Page 164 of The Nanny and the Beefcake
It was Ass-in-Nine or bust, and everything was on the line.
He couldn’t have made it clearer. If he won, Libby would be his.
Had they discussed the nuts and bolts of what that actually meant?
Not exactly.
Over the last week, neither had brought it up, choosing instead to live in this perfect dreamworld where all that mattered was himself, Sebastian, and Libby.
But their time was up.
Today, they’d see if the universe was on their side.
Was he a fool to set the stakes so high?
Was he even capable of trusting himself with another’s heart? And was Libby ready to give her heart to him?
He couldn’t let those questions consume his thoughts—not minutes before the race.
He glanced at Libby, smiling as a photographer moved in for a close-up. She leaned in and nuzzled Plum for the shot. There was no denying that the woman handled the media like a pro. Then again, who couldn’t help but fall under her spell?
He caught Briggs out of the corner of his eye. The man checked his watch. With the big fight less than two weeks away, the entire PR team descended on Colorado, and the group was working overtime to promote the event. “We’ve got a few more minutes for questions and photos,” the agent announced to the mass of media clustered in the square.
“Mr. Cress, Ms. Lamb, turn this way so I can get the Ass-in-Nine starting line banner in the shot, please,” a photographer called.
“Then look this way. We need a photo for the Denver Post.”
“And here for BBC. Big smiles, and if the larger donkey wouldn’t mind turning his head this way, I’d very much appreciate it.”
Raz surveyed his beast of a burro. “The larger donkey’s name is Beefcake, and good luck getting this beast to do anything he doesn’t want to do,” he said, patting his donkey’s rump. Unfortunately, Beefcake had other things on his mind besides posing for the cameras.
He and his donkey had the same thing on their minds—well, sort of.
Currently, Beefcake had his sights set on Plum. The demure gray and white burro stood next to Libby as photographers and reporters surrounded them, snapping shots and peppering them with questions.
He used to find these events tiresome, but not today, not with Libby by his side. He could feel the positive energy coming off her in soothing waves, and he couldn’t help but grin like an idiot, taking in the scene.
This London boy had grown quite fond of mountain life.
The town of Rickety Rock had gone all out for the big day. Ass-in-Nine flags in every color of the rainbow emblazoned with burros waved from lampposts, and a grand banner marking the start and finish of the loop swayed in the breeze. Race participants were scattered about, warming up with their burros, surveying the map of the Crooked Mine Loop, and getting in a final snack before the big event. Families milled around the square eating ice cream, taking in the animals, and participating in the flurry of kids’ activities as a band played a jaunty tune setting a jovial tone. Anticipation crackled in the air, or maybe that was just him, ready for the universe to confirm what he already knew.
Libby was his.
He’d fallen arse over elbow for the raven-haired beauty, and he couldn’t deny it any longer.
And hopefully, he wouldn’t have to.
After he won, he wouldn’t hold back. He’d even rehearsed a little speech.
Wham, bam, Libby Lamb, you’re mine.
P.S. I plan on being the only man giving you Os from here on out.
P.S.S. Dougie is a right knob-headed mug of a plonker-loving twatwaffle.
P.S.S.S. Feel like having an O now? I’m game.
It wasn’t poetry, by any means, but it got the job done.
