The dumpee sighed. “Who cares if I win if I really lost?”
His friends groaned in horror at the emotion. “Ah shit, I can’t hear this all weekend. We’re here to have fun, dude. Make some money. Drink. Get lucky.”
Gen couldn’t help it. She tapped one of them on the shoulder. “Excuse me, but I think the four is gonna win.”
All three of them checked her out, and it seemed she passed the test. The dumpee’s companions gave her broad, welcoming grins. “Hey, that’s great. This is Ed, I’m Tom, and this here is Steve.”
“Hi, I’m Gen.” She focused on Ed. “I’m sorry about your girlfriend.”
The other two winced, but Ed nodded. “Thanks. It sucks. We’ve been together for two years but she fell in love with some actor in her class. He’s got bad teeth but she didn’t care. Said he was exciting and artistic.”
She clucked in sympathy. “If she didn’t appreciate you, it’s better this happened now. But I know that won’t make you feel better. You’re lucky to have awesome friends to try and help.”
Tom and Steve puffed up. “Why don’t you hang with us and watch the race? We’re going up to the rail. Did you come with your girlfriends?” They looked around hopefully.
“No, sorry. Can you help me though? What do I say to put a hundred bucks on number four to win?”
“Whoa, you really like four, huh?” Tom asked.
“Yeah. I’m tired of the cool horses winning all the time. I think he has a shot.”
Ed gave a small grin. “Me, too. I’m sticking with my bet.”
Steve shrugged. “Your money. I’m taking the one. Gen, when you get to the booth, say you want race one, a hundred dollars to win on the four horse. Got it?”
“Thanks. I got a feeling.”
The Black Eyed Peas song played in her brain as she got her ticket. Wolfe wasn’t at the picnic table so she decided to go to the rail with the guys. They were really nice to her, joking around and flirty in an innocent type of way. Had she ever felt that young? Lately, at only twenty-six years old, she felt as if she’d aged a hundred years. It was nice to relax in the hot sun and pretend she had no other cares in the world except winning on a horse.
She clutched her ticket and peered over the gate, cursing her wimpy five feet. Before she realized, Steve hauled her up and onto his shoulders. A squeal escaped her mouth. “I’m too heavy for you. Ah!” She frantically gripped at his shoulders for balance while the guys broke into laughter. The people surrounding them gave a cheer.
“Are you kidding? You’re light as a feather. See, now you can see the horses.”
Gen relaxed a bit. He was right. It was actually kind of cool; she’d never been on a guy’s shoulders before. The stream of horses pranced in front, bodies gleaming, heads tossing, and then were guided into their separate gates. All of a sudden, there was a buzz and the announcer screamed over the speakers, “And they’re off!”
She never knew a race could be so long. She never knew a race could be so short. The horses flew around the track at a rapid pace, dirt flying up from their hooves, jockeys leaning over, the pace punishing and brutal as they fought each other for space.
Disappointed Dreamer was dead last. The number one horse—Rapid Rose—held the lead, keeping tight to the rail. The crowd screamed different names out loud, gazes pinned to the field of ten, and slowly, ever so slowly, the number four began to inch his way toward the middle.
The scarlet uniform stood out boldly among the jockeys. Head tucked, legs a blur, the rider made up ground in rapid time, and they neared the finish line. Other horses dropped one by one, with Rapid Rose still holding the lead, but Disappointed Dreamer hit his stride and closed in so fast Gen couldn’t believe it was possible.
She yelled so loud her throat hurt, and Steve bounced up and down, so she grasped his head to make sure she didn’t topple. And then number four was neck and neck with number one, and they battled for two long, long seconds.
Disappointed Dreamer crossed the finish line a few noses ahead.
Steve reached up and easily plucked her from his shoulders. The moment her feet hit the ground she danced like a crazy person. Her heart raced and her palms sweat and raw adrenaline pumped through her system. The photo finish was quickly resolved. It was official.
“Holy crap, you made over two grand!” Tom said, shaking his head. “What a race.”
“We won, we won,” she screeched, hugging Ed. “I told you I had a feeling.”
Suddenly, a cold voice broke through the revelry, making her stop and freeze.
“What the hell is going on?”
She jerked around and stared into a pair of icy blue eyes.
Uh-oh. Now she had another feeling.
She was in trouble.
Eight
IF THERE WAS one thing he lived as his motto, it was “Be cool.”
Not much rattled him anymore. After a brutal past and hard journey to get where he was, Wolfe decided he was pretty much done with all those highs and lows of emotion. That’s why he did better with women for the short term. He didn’t have a jealous bone in his body. And he might get a bit irritated at work, but nothing really moved him to show actual anger.
Until now.
He was about to pound on Pretty Boy’s face and he had no idea why.
She’d been on his fucking shoulders. With her crotch jammed in his neck. The tight threesome seemed quite enchanted with her win—not to mention he was a bit amazed at the four horse himself—but it was the expression on her face that made him want to go apeshit.