I can’t get him out of my mind. I work like an automaton, feeding the horses, scrubbing them down, and straightening the stables. I don’t even chat with the tourists like I usually do. My mind’s back at the inn with my memory of David. At odd moments I’ll feel his skin beneath my mouth and I lick my lips, trying to taste something other than my own sweat. I’ll lift a crate and get it halfway across the stable when suddenly I feel him in my arms again and almost stumble, I want him so badly.
I wish my breeches weren’t so tight—I’m sure the teenage girls lining the fence to watch me work all stare at the slight erection straining at my crotch. When I glance at them, they giggle and look away.
A little after noon one of the horses starts to limp. I bend over, its foreleg between my knees as
