I’m so busy being angry with my best friend that I don’t notice the body coming out of the tack room. I barrel right into him, almost knocking the saddle in his hands to the ground. “Woah!” Cade calls, balancing the saddle in one hand and using the other to steady me. “You talking to yourself again, Goldie?” I look up at him, eyes wide when I notice the open button up T-shirt he wears. And what he doesn’t wear underneath it. God, why does he have to have perfect abs? And why do I want to memorize the feel of them? “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I argue, putting my arms over my chest
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Mare - age 16
