Page 52 of The Front Runner
“You’re notmytype?” Tension lines his body even though he casually crosses his foot across his shin.
“No.”
“And I’m not yours?”
“Exactly.” My voice comes out clear and concise, despite the fact I’m rambling inside. This feelswrong.
“And I’m not allowed to kiss you?”
“Really glad we cleared this up.” I wave my hand with my truck keys and turn to leave.
He projects his voice across the driveway before I can hide in the safety of my truck. “Guess I’ll be waiting foryouto kissmethen.”
Stefan Dalca is relentless.
* * *
The package Stefanhad delivered to my apartment for our date tonight essentially gave me two things to do. And I’m not wild about people telling me what to do. Just ask my family.
But when I opened the shoe box, he put me between a rock and a hard place.
I already felt guilty because I didn’t tell him my hunch about Hank, instead I turned and ran like the chicken I am. I was so unnerved by seeing a woman at his house, and by his reaction to me dialing things back between us, that my mind went blank. And now it’s been a week, and I still haven’t said shit.
The guilt is eating me alive.
It just feels like me sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong. I’m good at listening, and I hear it all in this job. But I don’t run around flapping my gums about it—especially when I don’t know somethingfor sure.I could hurt many people over an unverified hunch. It’s just a hypothesis. I’ve done no research, and that’s what I need to do. Find more information before I make a claim like that.
And then he bought metheshoes. The ones the woman leaving his house had on her feet. Hers were a nude color that matched her pretty flaxen hair. But these are black—a perfect match for mine.
I love the buckles. They’re gold and chunky and feel so rich next to the soft leather. My inner teenager who wore heavy black eyeliner loves the classy punk style. I have no idea how he knew my size, but they fit perfectly.
A note accompanied the shoes.
Dr. Thorne,
My car will pickyou up at 5pm on Saturday to attend the Next Chapter Thoroughbred Rescue Fundraiser. Our final “fake” date. It’s a black-tie event. Wear the shoes.
- S
The defiant devilwho lives on my shoulder says to send them back.
But I can’t.
I’m going to enjoy the shoes. Because the only person I’m punishing by getting rid of them is myself. If I’m taking the shoes, I’m sure as hell not following his instructions to wait around like some sappy love-struck date. This isfake.I’m more than capable of showing up at his place on my own.
So that’s what I do. I hop in my truck and drive to Cascade Acres. Do I feel out of place driving my dusty work truck wearing expensive heels and an evening dress? Yes. But it makes me smile. Somehow, I feel very much like myself, a woman of contradictions.
When I arrive at Cascade Acres, heels clicking delicately on the rough concrete alleyway, the staff give me a few funny looks, but they continue with their tasks. It’s almost quitting time for them, and I’ve become a regular fixture around here, so they wave and go about finishing up.
“Hello, little mister Loki.” I swing the stall door open and take in the two chestnut horses. “And you, sweet mama. How are you?”
Farrah bobs her head under my palm when I rub it across her forehead. She really is a sweet mare. And truth be told, I barely need to check on Loki anymore. I want to say he’s out of the woods. But it’s become part of my schedule. A habit.
What I don’t want to admit is that I like coming here. The thrill of running into Stefan has become an addiction. I told him to stay away, and now I’m the one loitering around.
Stefan has stayed out of my way this week. I haven’t seen him since that day on his front step when I told him we can’t kiss anymore but can continue to be friends. Judging by the way his jaw ticked and his arms crossed over his chest like a shield, he wasn’t happy.
But he also didn’t seem deterred.
