But she doesn’t. She does the opposite of waiting—climbs in the truck and drives off. To take JD home and nurse him back to health.
Sofia stands beside me on the driveway, watching the taillights fade. “Well, that didn’t go as planned,” I grumble.
“Was it really an accident?” she asks with a lifted brow.
“Yes! It really was.” Then I pause, and rephrase. “A wonderful, serendipitous accident.”
She grins and I give my smirk free rein.
Then Sofia gasps. “Holy shitballs!”
“What? What’s wrong?”
She snaps her fingers and points to the sky, smiling broadly with discovery. “Allergic reaction!”
“Yeah?” I question.
“The perfect murder. Triggering an allergic reaction.” She folds her arms, proud of herself.
“Really?” I ask with a straight face. “My life is fallin’ apart, and you’re still playin’ the perfect murder game?”
She shrugs. “Well . . . it’s a good one. Brent and Jake will be impressed.”
16
Stanton
I’ve never seen one so big. It’s too big.”
“It’s not too big.”
“It’s monstrous! It’ll kill me.”
“I promise, you’re gonna love it, darlin’. Touch it.”
She gasps. “I can’t.”
I take Sofia’s hand and press it against warm flesh. Forcing her fingers to stroke.
“See? It likes you. Now you just have to ride it—then it’ll really like you.”
On Monday morning I finally brought Sofia to the co-op to get a decent pair of boots. She fawned over a pair of dark brown leather riding boots with pink stitching and a hat to match. And I have to hand it to her—the woman can wear a fucking hat like nobody’s business.
Once we got home, it seemed like a good idea to put her equipment to good use.
And take her horseback riding.
She rests her hand on the black coat and sighs. “So this is how I die.”
I roll my eyes. “Since when are you so dramatic? Or a coward for that matter? You’ve got a dog the size of a small bull.”
We’re outside the stables, saddling Blackjack, a gentle, even-tempered stallion—the first horse Presley rode by herself.
Sofia eyes him warily. “My dog isn’t going to throw me off and break my neck. Or kick me. Or trample me.”
I hoist the saddle onto Blackjack’s back. “No—he’ll just rip your throat out if you piss him off.”
She takes exception to my observation. “That is a vile Rottweiler stereotype. Sherman would never do that! He’s my sweet baby boy.”
“I’ve never seen a baby with teeth like his.” I tighten the cinches and secure the last buckle. Then I slap Blackjack’s flank—the way I’d like to be slapping Sofia’s ass.
“Now saddle up.”
Sofia gazes up at the massive animal. Her eyes are round, her expression all intimidated and vulnerable. And part of me must be a sick sonofabitch, ’cause it’s turning me the fuck on.
She takes one step forward, lifts her hands, bends her knee . . . and completely pusses out.
“I can’t! I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. I just can’t!”
I laugh, patting her shoulder. “All right, don’t have a heart attack—it’ll be more fun this way anyway.”
I swing up onto the back of the horse, look down, and hold my hand out to her.
Her brows furrow. “I don’t know if humans were meant to mount something so large.”
I smile. “Come on, Soph—trust me. I got you.”
Sofia takes a breath, grasps my hand, and puts her left foot into the stirrup. Blackjack stays perfectly still as I pull and she swings her leg up and over his back, settling in front of me.
Her denim-clad ass presses right up against my dick. Her back leans against my chest, her hair brushes my face, and I smell gardenias. This ride is going to be the best kind of awful. Feeling her, holding her tight, but not being able to do anything about it—delicious fucking torment.
I wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her back, holding the reins in my hands. “Relax, Sofia,” I tell her softly. “I would never let anythin’ happen to you.”
She sinks against me, turns her head and smiles. “Okay.”