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“C’mon, I want to see those dressage videos of yours. Let’s have a good laugh.”
I gave him a playful punch on the arm and clicked on the videos. Clint was extremely complimentary on my progress; I wasn’t sure if he was sincere or if he felt bad for my situation with Trey. When Clint left around 10 p.m., I called Gina.
“What’s up girlfriend?” she answered.
“Just wanted to hear your voice,” I answered.
“What’s wrong?”
As much as I'd not wanted to divulge ‘the agreement’ to Gina, I needed my friend’s perspective on it. I laid it all out for her.
“Are you shitting me?” she asked, indignant.
“I mean it’s not like I want to be with anyone else but Trey,” I said. “I simply have a problem with him dictating the gender of my friends. I don’t think he’s being reasonable.”
“Listen, Ty. I warned you about him, didn’t I? Sexual exclusivity is one thing. I mean, yes, it’s a good thing and a reasonable expectation. But what Trey's expecting goes way beyond that and you know it without me having to tell you. He wants to control your life it seems. God, what did his mother do to him?”
“I know very little about his past. But he’s sure as hell an expert on mine,” I replied, wryly.
“Take my advice, Ty. Let things cool between you and Trey for a while. You need to get some perspective. I know that he was your first, but you need to put a little distance between yourselves so that you can see clearly. I don’t want to come back to find you’ve turned into some Stepford bitch, ya know?”
I had to laugh at that. Gina was right though, I couldn’t become some replicant. She promised to call me the following week to check up.
The next few days passed in a blurry haze. I was doing all of the things that I was supposed to be doing, but it seemed as if I was watching myself do them. I'd fallen into a funk. Thankfully, the dressage training was going well. On Friday, Mark did a mock testing of our routine. He felt we would easily pass the FEI test for five-year-olds. We still had three weeks to go. As we were winding down that afternoon, Mark walked with me to the stables.
“Are you okay, Tylar?” he asked, showing some concern.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”
“You just seem a little down this week, that’s all. Anything you want to talk about? I’m a good listener.”
“I don’t want to bore you with my problems, Mark.”
“I wouldn’t be bored, I promise. You wanna grab a beer somewhere?”
I thought about it for less than five seconds, “Great idea.”
“Good, then I’ll meet you at the main drive about six?”
“Sounds good. See you then.”
I untacked Derringer and returned him to his stall for the night. “Derringer, I hope I’m doing the right thing here, boy. I wish you could help. You know him better than I do. Wish me luck,” I said, giving him a kiss on his nose.
Mark was waiting when I met him up at the main drive at 6 p.m. He opened the passenger door to his red dually pick-up truck and lifted me up into the cab. I was glad I hadn’t worn one of my short jean skirts. Mark looked nice in his blue jeans and white polo shirt. His tanned skin from a career outdoors gave him sort of a rugged look. He fired up the diesel engine and we pulled out of the drive onto the highway.
“Ever been to Bunkers?” he asked.
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s kind of an after-five dive,” he admitted, “but the beer is cold, they have great barbecue sandwiches, good selection on the juke box, and pool tables if you play.”
“Haven’t played for a while,” I said, “but it might be nice to shoot some pool.”
The truth was I'd welcome any distraction from my current funk and thoughts of Trey. I'd heard no more from him since I had opted out of our arrangement. I drove myself crazy wondering what he was doing and who he was with. I was every bit as possessive as he was and I felt like a hypocrite.
Bunker’s was packed. Mark and I found a table in a corner that was a bit quieter than the bar. He ordered a draft beer; I ordered a vodka sonic.
“So, how’d you find this place?” I asked, conversationally.
