced as I slowly lowered myself into it, my movements stiff and tedious.
Jasmine watched me over the rim of her mug, one eyebrow cocked as she blew on her coffee to cool it down. “What’s wrong, old man? Got a kink in your back from sleeping on that glorified futon?”
I laughed at her playful gibe, but a tight knot formed in my chest at the reminder of our age difference. I wasn’t exactly an old man, but I was certainly too old for her, a fact I hated but needed to remember.
“Maybe,” I replied nonchalantly, “or I could’ve tweaked it when I was trying to get away from you before you could soak my shirt in drool last night.” Her mouth fell open in incredulity. “I don’t mind you falling asleep on my shoulder, but I draw the line at slobbering all over me.”
“I do not drool,” she claimed haughtily, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Whatever you say, Cujo,” I replied, my tone laced with skepticism.
“Did you just compare me to a St. Bernard with rabies?” Instead of answering, I shrugged.
“You jerk,” she screeched, playfully kicking me under the table, and I doubled over with laughter.
“That’s it. I want a new traveling companion.
You’re supposed to be pumping me up for the race, not insulting me. ”
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry,” I said, holding my hands up in surrender as I tried to compose myself.
Her lips twitched, but she pressed them together to conceal her amusement.
“You’re the best barrel racer I’ve ever seen.
No one is as fast as you. You are speed.
Speed is you.” She cracked then, letting loose an unladylike snort as her shoulders shook with laughter.
“Stop,” she pleaded breathlessly, clutching her stomach.
“You’re terrible at this.” We continued to laugh and joke as we ate breakfast and got ready for the day, moving and existing in the same space with an ease I hadn’t expected.
When it was time for warmups, we headed to the horse stalls to prepare Juniper for the race and just like this morning, we worked together like a well-oiled machine.
I watched as Jasmine took her around the pen a few times, looking for any areas of concern, but found none. She was ready.
I watched with a mixture of nervousness and pride as she trotted toward the chutes.
There was no doubt in my mind that she was going to do great, but could she win?
This was a big event, and she had some pretty tough competition, but if she could stay focused and keep her turns tight, she had a damn good chance.
I held my breath as they announced her name, and I waited for her race to start. She entered the arena at full speed, and the air whooshed from my lungs.
“Go, baby, go,” I chanted under my breath.
Just like her last race, she sped around the barrels.
When her run was over and her time was announced, I jumped up and clapped like my favorite team had just won the World Series.
“Yes,” I shouted, watching her name rise to the top of the leaderboard.
Hers was the time to beat, and not one person there managed to do it.