“—and I’ll stop trying to get your attention. No more pick-up lines. I win…you have that drink with me.”
“A bet?” Quinn's lips formed a perfect smile, and damn, I wanted to kiss the corner of her mouth, taste that blackberry coconut flavor. “That’s worse than‘get a drink with me.’”
“Worried you’ll lose?”
“No, I will most certainly beat your ass, so it doesn’t matter anyway.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Quinn licked her lips and turned to look at the table. I had lost track of whose shot it was. I wasn’t paying attention. I think I took two turns…but hell…I couldn’t care less about the game.
Finally, she blinked and turned to look at me. “Fine. It’s a bet.” Quinn reached out her hand, and I took it, giving it one firm shake to seal the bet. Her skin was soft as silk, and I held on a little longer than I should have.
“Kyla, whose turn is it?” she asked, not breaking contact with my gaze.
“Yours,” Kyla answered.
Quinn raised her lips into a smirk and turned to the table, not hesitating as she bent and aimed…sinking the remaining stripes. She inhaled, studying the table for a second longer before walking to the other side.
“Eight ball, left corner pocket,” she said right before she aimed, sunk the ball, and won the game.
Well…shit.
She straightened her back and did the same hair flip, handing her cue off to Abi.
“Hartwell,” she said as she walked over to me, taking my own cue from my hands. “I guess it’s time for you to take your drunk friend and leave.”
Let me say that again.
Well…
Shit.
Seven
Quinn
WhenWyattbetmehe would leave me alone, I didn’t actually think he would. But I saw him almost every day over the past week, and all I got was a nod and a smile if we just happened to cross paths. Was he intentionally making sure I knew he was following through with it? If that was the case, he was playing a different game. Besides, I should’ve been grateful he was leaving me alone.
He was giving me what I wanted, right? He wasn’t hitting on me, he wasn’t chasing me—he was simply…leaving me alone.
The least I could do was be grateful.
I unsaddled Charming after a training session, leaving Hook fully saddled for a ride. My legs were already achy, my muscles screaming for a hot bath, but my soul—and Hook’s—needed the ride.
There was nothing that would ever compare to riding a horse. The only sounds were the thump of his hooves hitting the ground, his puffs of air as he breathed, and the surrounding nature around us. His body moving with each breath, his joints turning into liquid with each step. We had to work together, we had to trust each other in order for the ride to be worth it. And lucky for me, Hook had my complete trust.
Once outside of the stable, I mounted Hook and kicked him into a canter, heading right towards the lake. I had been at Hartwell Hills long enough to know the land better, and I would be the first to admit I had fallen in love with it. The rolling mountains were still snow-capped. Seeing as it was barely the middle of February, they would be that way for a while, but it only added to the scenery. The dark clouds had covered the sky, and a light snow was falling. The Hartwells owned five thousand acres, mainly all used for their many heads of cattle, but they had taken the time to build horse trails through the mountains, all leading to the gorgeous lake. The snow wouldn’t stop me from getting there.
Once we reached the lake, I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around Hooks' neck, loving the way he groaned from the hug. The first time I ever saw the horse, I knew he was mine. I had worked so hard for years before I finally made the jump to buy my own horse, and the second my eyes found the nameless gelding, I just had that feeling. People talk about true love all the time—that’s how it was when I saw him. The entire world clicked together, and everything made sense. I carefully approached him. The breeder actually warned me he was eccentric andharder to break, but that didn’t change the feeling. My palm up, I giggled when he sniffed my hand, huffing when he found it empty. He gave me the most unenthused expression and blinked a few times before flicking his head away. The first thing that hit my head was my favorite TV show,Once Upon a Time,when Cora showed Hook a small jar, and he just looked at it, the same expression the horse had given me.Sparkly dirt…
“Hey, Hook,” I mused at him. And then his eyes hit mine, and we connected. And from that moment, he was mine. I paid for him in full—with cash—and then loaded him into my trailer and took him home. I had already prepped the stables, knowing I was buying a horse, so I could make his transition as easy as possible.
My mother was shocked when I unloaded him and walked him around his new home. She watched from the house as I guided him through the small pasture and into the stable, giving him fresh hay, water, a blanket to call his own, and then I sat with him. All night long.
Once the morning hit, I brushed him, talked to him, and then went inside. And got the wrath of my mother. Because yes, I didn’t tell her I was buying a horse.
I sat as she talked to me about responsibility, how she and my dad handled everything for me and the horses we already owned, and how she wasn’t going to support me in the endeavor. I looked her dead in the eye, told her,“I know, I got this,”and proved to her I did. Three years later, I bought Charming. They never once took care of my horses. Now, Hook was seven and my pride and joy.
