Page 22 of The Front Runner
I wink. “Cute coming from the guy who conned me into going on dates with him just to prove a point.”
We smile at each other in the dark barn, a battle of wills raging between us.
“And what point am I trying to prove?”
“Oh, come on, Stefan. We both know this is just an obnoxious power play. That you’re trying to prove you have the upper hand. That you have me up against a wall.”
His smirk morphs now into something more feral as he leans in. He moves across me, his head coming to my ear while his opposite hand cups my elbow, holding me close. His proximity, the feel of his breath against the shell of my ear, it all makes the soft hairs on my arms stand on end. I desperately hope he can’t feel it.
“Trust me, Dr. Thorne, if I had you up against a wall,you’dbe the meal.”
My breathing stutters and I jerk my arm away from him. I have no clue what to say to that. I have even less of an idea of how to react to his level of confidence. I’m too out of practice. Hell, I’m too inexperienced. So, I just hit him with my best unimpressed, glacial stare.
His responding chuckle is dark and sensuous. It feels like hot wax on bare skin. I want to hate it, but my tongue darts out over my bottom lip.
He turns to leave and only now do I notice he’s wearing gym clothes that hug his body in the most delectable way. I’m too confused to even stop myself from staring at his perfectly round ass as he strolls away looking completely unaffected.
And I’m too speechless to even respond to the parting remark he tosses over his shoulder. “Pick you up at six on Friday.”
God. I’m in so much trouble.
8
Stefan
Mira:You can’t pick me up. Someone might see. I’ll meet you at your place at six.
I readthe text a few times. It stings more than it should, and it feels distinctly improper to not be picking her up—no matter how fake the date is. Call me old-fashioned, but I enjoy ringing the doorbell. Not being able to hold the car door open for her when she gets in has the gentleman in me twitching. I’ve been enough of a brute where Mira is concerned that I feel like I owe her that chivalry.
I’ve spent the entire week avoiding her because what I whispered in her ear a few days ago was crossing a line I shouldn’t have crossed. And I didn’t like the way she shut down afterwards.
The worst part is, I can’t actually say what it is I want from her. Am I attracted to her? Yes. But I don’t think it can ever be more than that—even if there’s a part of me that wants it. I really need her as a veterinarian. My horses do, too. Risking that seems like a colossally stupid idea.
So platonic dates it is.
Friends.
I could try to be her friend so that the dates aren’t just awkward disasters.
Or I could let her off the hook for the dates altogether.
But I shake that thought out of my head. I’d rather prove to her I’m not the bad guy she thinks I am.
And why does what she thinks of you matter?
That’s the real question, isn’t it?
Because I’m pretty sure I’ve made things awkward by reverting to the private school douchebag I grew into as a teenager. In fact, it seems an awful lot like she’s avoiding me. I know she’s been here to check on Farrah and the foal, but she comes at random times, and I haven’t received a single message from her since that day when she told me to stay away while she had Billie here.
She hasn’t even said anything about me naming the foalLoki...I put a tag on his stall, so Mira’s seen it, but she hasn’t said anything. I imagined a snarky text from her about it, but nothing came. The name makes me smile, and the more time I spend with him, the more I think it fits.
As he gets healthier, he keeps getting spunkier. When I go down in the evenings to hang out and brush him, he likes to play with my shoelaces. His toothless gums snap at them and pull the strings curiously. And then when he gets them apart and I move my foot, making them drag across the ground like a snake, he spooks. He jumps back all wide-eyed with flared nostrils like they might attack him.
It’s nice having some company.
In the morning when I come to check on him before I go for my workout, his shrill baby whinny rings out through the barn. One morning, I figured I could leave the stall unlatched while I came back with extra grain for Farrah, but he pushed it right open and went on an adventure through the barn. The little prick had fun evading me, making me chase him around like a total amateur, until I got a rope wrapped around his neck and led him back to his stall with a big grin on my face. I’m still glad no one was here to see that episode.
And I’m especially glad that dying horses don’t pull stunts like that.
