We walk briskly and end up in a cellar with a door that leads to another cellar, which is full of rotting wooden crates. Jack takes my elbow and leads me to a narrow staircase. The paint is peeling off the walls and the stairs need polishing.
When we reach the third floor, a floor I’ve never been to, Jack pushes a door open and I find myself in his bedroom. Jack’s three hounds hop to their feet when they see him, their claws scraping the hardwood floor, but when he snaps and points at their doggie beds along the far wall, they lie back down.
The bay window is wide open, letting fresh September air and moonlight into the spacious room. Jesus Lord, it’s so big, you could probably fit, like, a bowling alley in here. His queen-sized bed is made—the plaid duvet is perfectly pressed. Little horse figurines sit on his shelves and his backpack is slung over the desk chair. A pair of dirty socks is strewn across the hardwood floor, but otherwise the room is spotless. Unlike any other boy’s room ever. The maids do their jobs.
“Does Yvonne know you have dirty laundry on the floor?” I tease, gesturing at his socks.
“Shhh,” he says, placing a finger over my lips. “She’ll hear you and want to clean up. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to be disturbed right now.”
A world map covered in red thumbtacks hangs on the wall. Most of the tacks are concentrated in Italy, Switzerland, and Germany. “What’s this?”
His eyes light up when he looks at the map. “Just places I want to visit one day, you know, when I have time.”
I’ve never thought much about traveling—he and I have such different dreams, but seeing the little red thumbtacks makes me want to travel someplace romantic with him.
A pair of glasses, a bottle of Tylenol, and a picture of him and his dad with a horse sit on his nightstand. I suddenly feel really close to him, seeing his personal things.
“You okay?” he asks quietly, as he takes off his watch and sets it on his dresser.
From his shelf I pick up a little black horse figurine. I run my forefinger over its mane, thinking of Moonshadow. “Jack, you’re not gonna sell Star, right?”
He drops his chin onto my shoulder and wraps his arms around my stomach. “Not right now, no.”
“But you do sell horses.”
“All the time. It’s part of the business.”
“Do you check out who you sell them to?”
“Always.” Jack turns me around and stares into my eyes intently. “We do background checks.”
“After my mom died, I started taking care of this mare. Her name was Moonshadow.” I sniffle, remembering how she used to prance when I entered her stall. “We took care of each other.”
He listens as I tell him what awful Mr. Cates did, how he sold Moonshadow to a man who forced her to race, even though her racing days were long gone. At her second race, she stumbled on her way out the gate and broke two legs. They shot her behind the track and left her body, not caring a lick what happened to it. Dad helped me bury her in the woods behind our trailer park.
That’s why I hated rich people so bad. All they cared about was making more money. At least that’s what I thought. Until I met Jack, who cares about family and honor and history.
“I’m sorry about Moonshadow,” Jack says, hugging me. “Sounds like you were a good friend to her. I’m glad Star has you now.”
“Yeah?”
“I was torturing the poor fellow, making him spend time with boys when he hates them. I should’ve known he’s into girls. Just like his owner.”
I give Jack a playful punch on the shoulder, and he hugs me again.
“I can’t thank you enough for helping me with Star. On the way home from Kentucky this afternoon, my father told me how proud he is that I stuck to my guns. Maybe I’ll pass this test after all, thanks to you.”
“We’re a pretty good team, huh?” I reply.
“Yeah we are,” he says in a thick voice, and kisses me deeply, pushing me against the wall. We slowly make out and it hits me how right this feels, how there’s no place I’d rather be.
And suddenly things speed up in a very good way. He cups my face with both hands, watching me unbutton his shirt. He twirls me around and unzips my dress, letting it drop to the floor, leaving me in just a bra and panties. Thank God I wore my matching set today. He brushes my curls out of the way so he can kiss my neck from behind, and I wrap an arm around the back of his head, weaving my fingers in his long hair. His chest presses against my back, his heart pounding hard and wild. His hands are everywhere, softly stroking my stomach, my hips, my breasts.
He yanks his boots off, hopping on one foot to do so, then he’s kissing me again. I pull him to the bed. He falls on top of me. Our lips find each other hungrily. He holds both of my hands above my head as we kiss, trapping me.
“How am I supposed to unbutton your pants if you won’t let my hands go?” I ask with a tiny voice, shaking all over.
“Not until I’m finished with you.” He kisses a trail from my neck down to my stomach. “So that’s where it is,” he says, kissing the horseshoe tattoo on my hip before smiling up at me.
“Are you wearing a belt buckle that says cocky?” I peer down at his waistband.
“Oh, um…”
I roll my eyes, smiling like crazy. “Would you get back to kissing me already?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, diving back in. I kiss the sensitive hollow of his neck. His pulse races beneath my lips. I bite his ear and his neck, as we squirm under the covers, our legs twisting together.
“Not too hard.” He pauses to smile at me. “My parents will kill me if I show up at breakfast with a hickey.”
“Oh.” My face flames devil red.
“I’ll give you one instead,” he says, nipping at my neck. I laugh and try to pull away, but he snuggles me closer beneath the blankets.
We make out for ages, as he presses against me and rocks his hips, slowly at first, then faster and faster, and then he finally pushes past the elastic of my panties, to touch me for real. I love it, and can’t stop murmuring his name over and over. I reach between us and unbutton his pants and tug his boxers down, exploring where he’s hard and silky.
“I think you like me,” he says, grinning.
“You’re okay,” I tease.
“Just okay?” he murmurs, tickling me, making me squirm and laugh. “Just okay?”
“Fine.” I touch his cheek and return his gaze, feeling so many feelings. “I like you so much,” I say quietly, and he reaches over to his nightstand, opens the top drawer, and pulls out a condom.
I’m out of breath, panting—about to tell him I don’t want to do this yet, as he begins to slip my underwear down, when I hear a noise.
This house is so old you can hear every creak and groan, especially from the hardwood floors. The boards squeak—someone is coming up the stairs.
“Hide!” Jack whispers, throwing the bedcovers back, jumping off me, and fastening his pants. He rushes to his dresser and fishes out a T-shirt.
I grab my dress and shoes and catapult myself into the closet. It’s bigger than my goddamned bedroom. I hide behind one of Jack’s suits and try to listen to what’s happening out in the room. Nothing yet. I take the arm of Jack’s suit jacket and bring it to my nose, loving its guy smell. God, I’ve become a complete psycho.
I clench up when the knock sounds on the door.
“Come in,” Jack says.
“Just came to say good night,” his mother says. “You left the wedding early.”
“Are you alone?” Mr. Goodwin asks.
A heartbeat. “Yeah, just tired. Gotta get up early.”
After a long, heart attack-inducing silence, Mr. Goodwin says, “All right. Sleep well.”
“I love you,” Mrs. Goodwin adds.