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"Okay, then you do realize how astronomically unlikely it is for him to win. Experts base these odds off previous races and the horses' bloodlines, you know. They're accurate for a reason. If you wanted an underdog, you could've at least gone with Mane Attraction at thirty-to-one odds. You know, something a bit more plausible than an alien spacecraft landing on the track partway through the race."
I suppress a laugh, not because of his theatrics, but expecting the reaction my next words will surely provoke. "You think I looked at the odds?"
He deflates, yet again, but worse than he did from my dad joke. Like a whoopee cushion, void of air and humor. "What did you say...?"
I blink. Yeah? I said what I said.
"Well, what in the world did you base your bet on, then?"
"Their names." Duh.
His face falls, so, so very far, and it takes all my strength not to combust into a fit of laughter. You'd think I took his favorite toy away.
"Well, let's go place our bets!" I breeze past him cheerily, smiling even brighter when his groan sounds behind me. Approaching the only open waging booth, I unhook my purse's latch and—
"Don't even think about it." Hayden beats me to the counter.
I arch an eyebrow. "Huh?"
He gestures to my bag. "Money. You don't need any when you're with me. In fact, I'd prefer it if you left all your cards at home."
I stagger backward, just a step, my jaw hanging low on its hinges. I try to respond, except I just... can't. All that escapes me are inaudible noises. Sure, he's lent me his Black Amex once before, but that was because I needed new clothes for our arrangement. No other reason, right...? Then why is he acting the same way now? I can easily pay for my bet, which has nothing to do with our arrangement, anyway.
"Okay..." I breathe, as the feminist inside of me rattles in its newfound cage. Little does it know, I can hardly hear anything. I'm too busy mulling over a single word.
Home.
And the fact that, when it left his lips, my initial thoughts weren't of my apartment.
But his.
A possessive fire blazes behind his eyes as I feel him reading mine. "Good." He grins, swiveling on his heels to face the teller, sinking a hand into his pocket. "We'll do five thousand on Hayzeus and Canterbelle."
WHAT?!?!
I rush up beside him and hiss, "What are you doing?! I wouldn't have bet on Can—"
"Here, baby." He offers me his wallet. "Be a doll and count out my cash for yourself, will you?"
Cash?!
I freeze momentarily, meaning to argue some more, if it weren't for the teller's gaze. I snatch his wallet. Who has ten-thousand dollars cash just lying around in their wallet? Is he some drug dealer? He must've meant hundred, not thousand. There's not even enough room for—
My heart drops when I flip it open, revealing a considerable stack. Hesitantly, I comb through it, finding each bill to be a thousand dollars. There must be at least thirty, all showing considerable signs of use. They don't even print these anymore, and there's only a set amount in circulation. How did he get his hands on so many?
Gaping, I sense Hayden's presence near, his hand settling at the small of my back.
"Be sure to count out loud."
My toes curl at his voice's rough timbre, only for my teeth to bite into my lower lip at the sound of his satisfied hum as I pull the entire stack from the clip. Pinching the first bill, I try not to dwell on how many hours at the coffee shop it represents, before snagging it from the stack.
"One thousand." I pull another. "Two thousand, three thousand..."
His touch sweeps up my spine and back down, trailing goosebumps.
"Four thousand," I force out. "Five thousand, six thousand, seven thousand..."
"That's it."
