Over an hour later, we’re lying in bed and my f*****g Parker High still hasn't worn off. I feel good—really good—and that sneaky realization is circling back to me. When's the last time I felt this relaxed? This content?
I don't actually remember, and that...bothers me. I'm living the dream. I don't have any reason to be unsatisfied. If I'm tired, it's because I work long hours. If I hurt, it's because riding is tough on your soul and tougher on your body. But this is still my dream.
Isn't it?
My stomach turns over, and I scowl. Whatever. It's nothing to worry about. So I'm tired. So's everyone. I mean, hell, when's the last time Parker's been this relaxed?
I take a moment to look over her again—breathing softly and dead to the world—and it's enough to make me smug. Okay, fine, yeah, I
