Page 32 of Wild About You
“You’ve never laughed in front of me before!” I am openly gawking.
His forehead creases. “No way. I definitely have.”
“When?”
“Uh, I don’t know? But I’m not a robot.”
“Mm-mm.” I negate him with a shake of my head before looking forward again. “I would have noticed if you’d laughed like that. It’s so…”
“Oh boy,” he mutters.
“…jolly.”
“Jolly?”
I nod. “You sound like a cartoon Santa Claus. Ho-ho-ho! I didn’t know you could even produce such a laugh without a red flannel suit and belly full of Christmas cookies.”
Finn scoffs. “I do not laugh like that!”
Donald whinnies.
“He disagrees,” I say. After a moment’s pause, we both lose it.
Our laughter cuts off abruptly, however, when we hear hooves approaching at a rapid clip. I turn my head to see Enemi on a snow-white horse, blazing toward us like she’s got a monster on her heels. But in fact, it’s just her poor partner, doing his best to keep up with her pace despite how he obviously has no idea what he’s doing. His horse is weaving at least as much as Finn’s, but faster and looking more agitated about it. Zeke is attempting all kinds of soothing words, but they’re canceled out by his continued efforts to make the horse go as fast as Enemi’s.
“Out of their way,” I call to Finn, steering Daisy as far clear of their path as I can before they reach us, and Finn actually manages to get Donald distanced too.
“Should we try racing them?” Finn shouts back once they’ve blown by, but his eyes are saying, “Please don’t make me race them.” Realistically, I could get Daisy up to a run, try racing Enemi to the checkpoint. But it’s the team with both partners there first who wins, and I don’t see how pushing Finn to do that will end well for anyone.
“I’m good with second place,” I say before turning forward and keeping Daisy plodding along. To myself, I add quietly, “Especially if it means getting there in one piece.”
As we go, slow and steady—and I try to tell myself that, per the old saying, we have any chance whatsoever at winning this race—we have a clear view of Zeke’s and Enemi’s progress. Or Enemi’s progress, and Zeke’s increasingly wild detours, his horse taking him in big, wavy circles while he tries to rein it in. Enemi gets fed up waiting for him and brings her horse over, taking the reins to Zeke’s horse and starting to lead it along by force. Zeke’s horse doesn’t like this one bit and looks more and more distressed, slowing them down enough that Finn and I actually start to catch up.
But not quite. Enemi, Zeke, and their horses make it to the orange flag at least twenty yards ahead of us. Enemi drops the other horse’s reins and screams as she throws her arms up in victory.
And Zeke’s horse rears up on its hind legs, throwing Zeke to the ground.
Chapter Twelve
The best part of surviving a near-death experience is getting to tell the story.
Over and over. In great detail. Considering different angles and possible outcomes and how great it is that none of those happened.
This is what I have to assume, anyway, given how Zeke is handling the aftermath of the horse-throwing. I can’t completely blame the guy; it was scary as hell as a spectator, so I can only imagine what he felt. But after the medics came and declared him, miraculously, completely fine besides a little bruising, I was ready to be grateful for Zeke’s durable skull and move on. Because I prefer not to relive the scary things repeatedly. But far be it for me, I guess, to tell our well-meaning resident himbo he’s doing trauma wrong.
“He keeps leaving out the part where Alli called him a dumbass while he was being put on a stretcher,” Finn murmurs from his seat next to me at one of the long tables in Wallingford Stables’ dining hall.
I snort into my cup of Dr. Pepper, then put it down and try to do a cuter, classier laugh for the cameras filming B-roll to advertise how amazing Wallingford Stables is (#ad #sponsored). “Ha! Oh, Finn, you’re so funny,” I say with an exaggerated smile and what would be a hair flip, but I forgot my messy, creek-washed hair is up in a bun.
“Is he?” Harper asks, covering her mouth while she finishes a bite of spaghetti. “And was that a neck twitch?”
I turn my dazzle in her direction. “Oh, Harps. You’re hilarious too.”
“Okay, really.” Finn eyes me with skepticism, turning his water glass in a circle on the table. I shouldn’t have been surprised that from one of those soda machines with five million soda and flavor combinations…he chose water. “What are you doing?”
I let out a frustrated sigh but keep smiling, which probably looks more unhinged than a failed hair flip. “This is my chance to make my commercial acting debut as a generic hot person having a great time at Wallingford Stables. But since the acoustics in here are too shitty for mics, I have to really sell it with expressions and gestures.”
Luis, sitting next to Harper, asks Finn sincerely, “Are we sure she’s not the one who got thrown from a horse?”