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My eyes slither over to Warren, who's still beside a vacant chair. It's like he crawled out of my nightmares.
You look just like your mother...
I dart my focus back to the track—where it should be—and watch handlers guide each horse into the gate, securing them in their respective nooks. Jockeys sport white pants and flashy striped or polka dot uniforms, mounted on saddles with bold numbers.
Sixty seconds.
Stay focused now. Don't. Look. Don't...
Dammit. My eyes act on their own accord, swiveling to steal another peek at—
I inhale sharply, catching Warren's gaze. His body angles down the line of the track, so he's not overtly turning his head, but... there's no mistake. He's looking right at me. I snap my gaze straight ahead, cursing myself that I didn't do it sooner, as the heat of his attention burns through my skin.
"Did you see Hayzeus?" An arm drapes across the back of my chair. The moment it does, as if I got a death wish, I look again, so fast my brain hardly registers.
Whew. I'm safe.
"Jules?"
"Huh?" I glance up, finding Hayden encroaching on my space. When his knee brushes against mine, my cheeks warm for a whole different reason.
I much prefer his attention.
"I asked if you saw Hayzeus. Or did your hat get in the way?" He flicks its brim, the motion disturbing the bobby pins, in turn tugging on my scalp.
"Hey!" I swat him on the shoulder, earning a big smile I'll probably see in my dreams tonight. "Yes, I saw him." I think.
"What a specimen, am I right? He's got this in the bag. Sorry to say, but your little Canterbelle doesn't stand a chance."
I roll my eyes. "You should root for Canterbelle, too. It's your money on both of them."
His playful expression falters. "No, that's your money on your horse."
"Hayden, come on—"
"I mean it. If Canterbelle wins, you get the payout. So, it's your money."
My lips part, my mind turning up blank. "Are you joking?"
His brow furrows, as if offended. "Of course not, baby. Why would I be?"
I can't hide my smile, feeling a flutter in my chest, strong enough to overlook what he called me.
Settling back in his chair, he props an ankle atop his knee, an arm still draped across my chair, wearing a look of... pride? Absentmindedly, his fingertips brush across my bare shoulder. "Besides"—he strokes some more, making it hard to think—"this is all for fun. We didn't bet much."
"Ha. Ha. Now you're just messing with me."
"Hmm?"
"How is ten thousand dollars not that much? Come on, Hayden. No need to prove anything. I know you're rich and all, but no one thinks that's a fun-sized bet."
He snickers.
"What's so funny?"
"These seats were thirty grand."
What?!
