Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 60342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
His hands are planted on either side of my head, caging me in. He’s so close that I can smell the toothpaste and coffee on his breath. I lift my chin in defiance.
“Why are you so mad, Pumpkin?” he asks, teasing me.
“Don’t call me that when you’re being mean.”
“I’m not being mean.” He grins. “I told you I just wanted to give you a little space. It’s the right thing to do.”
“No, Luke, the right thing to do would’ve been to fuck me so hard that I stop thinking about all the crap that happened this week. But thank you so very much.”
The grin twists into a darker smile. It sends a shiver down my spine.
That’s it. This is where I want you.
“That’s not why I’m mad at you, though,” I say, pretending to fix his shirt so I can touch him. “I’m quite capable of taking care of myself. I do it all the time.” I act like I dust something off his shoulder. “I’m just a little unhappy about having to get up so early, and I really hate horse shit. So why don’t we—”
“No.” He pushes away from me and heads toward a storage room. “You’re cleaning these stalls with me.”
“Luke,” I whine. “Come on. Let me cheer you on instead.”
He hands me a really big rake-like thing. “Have you done this before?”
“Are you listening to me?”
“No.”
“Red flag.”
He tries not to laugh.
“I’ll sing for you,” I say.
“No, Laina.”
He plops several other tools into a wheelbarrow and starts toward the stalls.
“Dude, people pay me to sing, and I’m willing to do it for you for free. A full concert. I won’t stop as long as you’re working.” I follow him. “You’re getting a hell of a deal.”
He opens the gate. “See the piles of poop?”
“This is so freaking gross.”
He grins. “See them?”
“Yeah. I see ’em.”
“First, use your manure fork to lift the poop and give it a little shake to get the clean bedding off. Then you’ll put it in the wheelbarrow,” he says.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I mutter.
“Then sweep all the bedding away from the pee spots. Then take the shovel and put the pee-soaked bedding in the wheelbarrow.”
“I’m noticing a trend.”
He ignores me. “Give the pee areas a quick spray of odor eliminator and then brush all the bedding still in here over those areas. Then we’ll put new bedding down.” He smiles at me. “Got it?”
“I really thought you were joking about this.”
I stare him down as I step into the stall. “You know, this is making me rethink leaving Tom.”
Luke turns away. “You’d be dealing with a pile of shit either way.”
“Okay, I’ll give you that one. That was funny.”
He turns on music and starts to work on the stall beside me.
It takes a while, but I get into the groove. It’s not as bad as I feared and not nearly as stinky. By the time I get to the urine, I’m not enjoying myself, but it is a little satisfying. Strangely, we haven’t spoken for over half an hour, which reminds me of all the times we just hung out years ago simply to be with each other. We knew each other so well then. How much of that has changed?
What do I really know about this man today?
“Do you enjoy being a farrier?” I ask.
“Yeah. Of course. It’s all I ever wanted to do.”
“I wondered. Sometimes people change their minds, but they’re stuck doing what they’re doing that pays the bills.”
“What about you? Do you like performing?”
I scoop up the last clump of urine, then mist the areas with deodorizing spray.
“Laina?”
“Yeah, I do,” I say, trying to find the words to describe my messy thoughts. “I actually love putting on shows and the theatrics of it. I love engaging with my fans, and hearing their stories, and listening to how my songs have impacted their lives. And I love songwriting and collaborating with other artists.”
“But …”
I sigh and set the spray next to the wheelbarrow. “But I’m tired.”
The scraping from his stall halts.
“I love what I do, Luke. I’m so lucky, so blessed, and so grateful for the opportunity to do what I do. What an honor. But I don’t want my job—and it very much is a job—to be my whole person and all that I am.”
He comes to the stall doorway beside mine and leans on his broom. His eyes are tender, full of concern, and it melts my heart right down to my—Kennedy’s—boots.
“I’m a paycheck to everyone now,” I say, my eyes filling with tears.
I’ve never said this aloud to anyone. I’m not sure I’ve even given myself the freedom to think this thought through. But as I hear the words, I know they’re true. I can feel them release from my heart.
“My parents see me as a paycheck,” I say. “Agents, publicists, managers. Backup designers. Set designers. Costume designers. Lighting crews. Security details. Property managers. Chefs. Those people’s families. Accountants. Attorneys. I could go on and on.”