bucket would tow it just fine, and sure, it wasn’t slick or special, but it would do the job. There was a niggle in me, a niggle that I should be saving and focused, not running away with some stupid quest of pride to get one up on Verity. Like kicking her ass in the office wasn’t going to be enough already.
But I never spent money, not on me, not really. And I’d never had a trailer before, not one of my own, and I’d use it, definitely, when I had the time again. It was an investment. A useful investment. A sensible investment, even.
So, I bought it.
PayPalled the cash without even viewing, and it felt good. It felt really fucking good.
And then I signed Samson and I up for the Cheltenham Chase.
It was becoming comfortable so easily with Rick and Carl. I’d fallen into a routine nothing short of heaven, travelling to the office and back with Carl every day, lunching at the bagel joint, then zipping over to Samson with Rick of an evening while Carl spent his hours on extra work shit. We’d eat and laugh, drink sometimes, then shower and fuck and suck and fuck some more until I fell asleep in my spot between two hot bodies in their kickass bed. My spot. Yeah, it was my spot. How fucking sweet.
I’d almost forgotten our arrangement — the fact that they were paying me for my time — because in truth, it didn’t feel like that. Not anymore. I would have been there anyway. I’d have told them as much, and I considered it, but I still had a dream to pay for, and with Jack up against it and the yard on the line, that three grand a month was money I needed. It didn’t sit easy, but it was the truth, and come the weekend I was conscious that this was my billable time, as per our arrangement.
It made me feel like shit when I threw on my crappy clothes to go pick up my new trailer, and I aimed to play it down, say I was nipping out for a couple of hours but would be back before they knew it. Only it wasn’t that simple.
Carl was frying bacon when I stepped into the kitchen, and Rick was pulling a face at the smell, wafting his hands around his nose and fake retching.
“Firemen don’t eat bacon,” Rick told Carl. “You know why?”
“Enlighten me,” Carl said.
“Smells like burning human flesh.”
Carl turned to face him, spatula in hand. “An advert for cannibalism if ever I heard one. Yum yum fucking yum.” He saw me in the doorway and looked me up and down. “Morning, Miss Horsey. Fuck me, I do love a woman in jodhpurs.”
“Hey, pretty lady.” Rick smiled. “Carl’s cooking pig. Want some?”
I took a seat at the island, and Rick leaned in to kiss my neck over and over. Wet sloppy kisses that made giggle, and then he blew a raspberry and I squirmed, poked my tongue out at him.
It felt so shit to say it, but I said it anyway. “I’ve got to go out. I won’t be long, I promise.”
Carl turned and stared at me, but he didn’t look pissed off. “Samson?”
I shrugged. “Kind of. I bought a trailer, need to go pick it up.” I pulled my hair into a pony and fastened it. “Enjoy your breakfast, I’ll be back before you know it.”
I made to scoot off without fanfare, but Rick grabbed my wrist. “Whoa whoa whoa,” he said. “Not so quick.”
And I thought it was time for the chat, the one where they reminded me that this was a Saturday and I was on their time, the one where they reminded me that I had a fat wadge of cash in my bank account and two fat cocks to service. But it was just my guilt. Of course it was.
“Kept that quiet,” Rick said. “Where’s this swanky new trailer of yours?”
“Hartpury,” I said. “Not far. It’s not exactly swanky…”
Rick looked at Carl, but Carl wasn’t looking at Rick he was looking at me. “We’ll come,” he said, just like that. Just like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Just eat your bacon first.”
Carl bleeped the Range as we stepped outside but I shook my head.
“What?” he said. “I’ve got a tow bar, we can take mine.”
“But I need to be able to hitch it on mine,” I said. “I’ll need to do it for shows.