She sniffed haughtily, even though the compliment was nice. She batted her lashes coquettishly. “I don’t know nothin’ ’bout betting on no horses, Mr. Wolfe.”
He looked up as if annoyed she’d broken his concentration. “We can do this the hard way or the easy way.”
“What’s the hard way?”
“I educate you on narrowing down the field until you decide what horse is best for you. We calculate speed ratings. Check breeding, trainers, jockeys. Look at their past performance. See if they dropped in class. Glance at the odds. Then make an overall pick using all that information.”
She shuddered. A root canal sounded more fun than that. “What’s the easy way?”
“You look at the names and numbers and bet on your favorite.”
“Sold. The easy way it is. Give me the form.” His suffering sigh told her he was disappointed in her choice but she didn’t care. She certainly didn’t have to worry about her weight anymore, so while he took his time gathering all the useless information, she’d make her way through the food carts.
Gen glanced down at the list of horses. Disappointed Dreamer. The inner bell rang and she stabbed her finger at lucky number four. “That’s the one.”
“Umm, yeah. Not a great choice. Let me show you how to read the stats. This column shows his past races, and he hasn’t won a race since April. Looked promising, but something must have happened and he’s been dropping ever since. These are the speed numbers. None of the handicappers picked him even to show.”
“I don’t care. What type of bet do I do?”
“I would highly suggest a few bucks on show. You can do win, place, or show. Win is first, place is first or second, and show means he can come in first, second, or third. Odds are twenty to one, so it’s a long shot. The morning line favorite is going off at three to one.”
He spread open the page and showed her the numbers. “See, number one is the favorite because he won his last three races. This is the one to beat. Want to throw a few bucks on him so you get the feel of the win?”
A dark cloud settled over her. Winning was always so important to David. Be the best. Be graceful with the ones you defeat, but make sure you come out ahead. She was so sick and tired of trying to be that person, just like poor Disappointed Dreamer probably was trying to keep up with the stupid number one horse. Maybe his trainer wouldn’t let him run his own race. Maybe he wouldn’t be first all the time, but at least he’d keep his head high because he tried his best. Well, forget number one and his victories. She was done with betting on favorites.
Gen practically spit out the words. “Screw number one. I want the four horse. Give me money.”
Wolfe cocked his head and studied her. His lips tugged in a grin, but he just nodded and reached into his pocket to slide a twenty at her. “Here you go.” She scooped up the bill and kept her hand out. “What?”
“I want more.”
“More? Sweetheart, twenty bucks on a long shot is plenty—you’re just gonna lose it. I’ll give you more later.” He reached over for the lemonade and took a sip.
She shook her head hard. “I want to bet one hundred dollars on him to win.”
Wolfe choked. Gen waited patiently. “Are you nuts?”
“Are you a multimillionaire, Wolfe?” He lapsed into silence. “Just what I thought. I’ll give you your ten percent bookie fee, but right now I want a hundred. Oh, and an extra twenty for snacks.”
He reached back into his wallet, peeled off the bills, and handed them over to her. Damn, he was grumpy when he didn’t get his way. “Thanks. I’ll be back.”
“I need to show you how to place a bet!”
“I see a line up over there. You finish tracking your statistics, I’ll figure it out. See ya.”
She walked away, feeling an odd buzz in her veins. Like she had an instinct something big was going to happen. Gen waited her turn and eavesdropped on a bunch of different conversations, finally narrowing in on a group of three guys arguing over the race.
“The only reason you’re betting the four is because you got dumped, man. Don’t let her take your money, too.”
“Yeah, there’s plenty of hot women around you can sleep with this weekend. Just forget about her. Pick number one and get a win.”
The dumpee looked generally miserable. Shaggy blond hair, ruddy cheeks, stubble, and clothes a bit wrinkled told her he was indulging in the breakup blues. Poor guy. His friends flanked him on either side, beer in hand, trying to do the manly thing by insulting him enough so he was happy. Men were an odd gender she didn’t think she’d ever figure out. They were young, probably college age, and seemed more intent on looking around for hot women than horses.