by Parker Foye
Simon McAllister and his painfully neat penmanship he’d always been so bloody proud of; James would recognize that writing anywhere. And here it was, in James’s fucking house, insinuating—Was it insinuating? Was James being paranoid? He’d split with Simon a year ago, more or less, and thought he was done with that second-guessing shit.
“To Illustrious Ruckus and his sister.”
Stacking the cards neatly to give his hands something to do, James tucked them to the side of the counter and picked up his coffee. The mug was cool. How long had he been sitting there, staring at the card? There’s no time for this shit, James. Archie was due to arrive shortly. He needed to get his head in the game.
“Come on, James, you can do this. You’re a man, not a horse. Get back in the—Fuck. Get back on the bike. Ride the bike?” James muttered as he walked the training arena, executing a perfect turn at each corner, sipping his tepid coffee every other word. “Like riding a bike. Right.”
“James! Good morning!”
James fumbled the mug of coffee, but managed to catch it before it hit the ground. Liquid splashed his sleeves, and he grimaced. There went his second chance for making a good impression.
By the time James temporarily finished being a moron, Archie had crossed the arena toward him. He wore slim jeans with a shirt and vest, more nicely turned out than most people who spent time at the yard, but his boots were covered with a layer of muck that made James more relaxed about his own appearance. Archie’s hands were in his pockets and though his stride had a swagger to it, his shoulders were close to his ears, like he was nervous.
James hoped Archie was nervous. James certainly was. Had Archie been this attractive the day before?
“Morning,” James said, reminding himself not to stare. He reached to scratch behind his ear and narrowly avoided braining himself with the mug. He tossed the mug over his shoulder with a curse. He totally meant to do that. “Right. A tour, wasn’t it? Where did you want to start?”
Looking away from the mug, Archie met James’s eyes and smiled. Archie had great teeth. “Wherever you think is best,” he said, probably not meaning James’s bedroom. “The photographer said to scout out places today, and she’ll decide on better locations tomorrow.”
James snorted. “I know how that goes.” He pointed over to the stables. “Want to meet the family?”
Thankfully Archie was used to horse people, and didn’t think James was referring to his actual family. Because James wasn’t a horse. That would be nuts.
Oblivious to James’s internal crisis, Archie nodded. “I’d love to meet the horses. Will Illustrious Ruckus be joining us?”
“No. Ruckus is out. And not here.” James had successfully covered for his four-legged side for over twenty years; why was he suddenly such a fuck-awful liar? Although, what with Simon’s message, maybe he’d always been awful at covering for his four-legged alter ego. “Anyway, follow me.”
With a dorky shuffle that would have gotten him penalized on gait in a competition, James headed across the yard toward the stables. Archie fell in step beside him, their long legs matching stride for stride.
“So,” James started. “This is where they sleep—watch where you’re going! Shit.”
AFTER AN inauspicious beginning—Archie laughed off his mild collision with the doorway and endured James’s fussing with good humor—the tour became less focused on the technical aspects of running a training yard, and more focused on the way their hands brushed together as they walked with their matching strides.
Once they’d run out of excuses to keep Archie away from his job, James escorted Archie to his car and leaned his crossed arms against the roof, telling stories through the open window while Archie checked his e-mail and laughed in all the right places. James had been leaning there long enough for ridges to score into his forearms when he finally talked himself to a stop.
Now or never, James. Digging the toe of his boot into the dirt to try to dispel his nerves, James took a breath. “And that’s how Ruckus got his name. Also, did you want to go out for dinner sometime, maybe? With me, I mean. For food.”
Archie put down his phone and beamed like the sun had come out. It made his eyes crinkle. “Finally. I thought you were never going to ask.”
“I was that obvious?”
“Well, you weren’t subtle,” Archie said, lips quirking as he shrugged. “But unsubtle works for me.”
Excellent news for James, the human equivalent of a bull in a china shop. He even had hooves some of the time.
James grinned and ducked his head, acknowledging his lack of moves. He gathered the last scraps of his courage. “When would be good for you?”
Archie picked up his phone and navigated to the calendar, flicking through the dates. “I’ve got to go back to the city, talk to my editor… Is tomorrow any good for you? I know it’s short notice but—”
“Tomorrow’s fine, tomorrow’s great. Here, do you want to give me your phone?”
Archie did. James input his number, barely restraining himself from rocking on his heels like a kid, and handed the phone back.
“Ring me later, if you like. We can arrange where to meet.”
Archie worked on his phone for a minute, the ghost of a smile on his lips, before locking the screen and nudging his glasses up his nose. He met James’s eyes. “So, I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“I hope so,” James said. Unsubtly.
He was still standing in the yard when all that remained of Archie was exhaust fumes.
JAMES RETURNED to the kitchen to destroy Simon’s card and get a start on pretending he’d never seen it. He found Tilly at the kitchen table, frowning at her laptop. There were three mugs with varying levels of cold tea weighing down sheets of paper, the detritus of pens and scribbled notes covering the table surface. Clearly there was something awry in the house of Kumar. James moved the mugs to the sink and flicked the kettle on, noting as he did the majority of bouquets were absent. Thank Christ, he couldn’t deal with that at the moment.
“Everything all right, Tils?”
She darted a look at him. “Sorry, no time for your drama. I need to get the application in this week, or I’ll miss the window.”
Pulling the last clean mug from the cupboard, James set to making tea. Tilly hated it when he made tea in the mug instead of the pot, but she didn’t say a word when he set it down next to her and took a seat. He read the heading on one of the papers: riding school insurance.
“You were serious about that training school, then?” James had thought the school was a line to feed Archie, part of setting them up together like the interfering mare she was.
“What do you mean—Of course I was serious. What do you think I’ve been trying to do this whole time? I have a plan, and it’s brilliant,” she said, not looking away from the screen while she took a slurp of her tea. “It’s this fudging paperwork.”
These people and their plans. James flicked through the papers; a lot of it was in legalese, but he could recognize insurance documentation, resumes from trainers they’d worked with over the years, a projected budget. His stomach twisted as he read; Tilly must have been planning this since long before their retirement, and she’d been trying to get the project launched while he’d moped on their couch and ate all of Sanjit’s favorite cereal.
He stacked the documents together and scooched his chair closer to Tilly. Her browser was open to a video of foals learning to walk, paused at a knock-kneed piebald. He looked at her sidelong.
“Hard at work, I see.”
“I was taking a break.” She stuck her tongue out at him and alt-tabbed to a spreadsheet with an intimidating number of columns and zeroes. “I’ve been looking at this shit all morning, but I can’t get the numbers to do what I want. See at the bottom there?”
James saw. He also saw farther up the page where a figure didn’t make sense, and pointed it out. Tilly changed the figure, smiling at him. She looked like their mother when she smiled, but Jame
s knew better than to mention it, or he’d just see her glare for the rest of his life.
“Thanks, Jamie. For a free-loading bag of bones, you can be surprisingly helpful,” she said. She flicked back to the video of the foal, who was fucking adorable. “There’d be room at the school for you, you know. If it all works out.”
James swung onto the back legs of his chair, grinning broadly. “Of course there’d be room for me. I’m a champion.”
Tilly rolled her eyes and pushed back from the table like he’d grievously offended her, but she scruffed his hair as she left the kitchen. James thought about calling her back and mentioning the note from Simon, asking for her ideas on what they should do—James, naturally, was opting to do nothing until it all went away—but he said nothing.
He found Simon’s card in the stack and tore it in half, tossing it in the recycling.
ARCHIE WAS wearing contacts. Twice before their main course arrived, James had to dig his fingers into his leg through his jeans, reminding himself to breathe. He was going to end up with a bruise but didn’t regret it even a little.
Conversation flowed easily as they ate, and aside from the breathing issue, James was optimistic about the possibility of a second date. Wine would have given him more confidence, but they were both driving and had stuck to overpriced mineral water. They declined dessert in favor of coffee, and Archie nursed his, rolling the mug between his hands and eyeing James from beneath those long lashes.
James knew a move when he saw one, and Archie seemed like the type of man to have a plethora of moves. Fine, two could play that game. James leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs under the table and crossing them at the ankles. If he made contact with Archie as he did, well, space was at a premium.
“I had—” Archie started, pausing when a waitress came over to take away their plates. When she was gone he tried again, expression less coy and more sincere. “I had a good time tonight.”
“Me too,” James said, premonition twisting low in his gut. There was a “but” lurking.
“Could we do this again? But.” Here it came. “After I’ve finished the piece I’m writing about Matilda and Illustrious Ruckus.”
Because that was precisely what James wanted to think about while on the most promising date he’d had all year: his sister. And what did Archie mean, after he’d finished the piece? Why the hell did he agree to go out in the first place, if this was coming?
James felt his face make a series of expressions he couldn’t control, reading his own disappointment, annoyance, and resignation in Archie’s reaction. He finally got control of his face and dragged up a smile from his boots, which he’d tucked back under his own seat. Turned out there was more space than he’d supposed.
“Sure, I understand,” he said, trying to sound upbeat. He did actually realize how professionalism worked, but try telling his feelings that. Stupid feelings. “You could let me know, I guess? And I’ll not say anything, around the farm.”
“That’s not what—”
James slugged back the rest of his coffee, which was stupid because it had still been curling with steam. He scanned the restaurant for a member of waitstaff as he spoke. “When are you coming by the farm next? I’ll let Tilly know. Unless—you probably already made arrangements, right? That makes sense. I’ll get dinner. Hi, could I get the bill please?”
The waitress glanced over James’s shoulder to Archie, as if to ask what was up with James. James saw Archie’s shrug from the corner of his eye and tried not to wince. He waited as the waitress shrugged and tapped at her tablet, pulling a receipt from the printer on her belt.
“Whenever you’re ready, guys,” she said, turning away when another table caught her attention.
James picked up the bill for something to do with his hands. Fuck, he was a mess. He wanted to visit his flat for the first time in weeks, so he wouldn’t be interrupted while dissecting every foolish thing he’d done in his life to date.
“James.” Archie’s warm hand cupped James’s. “Look at me.”
Reluctantly, James did as asked. He knew he was acting like a kid who didn’t get the last piece of chocolate, and he tried to get a hold of himself. Petulance was not attractive on a grown man.
Unlike Archie’s everything, which was distractingly so. It was unfair for a man to be that attractive and confident and send such mixed signals. James wanted to cup Archie’s face and deliver the most chaste kiss in his repertoire; he wanted to throw Archie onto his bed and not leave until the sheets were beyond repair. He wanted to—
He pinched his leg, and his eye twitched. Christ that hurt.
“Sorry about that. I’m working on—”
Archie’s tongue was in James’s mouth, which made finishing his apology difficult. Archie tasted like coffee and after-dinner mints, and his fingers were firm on James’s jaw as he directed the kiss. James reached to steady Archie as he leaned over the table, before closing his eyes and losing himself in the kiss. Archie’s skin was warm even through his sweater, and if James pushed the fabric up a little he could—
“Guys. Guys! You’re cute, but there are single people trying to eat. Stop being cruel and take it outside.”
The taste of Archie’s laugh in James’s mouth was way better than any dessert on the menu. He broke the kiss and pushed away from James, briefly touching James’s hand as he resettled onto his side of the table. James felt like he was moving in slow motion as he dragged his gaze away from the swollen pink of Archie’s lips and found their waitress waiting expectantly. She had their bill in her hand. When had she taken that back?
“Shit, yeah. Okay,” James said eloquently. He kicked Archie in the ankle when the fucker snickered. “Let me just—Okay.”
It took him three goes to get his PIN correct for the card machine. He left a generous tip and took a business card, so he’d remember he could never come back.
Archie was waiting near the entrance, a smirk playing on his lips. In comfortable quiet they headed outside, ignoring both the knowing and exasperated looks from the other diners. The evening air was refreshing after the stuffy restaurant, and James’s strides stretched out as he crossed the car park, itching to run.
Archie followed James to his car. His hands were in his jacket pockets, and he bumped James’s shoulder with his own, his chin tucked behind his up-turned collar.
“I love these light nights. Feels like you never have to go home, you know?” Archie said.
James grinned and bumped Archie in return. “I know exactly what you mean.” He fished through his pocket for his car keys, jangling them and turning to unlock the door, speaking over his shoulder. “We do have to go home eventually, though.” Alone. Ugh.
Before James could get in the car, Archie reached out and grabbed the edge of the door. His expressive face was drawn in serious lines.
“You understand that I meant it, right? I can’t be involved with anyone I’m writing about. It’s an ethics thing. I didn’t mean to lead you on. You were just so…,” he said, gesturing at James, eyes going wide. “So you. I couldn’t resist. Please don’t hold it against me.”
The last twist of bitterness James was harboring dissolved. It had been a while since anyone looked at him like that, and his ego was flattered. Sure, he was disappointed, but how long could it take to write an article about Tilly? She was his sister and he loved her, but seriously.
“I’ll let you make it up to me, how’s that?”
The lines of Archie’s face softened into a small smile, like he’d actually believed James would sulk himself out of a chance to kiss Archie again.
“I think that’s agreeable,” Archie said. He pulled a face. “Plus, the horse world can be weird. No offense. I don’t want anyone to think I’m giving your farm preferential treatment or anything.”
James snorted, unable to stop himself. “Weird” was definitely the word. He grinned at Archie, unable to begrudge him wanting to avoid horse drama. James would love to avoid horse drama.
“Trust me, I know we’re weird, and I understand where you’re coming from. I’m sorry I acted like an idiot. I swear I’m actually an adult human, most of the time.”
The rest of the time he was a horse, but that wasn’t first-date talk. Or second-date. Or third….
Archie ducked in to press a kiss to James’s cheek the way James didn’t think anyone really did anymore, and stepped away from the car. He shoved his hands back in his pockets.
“If you’re willing to be patient with me, I think I can spare you a second chance, James Kirby. Until then, we’re strictly professional.”
James nodded. “Strictly professional, Archie Ievins.”
THE NEXT morning brought another black card from Simon, sent overnight with some kind of small orange flowers that would’ve been pretty if they hadn’t been tainted by association. James had thrown the card—for Ruckus and his sister—in the recycling, but was struggling to decide what to do with the flowers.
“Hey, Tils, do you think we can eat these?” The Internet would know.
Tilly grabbed the bouquet and dumped it in the sink, cellophane crinkling. She leaned against the counter, looking like she’d slept about as much as he had. Although hopefully not because she was being opaquely threatened with exposure by her ex-boyfriend. Sanjit would be pissed.
“Why don’t any of them send chocolates? I would love chocolates. Do you think Archie can put that in his article?” She affected a deep announcer voice. “Matilda Kumar, British eventing rider, prefers dark chocolate. Send care of Kirby House Farm. Instead of more bloody dead bloody flowers.”