Chapter 12

Take it on now girls give the eyes what they want to see
Take it on now girls be whatever you want to be
Crazy ladies, tight-ass bodies
Let'em know we come to party
Live it up now boys got your eyes on that lady
Live it up now cuz she won't be your baby
Go home lonely, leave you horny, it's a girls night after party
Fuck'em all cuz men don't have nothing but dicks on us
Fuck'em all cuz they soft then beg us to strap on us
Get your big "O"., no love making,
Let him know his bitch was fakin'

Here's to the men we love to love
(Hmm I wonder who that could be?)
Here's to the men in love with us
Here's to the men who pass on us
Fuck the men, Let's drink to us y'all

(lyrics from “A Toast to Men” Willa Ford)

“Fuck bro it’s good to see you.” Mike could clearly hear Nicky laughing as he wrapped him in an epic bear hug. Maybe there were people looking at and thinking that they were some kind of couple but right at that moment he didn’t care. It was good to finally have someone around he could talk to that knew the real him.

“It’s good to see you too,” Nicky patted his back in return and then cleared his throat, letting Mike know he’d held on a beat too long and he unravelled himself from Nicky just in time to see Brooksy bearing down on them like a freight train.

“It’s only been a couple of weeks lovebirds,” he laughed as he wrapped his albatross like arms around them and leads them both towards the exit, “but the folks are starting to think this is some kind of Pride parade so let’s get moving.” Mike almost pointed that Calgary had already had its Pride parade but knew that would only start Brooks on a hundred reasons why he knew Mike would know that and decided to keep his mouth shut. “Point me in the direction of the nearest watering hole,” he added as they stepped out into the dry heat, “they didn’t have any beer on that flight.” 

“I thought we’d hit my place, relax...,” Mike began but Brooksy’s long groan cut him off. 

“But I want cowgirls and beer now!” he whined like a child and then laughed as he tossed his clubs and bag into the back of Mike’s vehicle. “C’mon you have to give me something to do while you two fags kiss and cuddle.” 

“Speaking of cowgirls,” Mike began self consciously as he slipped behind the wheel. He glanced in the rear view mirror at Brooks who knew better than to call shotgun. When it came to a choice between his two best friends on the team, it was going to be Nicky every time. Unless of course Ovie was part of the entourage in which case everyone just automatically became second fiddle to the great eight. 

“Please tell me you already have some total hotties lined up,” Brooks’ reflection grinned back at him and Mike slid down in his seat as he aimed the car back into traffic. 

“Not exactly,” he mumbled, shoulder checking before merging with traffic. Out of the corner of his eye he catches Nicky watching him wearing that expression on his face that the blonde Swede wears when he knows one of his friends is about to do or say something off colour, something that stretches his sensitive Scandinavian sensibilities. “Jezuuuz no I don’t have a harem waiting back at the house,” Mike laughs, the idea of it easing the tension immediately as all three of them laugh. “It’s this...do you remember that red head from the club?” He glances over at Nicky and then, more hopefully, towards Brooks who, of the two of them, would be more likely to remember a woman as beautiful as Chelsea. 

“Fuck, don’t tell me you caught something,” Brooks immediately slid back in his seat as if whatever contagion Mike had it might be airborne.

“Ha ha,” Mike grumbled as he gunned the engine and sent the Cadillac surging forward. 

“You can’t get her out of your head?” Nicky prompted quietly. Mike shot a grateful look across the car at his friend while Brooks made retching sounds in the back seat.

“We’ve been uh...seeing each other.” Shooting a quick look in the rear view mirror Mike caught the look of shock on Brooksy’s face that he’d expected. There were a lot of single guys playing for the Caps and they had a lot of fun chasing skirt. “I know, it’s a surprise to me too,” he sighed, knowing that there was no more explanation needed than what he’d already given. If any of them saw a girl more than twice, it was serious. “Just one problem,” he added, this time keeping his gaze fixed on the road ahead, “I don’t think she wants a relationship.” Mike winced when he heard the contemptuous snort from behind him but a sidelong glance at his road roommate’s expression told him that Nicky didn’t find his agony funny.

“And you do, with this girl?”  Nicky asked, causing Brooks to snort even louder and pound on the back of the driver’s seat. 

“Yeah, I do.” 

_______________________________________________________________

“Where do you keep your birth control pills?” 

“Good morning to you too,” her friend Shannon called as Chelsea’s stormed into her apartment, grabbed her purse and began rifling through it. “I don’t keep them in there, they’re in the bathroom and exactly what are you going to do with them?” Shannon asked as she followed Chelsea down the hallway. 

“I made a stupid, stupid mistake,” Chelsea grumbled as she began tossing the contents of one of the vanity’s drawers like an amateur thief. 

“They make a pill for that. You can ask for it at the pharmacy,” Shannon intoned as she leaned in the doorway of the bathroom, arms crossed, watching the scene in front of her with an amused expression on her face. “Or you could always buy your own,” she pointed out as Chelsea ripped into the blister pack, upturning it and shaking tiny white pills out onto the dark green granite counter top.

“Yeah well, that would require me to go to the doctor, get in the stirrups, be lectured about using protection and having a speculum stuck up my hoochie and I don’t have time for that,” Chelsea replied, scooping half a dozen pills into her hand and lifting them all towards her mouth. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa girl. Let’s not get carried away.” Shannon reached for Chelsea’s hand and kept her from tipping the pills into her mouth. “You only need to take like three,” she instructed in a tone that sounded a lot like the voice of experience, “and before you do, d’ya wanna tell me what’s going on?” Chelsea opened her hand and stared down at the small pills and signed. 

“I told you, I made a stupid mistake.” Her friend wrapped her arms around her and they stood there, in the middle of the tiny bathroom in silence while Chelsea tried to figure out how to explain the mess she was in. Finally, as Shannon reached for the glass beside the sink, filled it half way and handed it to her, Chelsea looked at her friend and just started to talk. 

“I knew when I came back from D.C....I mean Jimmy and I agreed that when I was there I was a free agent but when I came back we were going to talk about, y’know, forever and stuff and when I left I was actually looking forward to it,” she began, following Shannon out of the bathroom and into the kitchen where she dropped into a chair at the table while her friend hopped up onto the counter. 

“I know you were. You were already looking at bridal magazines,” Shannon agreed, swinging her denim clad legs as she listened. Chelsea heaved a sigh, dropped the pills on the table beside the glass and stared at them.

“But then everything was so different in D.C. I mean...it wasn’t all shoveling shit and trail rides. There were parties and meetings and shopping and...I felt like a totally different person there. More...I don’t know, grown up I guess.” Chelsea looked over at her friend and watched her dark curls bob as she nodded.

“And then there was the one night stand,” Shannon prompted in that tone that should always be followed by that ‘dun dun duh’ drama sound effect and Chelsea went back to staring at the pills.

‘Yeah, Mike,” she agreed, her shoulders slumping. 

“So he has a name.” Chelsea looked up, tilted her head to the side and swept her hair back from her neck, displaying the livid love bite he’d left behind. Her friend gasped. “Wait...he wasn’t a one night stand?” Chelsea shook her head. 

“It turns out he’s from here and...fuck!” Her hands curled into fists on her lap as she thought about the way they’d left things. “I like him...a lot,” she admitted while trying not to laugh at the almost comical look of shock and surprise on her friend’s face. 

“Oh my god, does Jimmy know?” Shannon jumped off of the counter and pulled up a chair beside the one Chelsea was currently occupying. 

“Yeah and god damn him, he’s being really good about it,” Chelsea complained, leaning on the table and dropping her head into her hands. “Just when I think I don’t feel anything for him anymore, he sits there and blames himself. He actually asked me if he should wait for me. Now what am I supposed to say to that?” 

“You know what you need,” Shannon leaned forward and tapped Chelsea on the top of the head. “You need a girls’ night out. No men allowed. I’m calling Mandy and Tracey and we are going Vinyl. No,” she shook her finger at her friend when Chelsea looked like she was going to argue, “we are going and that’s final.”

_______________________________________________________

“I keep forgetting how much I like this city during Stampede,” Brooks arrived back at the table with a very drunk, very giggly scantily clad girl under each arm and a broad grin on his face. Under normal circumstances Mike was usually happy to see Brooks or Ovie rounding up fresh tail but tonight he wasn’t in the mood to be fawned over by girls wearing too much make up and smelling like tequila. Speaking of which....

“Bottoms up.” Mike tipped his shot glass against Nicky’s and they both downed the silver fire at the same time. Nicky coughed and immediately went for the lime wedge. Mike enjoyed the burn, feeling it scorching his insides all the way down into his stomach. Licking his lips he looked for the lime wedge that had just been where the shot glass’s wet ring still decorated the table, his hand hovering over the empty spot. 

“Right here cowboy.” Mike turned towards the source of the voice and watched as the lime wedge was pressed against smooth tanned flesh towards a belly button decorated by a diamond dangle. He was drunk, but not that drunk. Not yet. 

“No thanks,” he muttered, reaching for the bottle as he ignored the bite the Gran Patron had left at the back of his throat and poured another shot for himself before holding the bottle out towards Nicky. 

“Hey, I brought presents,” Brooks complained as he slid onto one of the bar stools, his consorts, feeling unwanted disappearing back into the crowded dance floor. 

“Shot?” Mike offered his full glass which Brooks shook off. 

“C’mon man, you’ve sat there like a bump on a log all night and there’s a whole dance floor full of hot drunk women who want to show their appreciation for that last round of drinks you bought.” Mike filled his shot glass, held it up, looked his friend right in the eye and then tipped his head back and let the tequila slither down his throat like liquid flame. His head was beginning to pound but other than that, the three hundred dollars he’d laid down for this bottle and who knows how much Brooks had put on his credit card had done absolutely nothing to make him forget about Chelsea. 

“You should call her,” Nickey yelled into his ear as a group of women went running, shrieking towards the dance floor as some old B-52s song came on. 

“No,” Mike replied, shaking his head. “Iz ssstupid. Have any girl. I’m too young to die,” he mumbled, reaching for the bottle again. Nicky slid it out of his reach. Brooks grabbed it. 

“I think you’ve had enough of this little buddy,” the big forward patted Mike’s head affectionately with his free hand. “I’m going to put this to good use elsewhere.” Turning, Brooks bopped into the crowd, holding the expensive bottle over his head like he’d won the damn cup and the crowd greeted him like he had too.

“Maybe we should dance,’ Nicky offered, his gaze also following their teammate as he tipped the bottle against a dark beauty’s full red lips. “Sweat off the alcohol,” he added, getting to his feet and offering Mike a hand up. Mike shook his head. 

“Tell the bartender to bring more tequila.” 

______________________________________________________

“Shots, shots, shots,” Mandy pounded the bar as the bartender poured more 151 into the glasses in front of them, shaking his head the entire time. 

“Oh god, what did I let you talk me into?” Chelsea laughed, grabbing her glass and holding it up to her girlfriends who each grabbed theirs in turn. “Fuck the men let’s drink to us!” 

“Ladies, ladies, what is with the negative vibe?” Chelsea felt a heavy arm settle over her shoulder followed by a light gust of Envy cologne. “I can’t have such beautiful women feeling pessimistic. I’m going to make it my personal responsibility to turn your opinions around.” Chelsea glanced sideways at a strong jaw and piercing blue eyes. ‘No, no, no’, she thought as she forced her attention forward, ‘haven’t you got yourself in enough trouble already’ He was cute though, in that Jason Stathom sort of way, dangerous but dangerous enough to toss him out of bed sort of way. 

“And what are you gonna do to change our minds about all men being douchebags?” Shannon asked, turning so that she was leaning back against the bar, which made her boobs stick out farther, a fact the tall, ruggedly handsome, tequila bearing blue eyed looker hadn’t failed to notice. 

“Well you, for a start,” he grinned at her and Shannon grinned right back. If he thought he was going to catch her off guard he’d been sadly mistaken. “And you, next or...maybe at the same time?” he added, giving Chelsea’s a little hip check and letting his hand roam a little further south than her shoulder so that it rested on the swell of her breast. “Whaddya say girls? Wanna take this party somewhere more...intimate?” It was the kind of come on line that should have ended up with him getting smacked, but the dimples and guileless expression in his eyes somehow made it not only acceptable, but sexy. 

Shannon raised her eyebrows at Chelsea as if to ask if she wanted to a moment before her head was pulled sharply backwards, her dark curls tugged downwards, held in the fist of a furious looking curvaceous little brunette. Always quick with her reflexes Shannon tilted her drink over her shoulder, directly into the face of her assailant. It was on.

“Bitch!”

“Whore!”

“He’s mine!”

“I don’t see a ring!”

“Slut!”

“Cunt!”

“Damn,” the tall, broad shouldered handsome stranger steered Chelsea away from the hair tugging, face slapping girl fight and put his body between her and the melee. “Sorry about that. I’ve only been seeing her for a couple weeks. She’s kind of territorial,” he explained with the kind of smile that said he liked being fought over. Chelsea rolled her eyes. “So, what do you say, while they’re otherwise occupied do you want to slip out of here and....” He never got to finish the thought that had his summer sky blue eyes twinkling with mischief. His face spun, a set of knuckles embedded in his cheek. He raised his hand and rubbed at what Chelsea thought should have been a bone shattering blow and though his smile faded at the edges, it didn’t disappear entirely. “Damn Greener, what the fuck?” Chelsea spun and found herself face to face with a livid Mike, his dark eyes pinned to the man now behind her.  

“Are you fucking hitting on her? Seriously man? Fucking seriously?” She blinked up at his baby face, distorted entirely by rage and, she thought, hurt. She had the overwhelming urge to smooth away then tension making his full lips appear thin, his hooded eyes almost black. Reaching out, she pressed her hand to the middle of his chest to hold him back. She could still hear the shrill voices and intermittent screams from behind them and didn’t think anyone would be available to pull the two men apart if they decided to go and besides, she thought as she put both of her hands on his chest, she wasn’t sure Mike could take him. 

“No man I swear. Okay, well maybe a little but I didn’t know I swear,” the guy stuttered and as Chelsea looked over her shoulder she thought that he was laughing. It made her want to take a swipe at him herself.

“I told you how I feel man. Why don’t you just stick a knife in my guts man?” Chelsea turned and looked up into Mike’s dark eyes. The fury had almost entirely leaked out, replaced by pure, unadulterated anguish. 

“You know him? You know each other?” It was a moot question really, but she felt the need to inject herself between the two men from whom testosterone was practically leaking out of every pore.

“Yeah, he’s supposed to be a friend,” Mike growled and then reaching up he took her hand in his, turned and dragged her through the crowd.

_______________________________________________________

“Are you breaking up with me?” he asked, making a sudden stop and spinning her around to face him. She stumbled, reached out and put her hands against the trunk of some old Lincoln pimpmobile. His heart hammered in his chest and the beginning of a migraine was making his head pound. She was looking at him now, wide eyed but hadn’t answered him. “If you are, just tell me,” he asked, wincing when he heard a note in his voice that sounded like he was pleading.  

“Break up with you?” She raised her hand and tried, without success, to hide a grin behind it. Mike steeled himself, preparing to be laughed at. ‘First Brooks and now her’, he thought as bit down on her bottom lip, obviously trying not to laugh at him. He curled his hands into fists and looked away. It was the tequila, he told himself as he fought the urge to fish in his pockets for his keys and find the nearest culvert to drive into. “I’m sorry.” He felt her hands on his back and stiffened. This was when she was going to let him down easy and he reminded himself that it was his own fault for jumping in with his two stupid left feet. “Mike,” she coaxed, moving around his body like she was made of water, not flesh and bone, her body, warm and soft, wrapping around his. “I was trying to keep things casual. I thought that’s what we both wanted.” Mike stared at the silent cars in the parking lot around them, clenching his teeth. He should agree, keep it light, but he couldn’t. It was definitely the tequila’s fault. The shit was like truth serum. He could no more lie to her about how he felt than go back inside and dance a fucking jig. 

“I want you,” he whispered. He glanced down into her upturned gaze. She was smiling at him. He wanted to kiss her, really badly, even if she was going to laugh at him. Casual, it was what he was supposed to want but he didn’t. Not with her. 

“Here?” she ran her hand down and gave his ass a playful smack. “In the parking lot?” she added, batting her eyes at him like she’d never consider it when the expression in her eyes and the way her sensuous mouth turned up at the corners said she already was. He should have corrected her, he even wanted to say that it wasn’t a good idea but his body was already racing ahead of his brain that was, even now, forming images of having her, of being inside of her. 

He heard himself, albeit hoarsely, tell her yes and then he was kissing her and backing her up towards the wide expanse of the trunk of that shiny black Lincoln. She squeaked when he turned her around and pressed her, face down, against the trunk of that old car but the sound she made was only surprise, not an objection he knew as he slid his hand up between her thighs and felt the heat radiating from beneath her panties. Sliding a finger inside of the black lace, it came away covered in her sticky juices. 

“Was it hot,” he hissed into her ear as he pressed his body against hers’, “having Brooks hit on you? Did you want him?” 

“No,” she replied but something in her voice told him her answer was a lie. 

“I think you did,” he growled, using one hand to open his jeans and free his dick. He held it in his hand while, with his other hand, he grabbed a handful of her red curls and tugged. “I think you wanted him to fuck you.” He waited for her to deny it but instead her full lips curled into a slow, sexy smile. 

“Maybe. He is cute,” she replied, her steely gaze holding his like a challenge, like a threat. Mike felt like he was choking on his own pride as he examined her expression, tasting the nuances of the resentment and lust he saw in her eyes on his tongue. “What is with you,” she hissed back at him, her eyes raking over him so slowly that he wanted to squirm under their scrutiny. “Are you really that insecure or do you really think I’m just a big fuckin’ slut?” 

The honest answer was that he didn’t want to answer that question on the basis that if he did she’d probably slap him and he’d deserve it. Even though she’d slept with him without so much as exchanging names he knew that Chelsea wasn’t really that kind of girl. It was one of the reasons that he was out in the dark parking lot with her now. It was one of the reasons he hadn’t just fucked her already. 

“I don’t want to share you,” he admitted, looking down at where the soft draped black fabric of the short cocktail dress she was wearing had ridden up over her ass where his body was pressed against hers’. If she was going to laugh at him being a pussy he didn’t want to see it. “Not with your ex, not with Brooks, not with anyone.” 

“I don’t want to fuck anyone else.” Her voice was softer and when he looked at her she was looking at him in a way he didn’t remember any woman ever looking at him before. There was a kind of tenderness in her eyes that he hadn’t seen there before. “I like you Mike,” she added, with that sort of shy smile that he remembered from that bar in D.C., the one that had made him want her and it had the same effect now. “I like you and I want you, okay?” He nodded and backed up, letting her off of the trunk as he pulled his jeans closed. He was carefully pulling up the zipper when he saw her hand cover his, stilling it. “That doesn’t have to go away, does it?” He looked into her eyes and the tenderness that had just been there was gone, replaced by the fire that the playful sex kitten always ignited when she came out to play. It wasn’t what he wanted but it was something. 

“I guess not,” he whispered, tipping her lips up to his and capturing her mouth in a long, soft kiss as he drew her body against his.

Chapter 11

I stopped bein' the victim
But you weren't there to see
I never felt bitter
Till you crippled me
I felt like a refugee from the pain
I had to wear that shroud with no shame
Deceit and lies
were your crying game
I never fell in love so deeply in vain

(lyrics from ‘Mr Hurricane’ by Beast)

The mare’s sweat soaked flesh rippled under her fingertips and the horse lifted her head from the straw and looked back, her eyes rolling in discomfort. Chelsea laid a kiss against the mare’s cheek and whispered soft words of encouragement while she did her best to ignore what Jimmy was doing down at the business end and not just because of the fact that at the moment he was elbow deep checking the position of the foal or filly. 

Jimmy was nice to look at. Girl, women who came up for trail rides or lessons sometimes came off their mounts when he walked out of the barn with his shirt open, never mind when his shirt was actually off like it was now and she was no more immune to that particular visual than any other red blooded woman. Plus she knew, as she listened to him settle back into the straw, he was well aware of the effect his physique had on her. Like now, as he wiped his arm off with a towel and tossed that over the side of the stall, he could put his shirt back on, but he didn’t. She considered suggesting that he’d catch a cold if he didn’t but decided against it. That would only suggest she’d been taking in the view.

“Your dad waited up last night. The lights were on up at the house most of the night.” Chelsea was tempted to point out that this meant that he had also been waiting up but instead she shrugged and kept those thoughts to herself. 

“I’m not a little girl anymore,” she reminded him quietly as she stroked the mare’s neck. He made a noise in his throat that she interpreted as half amusement and half agreement. The mare’s entire body shuddered and they both got very still, ready to go to action stations if need be but the soon to be mother laid her head back down on the hay and her breathing went back to normal, or almost normal. 

“So this...rebellion of yours...how’s that going so far?” Chelsea clenched her teeth. She’d known when he hadn’t just asked for her father’s help that Jimmy wanted to talk. She just didn’t want to fight.

“Jimmy don’t, please,” she hissed, doing her best to keep her expression calm and impassive. If the mare so much as caught a sniff of the emotional tumult in the room her stress would be doubled. As it was Chelsea was more than impressed with how calm Snow was being with her first. 

“Is he...does he treat you well?” There were a dozen questions Jimmy could have asked. That hadn’t been the one she’d anticipated. Chelsea glanced over at the tall blonde but he was staring at a space somewhere between his knees where they were pulled up as he sat on the straw with his back against the far wall of the stall. 

“He does actually,” she answered softly. Jimmy nodded and a disdainful grin tugged at the corners of his full lips. 

“I assume this is supposed to be some kind of lesson in humility,” he began, his tone changing from what had sounded like actual concern to something that was far closer to outright scorn. Chelsea didn’t reply immediately. She hadn’t thought of it quite that way. Maybe, she thought, back in D.C. there might have been an element of that, but it had also been about letting go of some of the apron strings she’d felt tied to, of being free. 

“He’s fun, that’s all,” she replied carefully. Not that she wanted to talk to Jimmy about Mike, but she did feel she owed him some kind of explanation. 

“I’m not.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement and there was anger in his voice as he forced the words out through clenched teeth. Chelsea winced but didn’t answer. Jimmy was quiet and thoughtful, the strong silent type that women always say they want, what she had thought she wanted. Now, as she watched him wring a piece of straw in his long fingers, it was hard to believe that she had really loved the self contained, domineering man whose sky blue eyes now looked more like ice. “So are you just sewing your wild oats, is that it? This is some kind of summer fling?” Mike was gone at the end of the summer, back to D.C., they both knew that, but it wasn’t something they had talked about.

“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. The mare’s belly rippled as she snorted through another contraction. For a moment Chelsea concentrated on Snow, on soothing her, but it also gave her a moment to think. 

“Am I supposed to wait?” When she looked over at him, for just a moment she thought that Jimmy might actually be going to cry. His eyes were huge and round and when he turned to look at her, tears shimmered in his blue eyes. “Do I wait while you run around and have fun?” 

“I...you don’t have to do anything.” She hadn’t given him or his feelings much thought she realized as she turned her face away from his accusing stare. “Do...do whatever you want,” she added, guilt making her chest tight and her eyes burn as she felt his gaze like a blazing heat focused directly on her. 

“Or whoever?” His bitter chortle made her shudder. “Yeah, I don’t think daddy’s little girl would like that too much. No, I’m not under any illusions that you’d stick around if I did that.” Chelsea took a deep breath. Even though Mike was going back to D.C. at the end of the summer it had never occurred to her that she would go back to Jimmy. Obviously he thought otherwise. 

“You can do whatever or whoever you want Jimmy,” she told him quietly but firmly. She heard him snort in a way that said he clearly didn’t believe her and she ground her teeth together. The mare’s ears twitched and Chelsea forced herself to blow out the breath she was holding. “I don’t expect you to live like some kind of monk, I’m not a child anymore Jimmy. I know you think that this is some kind of rebellious faze I’m going through but....”

“I think we both know that I haven’t thought of you as a child for a long time now.” 

There was anger, bitterness and resentment in that statement but there an underlying message too. If she was trying to lay the blame at his feet, he wasn’t accepting it. It was also a reminder that he held prior claim to her, to her body. Chelsea shuddered, sense memory reminding her of the way his body felt when it moved over hers’. 

She tried to think of a scathing retort or a cutting personal attack but her brain wouldn’t respond, instead sending images of stolen moments in his small room just above their heads, his skin made gold by candlelight, his now icy blue eyes looking more like sun warmed bays in the Bahamas. 

She had loved him, once. 

Chelsea turned her face away, blinking back tears of pride and shame. She heard the rustle of straw behind her, knew by instinct that he was moving towards her, that if she didn’t tell him not to that he would wrap her up in his arms and she’d give in just like she always did and then the mare let out a bellow and thrashed under her hand and when she turned to look the foal’s rear hooves were sliding free.

 ________________________________________________________

He was half way home, Hinder blaring from the speakers, telling himself that he had plenty to do and that he didn’t care that Chelsea had never come back to the house, that she was probably doing it in the barn with that hick from the sticks. He’d almost convinced himself that it didn’t matter to him when he found himself pulling a tire shredding brake squealing e-brake u-turn at an intersection and going back the way he’d just come. 

“I don’t care,” he told himself firmly, slamming his fist against the steering wheel as he waited impatiently at the last light before the turn to the ranch. He could go, tonight, to Cowboys, and take any one of a dozen girls home. “But they wouldn’t be her.” Mike sighed as he backed off the gas pedal and leaned his forehead on his knuckles and took a deep breath. “You’re fucked old boy,” he mused, gingerly easing the Cadillac into the intersection. He thought about turning around again, knowing he had things to do before the boys arrived, but the car found its way to the bottom of the hill, outside the gate. He stared up at the stables and felt a tug, a magnetic draw, as if he’d put on a leash and he had no choice but to follow wherever he was lead. 

Even so, he dragged his feet as he walked towards the stables. He had visions of finding them both there, her pale skin glowing, slick with a fine sheen of sweat, her hair setting fire to the hay, laying beneath that cowpoke. His hands curled into fists as he imagined her in anyone else’s arms but his. 

“So fucked,” he mumbled under his breath as he pushed the door to the stables open. 

“Mike! Come see,” she whispered reverently from where she knelt in the straw, her hands held open, ready to catch the rickety legged foal as it stumbled, trying to gain its feet. Looking over her head, his gaze met her ex’s. There was murder in the other man’s eyes. With a smirk Mike turned his attention back to Chelsea and knelt beside her in the hay. 

“Wow, look at that, he’s already standing.” Mike pressed a soft kiss to her cheek and she turned, grabbed his face and covered his mouth with hers’. 

“It’s amazing isn’t it?” she gushed, turning back to the scene before them. She reached down and laced her fingers with his. Mike lifted their joined hands and pressed his lips to each of her knuckles in turn, all the while holding the gaze of the angry cowpoke. ‘Mine’ his eyes said as he gathered her back against his body and sunk down into the warm straw. 

“I’m so glad you came back,” she whispered, snuggling back against him.

“Me too,” he told her, brushing his lips against her temple as he glared at her ex who was now looming above them both. He watched as the grime covered vanilla gorilla tried to decide whether or not to pull Chelsea out of his arms. He’d seen that look on opposing players when they wanted to fight but knew it wasn’t in their team’s best interest and that they’d probably sit the rest of the game if they did. Mike did what the best shit disturbers in the league did in this situation and grinned at Jimmy. 

With a growl of sheer frustration her ex spun on his heel and disappeared out of the stall. Mike listened until he couldn’t hear the man’s boot heels any longer before he actually allowed himself to relax. 

________________________________________________________________

“No.” 

Chelsea stood with her hand in a stirrup, waiting for Mike to put his foot in it and ignored his answer, despite the fact that he’d now given that same answer four times. Bunty, a patient, elderly wide girthed mare tossed her mane and rolled her eyes as she looked back at him. She too was waiting impatiently for him to mount as she literally chomped at the bit, rolling it over her teeth impatiently as Mike stood on the foot stool and shook his head. 

“I swear she is the tamest, sweetest horse ever. She doesn’t bite, won’t buck and no matter how hard you try to make her, she doesn’t run. We’re just going to take a leisurely saunter up to the high meadow.” Chelsea waited for Mike to give in, but he turned out that he had a stubborn streak. That or he was a big fucking chicken. “Please, for me?” she added, batting her eyelashes in what she hoped was both an endearing and enticing way. Mike looked doubtfully at the saddle on the mare’s wide back again and pulled a face that made it clear exactly what he thought of this idea.

“There’s a clause in my contract strictly forbidding me from doing dangerous shit like this,” he told her, his face brightening as if he was proud of himself for pulling that particularly nugget out of his ass. Chelsea shook her head. 

“Then either get your agent on the phone and have him read to me where it says you can ride that putt-putt scooter of yours on the freeway or get on the damn horse Green,” she ordered, reaching up to scratch the blaze between the mare’s eyes. Mike grumbled again and reached for the stirrup.

“Fine but if I pull a groin just getting on this thing....” he began as he hoisted himself into the saddle. 

“Put it this way, there won’t be any more groin pulling if you don’t,” she giggled as she waited while he settled himself before she handed him the reins over the mare’s twitching ears and then turned and headed towards her own patiently waiting mount. “Don’t you throw me today Poppy,” she warned the appaloosa as she untied the reins from the hitching post and draping them over the horse’s neck. As she put her hand on the pommel of the saddle to hoist herself up she felt a pair of hands lifting her trailing leg and looked back to see Jimmy bent, ready to hand her up and his gaze locked on hers. He looked stricken and her heart cracked.

“Your Gran sent a care package,” he said quietly, tilting his head to indicate the picnic basket at his feet. It felt like he had reached into her chest and squeezed her heart like an overripe peach as she looked down the old fashioned basket with the gingham blanket wrapped over the food. Chelsea glanced at Jimmy but there was no indication of malice or any kind of negative intent in his expression. This was not a reminder of his almost proposal, it really was only what he said it was. 

Tentatively she put her shin in his laced fingers and let him hoist her up, swinging her free leg over the saddle. She didn’t need the help, she could mount Popcorn in an Indian roll bareback, but she knew that doing something chivalrous was his way of saying he was sorry.  

“Have a good ride,” he offered quietly. 

“Thanks.” It wasn’t for the hand up and it was pretty clear that they both knew that as he met her apologetic gaze with a resigned smile of his own. “C’mon Poppy,” she clicked her tongue and gave her mare a gentle kick, getting her moving in the right direction. 

“Don’t worry, Bunty will follow wherever Popcorn goes.” She didn’t dare look back, afraid the look of shock on her face at hearing Jimmy speak so civilly to Mike would worry him and that Jimmy would mistake it for something more than it was. Still, it was progress she thought as she heard the click of Bunty’s hooves following close behind her own mare’s. 

“I think you should put this one on a diet,” Mike called out to her. 

“She’s a Percheron, she’s supposed to be a bit wide in the hips,” Chelsea called back as they began to saunter at a walking pace up the path. “Besides, I thought you liked a girl with a little junk in her trunk,” she called back, turning to look back to see him swaying slowly on the back of the horse.

“When I get off this pot bellied horse of yours,” he grinned back at her, “I’m going to give your junk a good spanking.” 

“Promises, promises,” she grinned back and then gave Popcorn a squeeze with her knees, clucked with her tongue and set her mare to a trot, laughing when she heard his cry of dismay as Bunty’s large frame began to suddenly move more quickly sending him bouncing like kid on a trampoline.

_____________________________________________________________

“I had things to do today,” he sighed, head tilted up to catch the sun. 

“I don’t see a leash.” Mike’s hand stilled in her hair and he looked down at where her head rested in his lap to see a glazed, far-away look on her face.

“I wasn’t complaining,” he began and she turned her head to look up at him, her gaze suddenly focused.

“I know,” she reached up and brushed her fingers along his be-whiskered chin. “I must be tired and grumpy because someone kept me up all night.” 

“Kept you up? More like the other way around,” he laughed, moving his fingers out of her hair and down into her ribs, digging them in and tickling her until they were had both rolled off of the picnic blanket and into the tall grass. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, surprising himself with the gentle tone of his own voice as he brushed a curl from her cheek.

“You’re just saying that because you want to get into my jeans,” she grinned back at him. For about one second Mike considered agreeing and blowing it off but then his mouth started to move and words spilled out before he had a chance to edit them. 

“I’m just gonna go ahead and say I think there’s a little more goin’ on here than sex.” He waited for her to expression to soften, for her to say something back but as she squinted up into the sun the only look on her face was carefully controlled. It reminded him of the way that Backsy looked at a camera after a loss, his true emotions screwed down tight. 

Mike’s heart raced. He was always doing this, falling too hard, too fast, jumping in with both feet before he checked to see how deep the pool was. This was exactly why he didn’t do relationships. Ever since he’s passed a note to Heather Sands in fifth grade saying he liked her only to have her laugh and show it to all of her friends it seemed like he was always the one to blow his wad first and, running a mile ahead only to end up a mile behind. 

He cursed quietly and went to roll away but her hand reached out and grabbed a fistful of his t-shirt. He looked down at her hand and then at her. She wasn’t wearing the soft, thoughtful expression he’d hoped for, but she was smiling.   

“I just got out of something that was going too fast, remember?” she whispered, pulling his lips down towards hers’. “Let’s not put labels on this okay? Let’s just have fun,” she added, pressing her lips up against his. 

At first he didn’t kiss her back. He was feeling self-conscious and a little mortified by putting himself out there and being slapped back down, but when he heard her unsnap the button on the top of her jeans and she lead his hand down towards her soft, warm core, he forgot to feel anything but how much he wanted her. He knew she was using her body, the promise of sex, as a distraction, a way of avoiding the conversation he’d begun but he was too much of a boy to ignore the way the slick heat of her beneath his fingertips felt and the rush of knowing that he could make her wet and better than that, make her scream his name.  

Mike pushed the thin, white t-shirt she’d changed into up over her bare breasts and cupped one in his hand, bringing her nipple to his mouth, swirled his tongue around it and sucked it between his teeth. She whimpered as he slid two fingers up into her heated pussy and lifted her hips off of the ground, trying to wiggle and force his fingers to slide to where she wanted them. Mike obliged by pressing his thumb over her clit, causing her to emit a long low wail. 

Still feeling a little bruised by her rebuff, Mike was determined to make her beg for release. Abandoning her pleasure button, he concentrated instead on making her juices flow, dipping his fingers in and gently stroking that spot inside of her that made her whimper, squirm and finally hump his hand, trying to get off. 

“I don’t think so, not yet,” he growled into her neck, pinning her with half of his chest while he used his fingers to fuck her, hard and fast. Her nails dug into the back of his neck and shoulders as he bit down on her earlobe and listened to her emit a long, high pitched whine. Her body pressed up against him and she rubbed her thigh against his erection. 

“Fuck me,” she whimpered and he shook his head. 

“Almost, not yet” he panted, jamming his fingers up into her pussy and pressing them against her g-spot over and over again until she tipped her head back and screamed. Then, as her body went slack beneath his, he got to his knees, grabbed her jeans, yanked them off and then tossed them aside. He was reaching for his own zipper when that damn voice in the back of his head started in on how beautiful she looked with afterglow giving her skin that tinge of gold and making her green eyes glow. 

She just wanted sex. He wanted to...well...more. Ignoring the sound of Brooks and Ovie laughing and calling him a pussy in the back of his head, Mike stood and offered her a hand up.

“We should probably get you back down to the house. I really do have some shit I have to do.” She stared up at him like he’d just done something outrageous and rude and as much as he tried to look cool and casual Mike knew he was squirming around on the inside like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. The way her eyes narrowed he knew she didn’t buy it but she didn’t press the point. She let him help her up but the way she snapped her jeans out of his hand when he offered them to her said a mouthful. 

She was letting it go, for now, but he was firmly in the doghouse. 

That was fine, he thought to himself as he rolled up the blanket and tried to stuff it back in the basket. By the time he saw her again maybe he’d have found his balls and wouldn’t feel like such a fucking sissy.