Their Vicious Games(32)

“It is what I say, since I’m your teacher,” Graham says smugly. When we enter the ring, I realize how much bigger it is than the stall. But the Ride must be even bigger. The magnitude of what’s going to happen in just three days is overwhelming.

“Hey, um, how long is the Ride?” I whisper softly.

“About four miles,” Graham says solemnly.

“How big is this horse arena?”

Graham swallows. “Much smaller than that. You can go around this ring in about fifteen seconds. It takes an average of ten minutes to get through the Ride.”

“Have you ever done the Ride?” I ask.

Graham doesn’t meet my eyes when he says, “I have. But it wasn’t really the Ride. It was just the path it’s raced on. The jumps and ditches are one thing. With the other riders working against you, that’s another.”

I laugh hoarsely. “Right.”

“Just learn how to mount your horse first,” Graham says, trying to distract me with a more manageable step. I nod and he clears his throat. “Hey, Hannah—”

“Hannah G. I’m not Hannah R,” she reminds us again.

What the fuck is so wrong with Hannah R that she doesn’t want to be mistaken for her?

“Right,” Graham mutters. “Come over so I can tell you how to mount—”

But Hannah G is already sliding one boot into her stirrup. She places her free hand to the saddle and swings her leg over in a perfect mount. Then she sits primly on the top of the horse and stares directly at Graham.

“I did a campaign with Gucci on horseback,” she says, like that’s something everyone does.

“Of course you did,” Graham says. He drops the mounting block right next to Starlight, then turns to me, offering one hand. “May I?”

I’m not stupid enough to not take the help. I grab his hand and immediately, the air in my lungs seems to dissipate. I shake the feeling away and pretend I don’t feel the heat of his body right behind me.

Get a fucking grip, Adina. This isn’t a period drama.

I will not let this Remington man distract me. I step up on the mounting block.

“Now, grab the reins tight. Slide your left foot into the stirrup. Good, just like that. Hand on the saddle. Then swing your right foot over.”

His instructions echo in my ears and suddenly I’m off the ground.

“Yeah, uh… what now?” I ask.

Graham smiles, grabbing the reins from me. “Now we get you comfortable. Hannah G, you need any help?”

“Nope,” Hannah G says with a pop on her p. She squeezes her thighs, and then Princess breaks into a clean trot around the arena. “I had ponies at my birthday parties every year until I was twelve.”

Graham begins to lead me around the arena, and I lurch as suddenly I’m in motion through no choice of my own.

I’m not riding so much as following Graham around the ring. Hannah G is going in the opposite direction. Despite her anecdote about her ponies, she keeps shifting uncomfortably, and Princess doesn’t seem particularly keen to obey her sharply squealed commands.

I refocus on Starlight, who has begun to wander like my attention.

“Easy,” I mumble, and Starlight eases. The ambling trot beneath me starts to feel almost normal after a go or two around the ring. I sit taller, and I even manage to find a tiny smile for Graham when he finally passes me the reins and I loop them around my wrists. He returns that smile, but more absently, distracted as he looks away to the other ring.

I follow his gaze and see Penthesilea galloping around the circle, standing in her stirrups, leaning forward, her thighs engaged in her tight riding pants. I can’t see her eyes beneath the brim of her riding helmet, but the power that she holds in her core is taut and I imagine they must be laser focused. She races forward ahead of the pack, and I think I hear her bark a command at the midnight black thoroughbred she’s on as she nears a massive hurdle.

And then she soars over it, like she and her horse are one—like they’re air.

“Graham… do I have to learn how to do that?” I whisper.

Graham doesn’t answer, but his expression—the way the corners of his mouth turn downward and his shoulders stiffen—is answer enough.





CHAPTER 12





“JESUS, I’M STARVING,” I PROCLAIM the moment I meet up with Saint at the barn entrance. My growling stomach has been waging war with my disgust and fear for hours, and finally, hunger is winning again.

“Same,” Saint admits. “How was your lesson? I saw it was with the other Remington boy. I always forget his name.”

“Graham,” I remind her.

“Yes. Well, he doesn’t make much of a lasting impression. At least, not compared to his brother,” Saint declares.

I don’t tell her that I’m starting to disagree.

“It was good. I’m trotting on my own. Galloped for a minute toward the end. It was really fast, and I was terrified, but Starlight’s a good horse,” I acknowledge. Saint nods, and she even looks at me with a bit of pride.

“That’s good. We jumped a few times. I rode when I was much younger, but I remembered the basics quite easily,” Saint says.

“Like a bike, yeah?”

Saint’s brow furrows. “Is that… an American saying?”