“Shut the hell up,” I mumbled into my pillow as my alarm went off. I pulled one arm out of my blankets and fumbled around the nightstand, jabbing at my phone until it went silent. Then I buried my face again. The light streaming in my bedroom window was trying to cause me permanent blindness.

I groaned as I took stock of how seedy I felt. How much had I drunk last night? There was the tequila I’d done at the racecourse—that wasn’t enough to cause a hangover of this magnitude. My stomach rolled, and I held my breath for a few seconds while I contemplated throwing up. Sweat beaded on my forehead, but the queasiness passed. I threw off the quilt, feeling flushed and needing fresh air. The sudden movement caused my stomach to roll again. Shit. That had been a bad idea. I changed my mind—I was going to be sick after all. I shot out of bed and sprinted for my little bathroom, dodging the moving boxes that threatened to bury me alive if I knocked one too hard.

After emptying the contents of my stomach, I slumped against the cool tiled wall. Once the world stopped spinning, I used the sink as leverage to pull myself up and splashed cold water on my face. Looking in the mirror was a mistake. There was mascara-smeared down my cheeks and my eyes were bloodshot. My long dark hair looked as if birds had taken up residence during the night. “Classy, Reese, classy.”

I opened the bathroom cabinet, just so I didn’t have to look at myself in the mirror anymore. Rummaging through it, I came up triumphant with a bottle of ibuprofen. My disappointment when it was empty made the pounding in my head worse. Miserable, I shut the door, wincing at my reflection again before staggering out of the bathroom. Everything was still spinning. Last night must have been a doozy.

I traced my way back through the maze of packing boxes, this time noticing the empty wine bottle on my coffee table. And another one, half empty, sitting beside it like twin towers of judgement. That, plus the tequila? No wonder I wasn’t feeling so hot.

I crawled onto my bed in slow motion, excruciatingly careful not to move my head or jostle my stomach any more than necessary. God, it felt good to lie down. But shit. More than one full bottle of wine plus shots? That was excessive, even judging by my recent standards. I was lucky I hadn’t vomited and choked on it when I’d passed out.

I rolled over and hugged a mascara smeared pillow to my chest. At least there were no random men here I’d have to make awkward small talk with until they got the hint and left.

The memory of Low leaving me hanging in the alley suddenly made me felt like vomiting again. Regret flooded me. I was an idiot. I should have known better than to take on someone I worked with. Nothing good could have come from that, even if he hadn’t left me with a raging lady-boner. I’d come home and taken care of my frustrations by myself, but it didn’t have the desired effect. I was too pissed off to lose myself in an orgasm, the way I wanted to. So instead, I’d turned to alcohol. A bottle of sauv blanc would never leave me high and dry in an alley, with my goods on display. And by my sixth or seventh glass, I’d found the oblivion I’d been looking for.

After a year of casual sex, I thought I was a good judge of character when it came to picking who’d be up for it. When I set my sights on Low, I never expected he’d leave the way he had. He’d been into it. He’d been the classic one-night-stand sort of guy, just the way I liked them. No strings attached. He’d flirted with me as much as I flirted with him. The way he’d pushed me up against that door, too impatient to even make it back to somewhere private… no, he’d wanted it as much as I had.

Until he hadn’t.

I tried giving myself a pep talk. This was his problem. Not mine. But the rejection stung all the same. It was hard not to imagine he’d suddenly found something about me so repulsive he couldn’t continue. No, no, no. I would not go down the rabbit hole of self-doubt. Low had left last night because of something in that text message. But had that text been staged? The old, ‘call me in an hour with an emergency to get me out of here?’ Or had he gotten a better offer? Maybe he had a secret girlfriend or boyfriend Bianca didn’t know about?

“Uggggggggggghhhhhhhhh,” I groaned. Why was I doing this to myself? Grabbing my Post-it notes from my bedside table, I wrote in capital letters, DON’T WASTE TIME STRESSING OVER DOUCHEBAG BARTENDERS. I underlined the word douchebag a few times just to make myself feel better, then peeled it off and added it to the other Post-its stuck on the headboard of my bed. They weren’t all mean notes about men. I wrote down motivational quotes that appealed to me as I came across them, or song lyrics I was into. A few were covered in doodles I’d done one day while I was on hold to the electricity company. I don’t know why I’d kept those.

Glancing at my phone again, I realised how late it was getting. I had another shift at eleven, so I needed to get a move on. A shower made me feel marginally better, and the room had stopped spinning by the time I’d thrown on a clean uniform and applied makeup, concentrating on the bags under my eyes. Shame there wasn’t much I could do for the redness of them.

I made my way out to my tiny kitchen bench, surveying the mess while I waited for the world’s slowest kettle to boil. There were boxes everywhere. I’d moved to this tiny apartment months ago, and I’d unpacked nothing more than the bare essentials. And by essentials, that meant a corkscrew, the kettle, and my vibrator. I nudged a box by my foot, and it twisted around to reveal a hot pink Post-it labelled ‘Veterinary text books.’ Sighing, I nudged it back around, so I couldn’t see it. I didn’t even know why I still had that box. This place wasn’t big enough to be storing things I no longer had use for.

The kettle finally boiled, and I made my coffee in a travel mug. A big one, adding extra sugar because it was that sort of morning. Taking my coffee with me, I headed for the sliding glass door that led to the balcony.

My apartment sat opposite the sprawling Lavender Fields properties, so I had a great view from my vantage point on the third floor. The racetrack itself was situated farthest away from me, with a large stable area, warm-up tracks, and the buildings I now worked in lined up beside it. Closer to my apartment was their breeding and training property. Green grass paddocks, white fences, and an array of buildings occupied the space; a tall fence running the perimeter of the whole thing.

I checked my watch and smiled. I had time to see Mabel. Grabbing my shoes from where I’d kicked them off last night, I locked my apartment door behind me. Increasing my pace, I emerged onto the street, then slipped through a gap in the tall fencing I’d found on my first day living here. I’d been sneaking through the gap almost every day since.

They kept the valuable horses, the ones that would race later that day or next week, close to the track. Out here on the edge of the property, it was quiet, the paddocks home to a handful of older horses.

I clicked my tongue and smiled as I watched Mabel’s velvety grey ears prick up. Her name wasn’t actually Mabel. I had no idea what her name was; it’s not like they’d etched it into the wood of her paddock fence. But I thought she looked like a Mabel. She was an ex racehorse for sure; she was the perfect shape for it. They’d likely put her out here to breed, though I had yet to see her belly swell with a foal. She tossed her head, her silky black mane flowing in the air like a shampoo ad model, and trotted over.

“Hey, Mabel,” I mumbled, reaching up to stroke the side of her face. She nuzzled her nose into my hand and snorted. I laughed. “Yeah, yeah, you know I brought you a treat.” I produced a few bits of cut up carrot I’d grabbed when I made my coffee, and she snatched them from my palm with a speedy flick of tongue and teeth. I rarely made myself food at home, but I always had fresh carrots to feed to Mabel.

“Greedy this morning, aren’t you?” I took a deep breath in. The familiar smell of horse, grass, and fresh air was better than any hangover remedy. Mabel stood there patiently, letting me stroke her. Letting me just be. That was the best thing about animals. They knew when to just be there, their presence alone comforting.

“I really blew it last night, Mabel.” I looked up into the deep brown depths of her eyes. “I need this job. I want it.” I smiled as she sniffed at my hair. “You think he’s going to stuff it up for me, girl?” She tossed her head from side to side, trying to escape the early spring flies that were already hanging around. I took it as a positive sign, though. “Yeah, maybe he’ll be cool. If I can be cool after being humiliated like that, then there’s no reason he shouldn’t be, huh?”

Mabel just blinked at me before walking off to chew at some grass. I watched her for a moment longer before making my way back through the gap.

I tried to shake my melancholy mood. I both loved and hated how much Lavender Fields reminded me of home. I was so drawn to the place—had rented this apartment for the sole reason I’d be able to see horses every day. And when this job had come up, I hadn’t been able to stop myself from applying. But the reminders of everything I’d lost were like a collection of cuts on my skin. Some shallow, some so deep I could see the bone.

I finished my now-cold coffee as I made my way around the fence. The paddocks disappeared behind the buildings, and the racetrack entrance came into view. Nodding at entry security, I pushed through the turnstiles and made my way over to the bar. A hand grabbed my arm and spun me around before I’d even made it the whole way through the bar door. I jumped.

“Oh my God, I’m sorry,” Bianca said in a rush as I threw a glance over my shoulder, while I tried to calm my thumping heart. For a second, I’d thought she was Low.

“I didn’t mean to scare you, but I’m so glad you’re here before the boys!”

I scanned the room. She was right, we were alone.

“So, how was it? Tell me everything!” she squealed and clapped her hands together.

“Excuse me?” I was having trouble following her, she spoke so fast.

“You and Low! Was it amazing? I’ve always thought he’d be amazing in bed.”

Ohhhh. I’d forgotten we hadn’t been discreet in our flirting. The entire bar crew probably knew what we’d intended to do last night. I wasn’t shy about telling people about my sex life, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to tell Bianca about how Low had ditched me. That was embarrassing. So, I stalled. “Does that mean you haven’t slept with him?”

Bianca flicked her hand, dismissing my question. “Nope. I had a boyfriend when I first started working here, and by the time we broke up, Low and I were firmly in the friend zone. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t wondered if he’s any good in the sack. And he only ever hooks up with randoms at the bar that we never end up seeing again. It’s not like I’ve ever been able to ask one of them.” She looked me up and down. “So, come on, let me live vicariously through you because I haven’t had sex in months.” She pulled a face, and I couldn’t help but laugh. She was bouncing on the balls of her feet, looking at me like an eager puppy. “Quick, tell me before the boys get here.”

I shook my head. “There’s nothing to tell. Honest. Nothing happened.”

She tilted her head and stared at me with disbelief. “Yeah, right, I saw the way you two were eyeing each other. I figured I’d better leave before he started making out with you on the bar top.”

Heat rose to my cheeks. Was I blushing? For God’s sake, Reese, stop. Just stop. “I swear, we didn’t have sex. He had…uh… Something came up and he had to leave.”

She frowned. Maybe she believed me this time. We both looked over at the door when it opened, and Riley and Jamison appeared. I breathed a sigh of relief as Riley began an animated retelling of last night’s football game, complete with a tackling demonstration on Jamison. Bianca turned her attention to him, and I scampered away to find my apron before she could ask any more questions I didn’t want to think about.

Low didn’t show up for work that day. Or the next.

I’d been self-conscious when he hadn’t shown up the first day, but that had quickly turned to relief. We’d been so busy with the weekend rush of customers, I hadn’t had time to consider his absence as much. But as we moved into the new week, the races weren’t as popular, and that left me with more time to think.

Jamison had told us he’d left a message on his voice mail, saying he was sick. The others all seemed to buy it, but I wasn’t so sure. A whole week off because of an awkward sexual encounter was a bit excessive, though. Maybe he was just sick. Maybe his absence had nothing to do with me. As the week went on and he continued to not show up, I thought about it less and less. I was having a great time working with Jamison, Riley, and Bianca, and not having Low there to complicate things was actually kind of a relief.

So, it was a kick to the stomach when I showed up for work on Saturday and he was the first person I saw.