by Lila Monroe
My own not-quite-selfless motivations aside, I have to admit that for a minute I actually feel kind of bad for the guy. This is the most sincere I’ve heard him in a long time. I think for a moment. “Selena really liked horseback riding in that western you guys did, right?”
Ryder nods. “Sunset at Noon,” he reminds me helpfully.
“Sure,” I agree. “Why don’t you ask her if she wants to go for a ride this afternoon? Grab some lunch, get some fresh air, remind her of the good times you guys had together . . .”
Ryder brightens. “That’s a great idea,” he says, dropping his free weight to the floor with a clatter; I jump out of the way, barely managing to keep all my toes. “Thanks, man!”
I’ll say this for Ryder: the guy is great at taking direction. Half an hour later, I look out the window of my guesthouse and spy him heading with Selena down to the stables, where the stable hand is saddling up a pair of palominos.
“Score one for Cupid,” I murmur. I’m just about to settle in with my laptop and get back to some actual legal work, when all at once I see a flash of blonde hair scurrying down the path in their direction.
Katie?
She’s definitely not part of my Cupid plans.
I pull a clean T-shirt over my head and hurry out the door.
“I love horses!” she’s saying by the time I arrive at the stables. She’s not exactly dressed for riding, in jeans and a casual black tank top, with flip-flops on her feet. She must have dashed out the minute she saw Selena and Ryder looking cozy out here. “I used to ride all the time back when I was a kid.”
“Really?” Selena asks, sounding excited. “Well then, you should totally come join us out on the trail! We can keep talking about the breakup, right, Ryder?”
“Uh,” Ryder says, his face falling. “Right.”
I can tell he doesn’t want to disappoint Selena, but clearly getting cock-blocked by the Breakup Artist herself wasn’t in his script—or mine, for that matter.
“If we’re making it a group trip, I’m in!” I declare loudly.
Katie whirls around and sees me. “You ride?” she asks, narrowing her eyes in clear annoyance.
“Sure, I’m a regular cowboy,” I grin back at her. Never mind the fact that I’ve spent even less time riding horses than I have doing yoga. Still, how hard can it be?
“Oh, that’d be so much fun!” Selena says happily. “Like a double date.”
Katie smiles sweetly, but she gives me a look that could strip paint. “So much fun,” she echoes tensely.
“Then it’s decided,” I grin. She’s not the only one who can derail a good plan.
They saddle up two more horses, and the four of us set out on the leafy green trail that winds along the rear of the property. At first, we stay pretty close together, while I focus on keeping Katie from trying to get them to list the top five things they hate about each other, or whatever it is she’s got planned. But the path is narrow, and Selena and Wes both ride like people who’ve had lessons, so it’s not long before they trot ahead a ways, leaving Katie and I to bring up the rear.
“A regular cowboy, huh?” she asks, once Selena and Ryder are out of earshot. “That’s real cute.”
I smile, tipping an imaginary hat in her direction. “Just call me John Wayne.”
“More like Woody from Toy Story.”
“Howdy, howdy, howdy,” I shoot back. Then, off her eyeroll: “My nephews are big fans.”
“Ah.” She nods. “So you were just dying for a chance to saddle up, is that it? Your sudden interest in horseback riding had nothing to do with trying to sabotage me?”
“I don’t need to sabotage you,” I grin, nodding down the trail at where Selena and Ryder are trotting side by side. “Because what you’re doing isn’t going to work. Those two are clearly still head over heels in love with each other.”
“Oh, please,” Katie fires back. “Anyone can see that Selena is totally ready to wash her hands of this whole situation. We’d be done with the whole breakup already if we didn’t keep getting interrupted.”
“You call it interruption,” I smirk. “I call it fate.”
“Fate has nothing to do with it,” she counters. “Some people just don’t belong together, that’s all. Like us.”
That catches me off guard. Blunt, bordering on harsh, but Katie seems unconcerned. “Don’t look at me like that,” she says, smiling for the first time since I showed up at the stables.
“Like what?” I manage.
“Like you want to bolt straight back to the stables,” she says, looking amused. “You get that deer in the headlights expression every time I mention your disappearing act. But really, it’s fine,” she gives a casual little shrug. “We weren’t compatible. You did us both a favor, really. And sure, your breakup technique could have used some work, but that’s literally how my whole career was born. I should be thanking you . . . but I won’t go that far,” she adds with a grin.
Again, I should be happy there are no hard feelings, but instead . . . something annoying itches in my chest. Am I really so easy to forget?
I’m just trying to figure out what to say to that, when something darts out of the brush in front of us. My horse skitters, and I have to grab the reins to steady her, but Katie’s ride freaks the hell out. She lets out a whinny and rears up in the air . . .
And bolts, with Katie hanging on for dear life.
“Wes!” Her voice trails back to me as the horse gallops away. “Heeeeeeeeellllllpppppppp!”
9
Katie
I hang on for dear life as my horse tears down the trail like its long, well-groomed tail is on fire. “Easy there!” I try to calm him, yanking the reins so tight I think my fingers might pop clean off. “Easy, boy!”
Or is it a girl? I can’t remember! I’m just trying desperately not to get thrown onto a rocky outcropping and trampled to death.
My life flashes before my eyes like some gauzy In Memoriam montage: my family, my friends, the book launch I’m never going to live to see . . .
. . . and an embarrassing amount of frankly disappointing sex.
Note to self: if I make it out of this alive, I need to seriously up my game.
The horse veers off the main trail and out into the open field, which at least gives me fewer tree branches to duck.
“Please?” I try begging, clutching at the reins as I bounce along. My flip-flops are sliding through the stirrups, and I’m pretty sure my shirt is soaked through with stress sweat. “Pretty, pretty please? I promise, I’ll bring you carrots, and, umm . . . whatever else horses eat!”
Maybe she just wants a snack, because finally, the horse slows to a canter, then a trot, and comes to a stop beside a creek. She snorts twice before bending her head to nibble nonchalantly at some grass, looking for all the world like a creature who didn’t just try her damnedest to kill me.
“Oh, thank God.” I gulp, my heart pounding; I feel lightheaded and shaky, like I might be about to pass out. “I didn’t die!”
“Katie!”
Wes calls out, riding up to join me. “Are you OK?” he asks, looking shaken. “That was insane.”
“Uh-huh,” I manage. “Insane.”
Wes hops down from his horse and holds out his hand to me. “Come on,” he says, and I’m too shaken to even pretend like I don’t need his help to get down.
I grab on tight and manage to scramble inelegantly out of the saddle and slip to the ground. My legs give way, and I almost fall straight on my ass, but Wes holds me upright with strong arms.
Very strong . . .
I shake my head. That’s just the panic talking. I pull away. “Thanks,” I tell him, pulling myself together. “I’m OK.”
“Good.” Wes exhales. Then he gives me a smile. “So, what was that you were saying to Ryder and Selena earlier about how much you love horses?”
“I mean, what’s not to love?” I wince. “I mean, I hadn’t actually ridden one since fourth grade, which maybe could ha
ve been part of my problem just now.”
Another note to self: Don’t pretend you have skills when you really don’t. Especially if said skills involve large animals with the power to crush you under a single hoof.
“Hey, it could happen to anyone,” Wes says, comforting. “I’m just impressed you managed to hang on. If my horse had been the one to bolt, I would be on my ass somewhere back on the trail right now.”
“Yours is definitely more chill,” I agree. Wes’s mount for the day is basically taking an upright nap right now, head nodding slowly. “Wait,” I pause. “Where are Ryder and Selena?”
I look around. We’re in a clearing near the creek, with trees lining the riverbanks and sunlight dappling the leafy ground. The country out here is picturesque and perfect . . . and dangerously romantic for the not-so-happy couple to be unsupervised.
“Great,” I sigh. “They must have ridden up ahead. By now, they’re probably reciting poetry to each other or reenacting the love scene from their last movie.”
“Would that really be so bad?” Wes asks, grinning.
“For me? Yes!”
He gives me a thoughtful look. “It’s kind of cynical for you, isn’t it?” he asks. “Rooting so hard for Selena and Ryder to break up, just so you can use them to promote your book?”
My mouth drops open. Is he kidding?
“Selena came to me!” I exclaim. “With your help, by the way. And it’s not just about the publicity, I would never do that. If I thought those two were actually good for each other, I’d happily get out of their way,” I add. “But Selena knew what she was doing when she asked me for help. She wants out, and one way or another, the whole thing is going to end in public heartbreak. At least if they listen to me, I can help minimize the fallout—for the both of them.”
“Maybe,” Wes says agreeably. “Or maybe you’re just trying to stand in the way of true love.”
And before I can argue, he pulls his shirt off.
Umm, what the hell? I blink. That’s one way to win an argument, I guess, and for a moment it works. I’m so dumbstruck by the smooth, tanned muscles and sexy smattering of chest hair that I forget what we were talking about. “Umm,” I manage, trying not to stare—and, failing at that, trying not to drool too much. “What . . . what are you doing?”
“Cooling off,” he says easily. He loops the reins of our horses around a nearby tree branch, securing them in place. Then he pulls off his boots and jeans until he’s wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs, and strides toward the clear, chilly-looking creek. He looks back at me, an eyebrow raised. “C’mon. You look like you could use a break, too.”
I watch as he wades into the creek and then dives below the surface, re-emerging a moment later with a splash.
Is he serious? There is no universe in which stripping down and wading into the water with my extremely hot ex-boyfriend is a good idea.
Except . . . I’m sweaty, sticky, and exhausted from my equine-related brush with death—
And he’s my extremely hot ex-boyfriend.
“Screw it,” I mutter finally, kicking off my flip-flops. Life’s too short—isn’t that what I just learned?
Still, I have some modesty. “Eyes to yourself,” I call, and Wes makes a big show of turning his back while I shimmy out of my jeans and shirt, and dash across the clearing in my bra and panties.
Thank God for boy-shorts, is all I can say, because if I were wearing a thong today, there’s zero chance I would be doing this.
And that would be a damn shame, because the water feels amazing. I wade in up to my waist, gasping at the shock of it. The water is crisp but not too cold, and after working up a sweat with my sheer panic, it’s just about perfect. I float on my back for a moment, enjoying the flow of the current rushing all around me and the sound of birds chirping in the trees. The sunlight is making psychedelic patterns on the insides of my closed eyelids, and for the first time since I arrived, I finally relax.
That’s when I get splashed right in the face.
I sputter upright and find Wes floating a few feet away, grinning. “Sorry,” he says, “I didn’t see you there. Was keeping my eyes to myself.”
I smile. “Very funny,” I say, and splash him right back.
We drift in companionable silence for a moment. “See, now this is the kind of outdoor recreation I can get behind,” Wes says, tilting his face up toward the sun.
“As opposed to sunrise yoga?” I tease.
“Hey, my downward dog’s as good as the next guy’s.”
I hum, noncommittal. “I didn’t get a chance to take a look.”
“Too bad,” Wes says. “I saw yours.”
The tone in his voice makes it clear that my technique wasn’t all he was looking at. And if he was set up behind me then . . .
Yup. He was staring at my ass.
I blush, my body prickling with heat in spite of the chilly water. Is he flirting with me? I’d be lying if I said there isn’t a part of me that wants to flirt back. But then I remember the breakup: those long, awful days I spent obsessively checking my phone to see if he’d texted me back; I remember calling and trying to sound breezy and casual in my unanswered voicemails. I remember wondering if he’d been run over by a bus—or if he just wanted me to think that he had.
You’ve been here before, I remind myself firmly.
And getting my heart broken by this guy once was way more than enough.
I swim a little farther away from him, putting more distance between us. “Can I ask you something?” I say.
“Shoot.”
“I know why I’m here, but what’s the deal with you?” I ask. “I mean, I know your bosses probably want to keep them together, but why do you care either way if Selena and Ryder break up?”
Wes shoots me a mischievous look, treading water. “Would you buy that I’m a hopeless romantic?”
I snort. “Nice try. You’re telling me that all this sabotage is, what, just a good work ethic?”
“I could say the same for you.” Wes grins. “Your book publicity?”
“That’s different!” I protest. “I’m not some breakup mercenary. I mean, yes, I want the book to do well. For myself, and for my editor—she’s new, and she’s really sticking her neck out for me, you know? But also, I like helping people. Guiding them through all those moments of rejection and insecurity, and showing them that there’s life after a breakup.” I swim in place, rippling the surface of the water with my fingertips. “And, if all else fails, taking their phones away so they can’t drunk dial their exes and humiliate themselves.”
Wes chuckles. “That’s the true public service, right there.”
“Yeah, they should name an Avenue after me back in New York.” I smile. “And when they do, I’ll owe it all to you: the original breaker-upper.”
I mean it as a joke, not an insult, but Wes’s smile slips. “You’re really never going to forgive me for that, are you?” he asks, looking thrown.
“There’s nothing to forgive, I promise,” I tell him quickly. “The whole thing is ancient history.”
Wes swims closer. “Is it, though?”
My mind blanks. All at once I’m hyper-aware of how close he’s moving: the broadness of his body, the smooth tan expanse of his skin. I want to wrap myself around him and lick my way down his—
“We should get back,” I blurt, splashing like a lunatic as I scramble all at once toward the shore. I’m in such a rush to escape his magnetic smile I nearly trip over my own ankles and wind up sprawled face-first in the mud. “Work to do, you know. They’re probably wondering where we are.”
“Ryder hasn’t wondered about anyone other than himself in years,” Wes murmurs with a smirk, but he doesn’t argue, and soon, we’re dressed, damp, and heading back to the ranch. This time, at least, there are no near-death experiences, and once we’re back at the stables, I hand off my horse to the ranch hand, blurt a goodbye, and hightail it to my guesthouse to shower off the dirt—and the pheromones.
That was a close one.
Clearly, there’s still chemistry between us—chemistry that even ice-cold creek water can’t extinguish.
But you’re not here to have a hot, totally ill-advised fling with your ex, I remind myself sternly as I dry off and change into a dry pair of pants. In fact, isn’t that one of my basic breakup rules?
No backsies. Under any circumstances. People break up for a reason, and it’s only delaying the inevitable to pretend you can make it work a second time around. I mean, look at Selena and Ryder! Selena said she keeps giving him another shot, and he keeps disappointing her all over again.
Feeling more determined now, I peek out the front door to make sure the coast is clear, then creep across the grounds to the main house, careful to avoid Wes.
“Hey!” I find Brooke in the kitchen, where she’s listening to Fleetwood Mac and prepping a giant haul of gorgeous farmer’s market vegetables: fat heirloom tomatoes and fragrant bunches of basil. “Wow, this all looks delicious. Can I do anything to help?”
It’s not entirely a selfless offer. I’m desperate for a job to distract myself from the image of Wes, wet and shirtless, asking me if it’s all ancient history. “I could peel potatoes? Re-alphabetize your spice drawer? Scrub out the microwave, perhaps?”
Brooke raises an eyebrow. “Everything OK?” she asks, the faintest hint of a smile in her voice
“Uh, yep,” I say, grabbing a whole carrot off the counter and chomping away like I’m Bugs frickin’ Bunny. “Everything’s great. Never better.”
Brooke seems less than convinced, but she motions to a pile of leafy greens on the butcher block. “You can go ahead and give that a chop, if you want. I’m going to make juice in a bit.”
“Juice!” I exclaim, fully aware than I sound unhinged at the prospect. “Perfect!”
I set to work, finding comfort in the steady thunk of the sharp knife against the cutting board, the fresh, damp smell of the kale and romaine. It’s possible I’ve chopped a little more than necessary—OK, there’s enough here for the entire starting lineup of the San Diego Padres to do a seven-day cleanse—by the time Selena wanders in.