Page 61 of Then You Happened
“Long enough to enjoy the scenery,” she murmurs and then lets out a hum of appreciation, her attention toward the stables.
“Of course, you have.” Without looking, I plop down onto one of the chairs.
Fiona’s hair is perfect, her manicure fresh, and her blue eyes vibrant and alive.
“What’s in that?” I ask, pointing to the pink bakery box she must have brought. I haven’t eaten since the banana I grabbed before taking Ruby out on our ride four-plus hours ago.
“Muffins.”
“Muffins?” I repeat because there’s something about the way she says it that has me drawing my eyebrows together.
“I figured you already had the stud, so why not get the muffins to go with him?”
“Jesus,” I bark out through a laugh, but hell if it isn’t what I need. “Did you—”
“Yes. I did say that.” She shrugs unapologetically. “It isn’t exactly fair for you to keep him corralled up here all to yourself.”
“He’s a grown man who can come and go as he pleases.”
I don’t catch the innuendo until it’s out of my mouth, but the quirk of her eyebrow tells me she sure as hell does. “Stud muffins like that”—she lifts her chin out to where Jack is working on something—“are more than easy on the eye and hard to come by.” It’s her turn to laugh. “Let’s hope he’s hard and the coming part is easy.”
My mouth is agape as her suggestive chuckle echoes around the space.
Jack is showing Will something on the clipboard in his hand. They’re squatting on their haunches with their backs to us and their heads leaned forward. I can assume it’s our charting system for feed and exercise and medicines, but I’m not looking at that.
I’m looking at Jack’s broad shoulders and perfectly showcased ass, the way he talks with those strong hands of his, his forearms flexing with each motion.
I keep picturing the look in his eyes the other day when he put me in my place.
When he told me the things I needed to hear that seem to be on repeat in my mind.
“Mmm-mmm-mmm,” Fiona murmurs, and when I look her way, she meets my eyes. “You’re telling me you haven’t hit that yet?”
“I don’t even know what to say to you.”
“Men have been talking like that for years. It isn’t a crime to be a woman and talk about a man how they talk about us.” She takes a sip of her wine and keeps her eyes on mine from above its rim. “He’s like a seven-layer dip. Sexiness layered upon a good body atop attractiveness—”
“That’s the most absurd analogy I’ve ever heard.”
“It can be absurd all you want so long as you get to the layering on top of each other part.” She winks, and I bring my own glass to my lips because I have no words.
The wine is crisp and sweet and welcome, and even though I know I’ll probably regret it later when I’m tired and sluggish, I take another drink.
“So?” She draws the word out.
“So?”
She is fighting her smile like a little kid trying to contain a secret. “So, how are things?”
“Good. Better.”
“I bet they’re better.” Her laugh carries down to the men and Jack waves in greeting as Will shields his eyes to look our way before turning back to his work. “My, oh my, the man grew a goatee.”
“Fiona.” I’m not sure why her name comes out as a warning, but it does. Maybe it’s because I don’t want her to say what’s been on my mind late at night. Then again, maybe I do.
“My third husband had one. We’ll just say the feel of it between my thighs is the only fantasy I’ve ever had that he stars in.”
“Never been with a man who had one.”
