The Pretend Girlfriend(57)

It was just outside the city, nestled off the highway within what looked like some sort of artisanal farms perfectly preserved to look as they'd appeared a hundred years or so ago.

The sweetness of the countryside lingered in the air, like the notes of a fine wine. And, away from the constant buzz of the city, Gwen could actually make out the sounds of that breeze rustling through the fields.

The whole place smelled earthy, the dirt a rich scent. It also, of course, smelled vaguely of what Gwen assumed to be horse. She'd never really been a horse girl. She knew that many women, and especially young girls, were perceived to just love horses for whatever reason.

From this vantage point, she could see back behind to gate to where the horses waited. They all had colorful numbers hanging down off their sides (flanks?) and ranged in color from mostly white, to a sandy dun, to the shiny black that she associated with expensive luxury cars.

There was a certain allure to the beasts. They looked large and graceful, especially with the tiny jockeys standing around them.

There had been relatively little fanfare at their arrival. Their limo dropped them off in front of this building and then circled around to go wherever it was limos went when their owners weren't riding inside them. Gwen was fine without the notoriety. She'd quickly grown tired of the flashing cameras and microphones.

This was a private event, apparently. Organized by Aiden and held at a track owned by one of his friends. It was open to the public during most of the season, but today was the domain of the wealthy.

And there were plenty of them around. They were dressed mostly casually: khakis and polos for the men, sundresses for the women. Gwen was sure their dresses cost more than her rent. At least. It was funny, the sheerer a piece of clothing was, the less fabric that went into making it, the more expensive it was.

She counted herself lucky for pulling out a sundress herself, and a pair of comfortable flats that were Wal-Mart knock-offs of much more expensive ones. The breeze ruffled the light fabric of the dress around her legs.

Ever since meeting Aiden, she'd been wearing dresses a lot more. She'd always been a jeans and t-shirt kind of girl before this, reserving dresses for certain events. It was nice, actually, having more reasons to put one on. No other boyfriend had given her so many excuses to do so. Dresses were pretty, and freeing. She'd never really thought about just how it felt to constantly have pant legs constantly touching your skin.

Aiden came up beside her, arriving in her peripheral vision. Her comment about money still weighed heavily on both their minds, and they hadn't really spoken except for Aiden telling her just what was going on.

"Here," he said, offering her a glass. It was lemonade, with ice cubes clinking around against the glass. It sweated in the sunlight. Gwen took a sip. Sweetened just right. And made of real lemon, too, she bet. Nothing powdered or from-concentrate for people like this.

Aiden also had a glass of lemonade. A bead of condensation dripped from the bottom to splash in an irregular circle on the floor.

"Thanks," she replied. She'd meant to turn away again, but didn't.

In the darkness of the limo, she hadn't really gotten a good look at him. And they hadn't exactly been staring at one-another after getting out.

He was attired similarly to the rest of the guys in attendance: khakis and a polo, brown shoes to match his belt. She'd seen him in casual wear once before, but this was different.

He looked good. The shirt emphasized his shoulders, the V-shape of his torso. And the cuffs of the short sleeves hugged his biceps. She wondered if he'd ever played sports at school.

"Do I have a thread?" he said, looking at his shoulders.

He was, of course, referencing their first meeting at the party in Manhattan, where the black dress she'd worn had a thread coming out of the shoulder strap. A thread he'd so kindly plucked.

Gwen set her glass down on the banister and then lightly brushed his shoulders. When she finished, she didn't take her hands away. "No," she said.

Gwen became keenly aware of the gentle rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed, and then of how that action stopped when he looked down at her. The world quieted around them.

"You look good, too. Dresses suit your figure," he said.

Unconsciously, their bodies drew closer together, not quite touching. But close enough that she felt the electricity building between them, trying to draw them together.

"I dress to impress," she said, relieved. It seemed he'd moved past that little faux pas on the phone.

Then he pulled away and stood by the banister. He eyed the horses. Some big shiny black one flicked its tail and whinnied loudly as the jockey adjusted a saddle strap.

"So... You like the horses?" he said, shoving his free hand into his pocket.