Chapter 8 Good Lord, He Got a Horse #2
His hand flies to his chest as if someone shot him, but his teasing tone says otherwise. “Ouch. Let me make it up to you. Why don’t you come over for drinks tonight?”
“Give me your phone. I’ve changed my mind. I’m deleting my number.”
He shuffles out of my reach. “No,” he chuckles.
I sigh and cross my arms. “My number is for emergencies only.”
Jonah watches me for a beat too long, his blue eyes bright, but they darken the lower they travel. A devilish smirk creeps over his face, and for a moment, I wonder if he even knows he’s smiling, or if his default expression is one meant to put people at ease (or turn them on).
He winks. “Emergencies only.”
I peek once again to make sure the girls are far enough away, but still I lower my voice as far as I can. “What are you doing here?” I ask, gesturing between us. “What’s your endgame?”
“Can a man not make a drink for a woman?”
“Not this woman,” I deadpan, and turn away. “C’mon, girls. We’re leaving. Goodbye Dane. It was nice to meet you, Neal.” I say nothing to Jonah.
Delta and Lo give the mare one more pat each, then run back toward the house the only way little children can, without a care in the world and floating on a breeze.
I walk back, but before I’m out of earshot, Jonah calls out, “I’ll text you.”
The girls are almost to the house and can’t see me, so I flip him the bird without turning around.
“Mom, can we go visit Ginger again?” Delta asks once we’re back in our yard. “Did you know she’s blind? Can we take her carrots?”
Loretta glues herself to my side and tugs on my shirt, her eyes the size of twin moons, and her smile vibrant. It’s her way of saying please, and what I wouldn’t give to hear her actually say it.
I can’t deny them this. My daughters deserve their own horses, and if I could, I’d give them stables full. So with a reluctant nod, I agree they can visit Ginger another day with my permission and supervision.
Squeals curl around the yard and find their way into my heart as the girls cartwheel and somersault away.
I can do this for them, I think to myself. I can resist Jonah’s misguided charm for the sake of the children’s happiness.
I’ve done far harder things.
Jonah
I can’t stop the smile plastered to my face as I watch Renée walk back to her home while giving me the middle finger.
She’s feisty. I didn’t know she could be.
In class, she was always so mild-mannered and even-tempered, even when I was getting under her skin.
Her voice was always calm, cool, and collected.
But this side of her—and I’m not just talking about her pronounced butt I want to sink my teeth into—this firecracker side, is lighting me up.
“What was that about?” my father asks as the three of us cross the backyard, leading Ginger to her new home in my fully stocked stable.
“That would be my lady friend.”
Dane rears his head back, and his eyebrows furrow. “What?”
Dad is almost as confused.
“She was my professor for a nature study class I took a couple of years ago.”
“That you failed,” my brother adds, unnecessarily.
I shrug and guide Ginger into the stable. “And we hooked up.”
Dad looks like he’s about to choke, but Dane rolls his eyes. “No you didn’t. And she’s married.”
“You hooked up with your professor, son?”
I run my hands along Ginger’s face and scrub behind her ears. “Not when I was a student. It was right before I won the lottery... the night before, actually. And she’s not married anymore.”
My brother is too stunned to speak. He just looks at me, fumbling for even one word, but nothing concrete forms.
“Does she know about your winnings?” Dad asks.
“No.”
“Good.”
“Why can’t I tell her though? She wouldn’t tell anyone.”
Dad shakes his head before plucking the new horse brush off the shelf and running it through Ginger’s tufts. “It’s not just about her telling anyone. It’s about her asking for money because she knows how deep your pockets are.”
“But she’s seen where I live.”
“It’s different, Jonah. Just stick to what the attorneys said.”
“That’s no fun. And she’s so hot, I just wanna... I don’t know...” I trail off because I really don’t know how to finish that sentence.
“Give her everything she’s ever wanted?” Dad offers.
My brain bulb clicks on. “Yeah!”
Dad sighs. “Son, I don’t think Renée is your speed.”
“Oh, that’s okay. Not a lot of people can run as fast as me. I wouldn’t hold it against her.”
“No, bud—”
Dane cuts him off. “He means she’s way out of your league, much older than you, and in a different part of her life than you.”
“I just wanna hook up with her. She can’t be that much older than me,” I say with a huff. “Plus, I don’t really care that she’s older. If anything, it turns me on.”
Dad throws his hands up in surrender. “Okay, you don’t need to say everything that floats through your mind when I’m here.”
I direct my focus to Dane. “What do you mean she’s out of my league? She’s hot as hell, and we’d be hot together. God.” I sigh wistfully. “Can’t you picture it?”
“No, and don’t ask me to do that again.” His lip curls up as the pause lingers between us. “She’s way smarter than you, bro. Like, leagues smarter.” He gestures with his hands like he’s scaling a ladder. “Granted, most people are, but she’s still smarter than most people.”
Dad lightly shoves his middle child. “Don’t say that about your brother.”
My brother doesn’t apologize; instead, he shrugs like, You know I’m only telling the truth.
He is. I am dumb. Who needs smarts when you’ve got pretty privilege?
Dad sighs and levels me with a trademark Dad stare that tells me he means business. “Renée is not some hot young thing who can be spontaneous with you—”
“I’m not that spontaneous.”
Dane throws a blanket he was folding over a railing before he turns to me. “You drove to Orlando six months ago after watching a viral video about a restaurant that makes elote.”
That elote was fire.
But he has a point, so I shut my mouth.
“Son, she’s a single mother. Her priorities are very different from yours.”
I scoff and rub Ginger’s velvety nose that’s so darn soft I could melt.
I’ve always been able to get what I want.
Heck, I’ve always been lucky enough to fall right into things I didn’t ask for, but made my life easier.
Good looks and charm have given me everything, so if I want Renée Wilde, it’s only a matter of time before I have her.
Her feistiness from earlier will only make our inevitable bedroom tangle that much sweeter. She can’t run away from this for long. I’m too fast, and she’s too mouth-watering.
I smile when the best idea ever springs forth. “I bet she’ll come with me to Isaiah’s wedding next month if I ask her.”
Dad turns to Dane. “Did he hear anything I just said?”
My brother’s lips flatten. “Unlikely.”
“So you take her to the wedding,” Dad says. “Then what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Exactly. See, that’s something you’ve gotta sort out. She doesn’t seem like the type who’s just in it for kicks when it comes to weddings.”
Dad’s words settle in while I detangle Ginger’s mane. He might have a point. I haven’t had any serious relationships since college because I was always a stepping stone before my exes found their better match. Like I was a detour on their way to their destination.
I’ve pretty much always been Good Time Jonah.
Partly because I do genuinely enjoy a good time (who doesn’t?), but mostly, if I’m honest, it’s because I don’t want to get hurt again.
Breakups are brutal. Like when your college girlfriend breaks up with you the day before finals, moves out, and takes the dog you bought together two months earlier!
It’s not that I want to stay single forever—I just figured the right person would fall into my life one day. Like—boom—here’s your wife. She’s gorgeous and thinks you’re funny. That’s how most good things happen to me.
But Renée’s not exactly falling into me the way I thought The One would.
If anything, she tries to leave as soon as possible when we’re together.
Which is weird because, did she not feel our connection that night at Strip Tease?
We were so in sync, our bodies like a duet.
Or magnets. I don’t know; I’m not good with metaphors.
I’ve hooked up with enough women in my life to know one-night stands are never that good.
What we shared was more memorable than any try I’ve scored, and more beautiful than any place I’ve been, and I’ve been to France.
.. or maybe it was Greece? Either way, there was ice cream and pretty ocean views, so like, really romantic.
Perhaps Dad is right, and she’s not spontaneous.
But what could be spontaneous about attending a wedding with me?
She’ll have a few weeks to prepare, and I can show her the side of me that dances with my clothes on.
Well, clothes that stay on. Eh, who am I kidding—if I can get her to that wedding, I’ll charm our clothes off and we’ll just have to fall into my bed to stay warm for the night.
I am but a simple man with simple needs.