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"I wish people could achieve what they think would bring them happiness in order for them to realize that that’s not really what happiness is."
~Alanis Morisette

Fox leaned against the bar, nursing his beer as he scoped out his next conquest. He never advertised it, but as a handsome and fairly young bachelor of the backstretch, he was quite the ladies’ man; ladies loved him and he loved the ladies. Frequently. He already had his eyes on a pair of beauties. The buxom blonde in the corner was clichéd, but who cared? And the redhead beside her? Yum. But first, he had to help a fellow out.

“What about her?” Fox pointed to a curvy brunette walking past. “She’s eyeing you up and down, brothah.”

The young man next to him shook his head. “Thanks, but I grew up around women who looked like her. I’m not into the Latinos, if you know what I mean.” Drew tipped his head back and downed the rest of his own beer, declining the bartender’s offer of another when he came their way.

“Okay,” Fox said, “what about that one?” He tipped his beer toward a long-legged redhead with freckles running across her shoulders and down her back. Yeah, he wouldn’t mind connecting those dots…

Yet, Drew shook his head.

Fox huffed. “What about the blonde over there by the pool tables?”

Another headshake.

“Well, Hell, man,” he complained. “What kind of woman do you like?”

Drew shrugged and turned his gaze back to the entrance. “I dunno man, that’s why I’m here. I used to go for these types—”

“You mean the sex on legs types?”

Drew looked at him drolly. “Yes. The sex on legs types.” Back to eyeing the door. “But none of ‘em are catching my attention tonight.” The young jock ran a frustrated hand through his uneven locks, yanking on the colored strands in agitation. “I dunno. Maybe… maybe I’m just out of it. Worried about the Debutante, you know?”

Fox sighed and clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “That’s why we’re out here, boyo! To forget about the Debutante! Listen, you’ve been riding Thalassa for the past month training for this moment. I know it’s easy to stress, but it’s not necessary. It’ll only make you tenser come race day.”

Drew nodded and opened his mouth to reply, but a flurry of movement by the door seemed to catch his eye. He froze, suddenly very interested in whoever had just entered. Fox turned to look.

As they watched, an ice princess stepped onto the dance floor, surrounded by duller-colored brunettes who seemed like moving logs to her effervescent beauty. A hip-hugging, barely there dress covered her important bits in ice-blue waves. Her never-ending legs created the illusion that she was as tall as a (sexy as hell) giant, though when compared to her dance floor companions, she was really quite petite. As she and the crowd surrounding her drew closer, Fox could make out the baby blues peeking at them.

He grinned.

Sure enough, not two minutes had passed before the blonde glided her way closer, making walking in those heels of hers seem effortless. Like walking on air.

“Hej killar…” the woman drawled. Those baby blues flicked up and down the both of them before settling firmly on Drew. “Gentlemen. I am thirsty. Who wants to buy me a drink?”

Fox glanced over to his companion in time to catch the Argentinean literally shiver under the power of her Swedish charm. And she was a Swede—Fox had been around Sven often enough to pick up on it now despite having failed every language class he had ever taken. Sven had actually used similar greetings in the locker rooms before races, though certainly not in the sexy drawl this woman possessed.

He nudged Drew pointedly. The kid blinked out of his stupor and sprang to action. Before Fox’s eyes, his friend transformed himself from the smart-mouthed punk he knew to a completely different man.

“Of course. What would you like, la belleza?” A sexy smile spread across Drew’s face as he waved to the bartender. He knew what the smiled looked like—he had practiced it often enough. That smile had gotten him everything from free meals to free women and, as the woman before him inched closer, he knew he hadn’t lost his touch.

“A foreigner, too, eh?” she purred. A long-fingered hand smoothed across his chest. “Where are you from, Snygging?”

Drew caught her hand on reflex. Something in chest suddenly felt very heavy, woken by her touch. His brain screamed at him that this was good, this was right, that she was gorgeous and obviously willing. Yet, a tiny voice niggled in the back of his mind that, while the skin colors and accent were right, the body was wrong, too soft and curvy, the hand too dainty, the voice too high and flirty.

Seeing her frown, he covered his move by lacing their fingers together. He upped the wattage on his smile. “I am from here, la belleza, our beautiful America. And you? I’m going to guess… Sweden?”

A pleased flush took over her face. “Yes, I am Swedish. How did you know?”

Drew shrugged. “Your accent is familiar. I’m Drew.”

The woman smiled and edged even closer, practically in his lap now. “I am Svea.”

A glance to his right showed Fox long gone from his post as wingman with nothing left but an empty beer bottle to mark his passing. He turned back to Svea with a grin. “Tell me, Svea, do you like horses?”

She practically chortled. “As a matter of fact…”

But all the while, that little voice in the back of his mind kept whispering…

Shown:

Svea

Svea © =decors
Art, Other Characters and Story © me

Thanks for letting me borrow Svea, babe!

Next on:

Description
Continuation of:

"I wish people could achieve what they think would bring them happiness in order for them to realize that that’s not really what happiness is."
~Alanis Morisette

Fox leaned against the bar, nursing his beer as he scoped out his next conquest. He never advertised it, but as a handsome and fairly young bachelor of the backstretch, he was quite the ladies’ man; ladies loved him and he loved the ladies. Frequently. He already had his eyes on a pair of beauties. The buxom blonde in the corner was clichéd, but who cared? And the redhead beside her? Yum. But first, he had to help a fellow out.

“What about her?” Fox pointed to a curvy brunette walking past. “She’s eyeing you up and down, brothah.”

The young man next to him shook his head. “Thanks, but I grew up around women who looked like her. I’m not into the Latinos, if you know what I mean.” Drew tipped his head back and downed the rest of his own beer, declining the bartender’s offer of another when he came their way.

“Okay,” Fox said, “what about that one?” He tipped his beer toward a long-legged redhead with freckles running across her shoulders and down her back. Yeah, he wouldn’t mind connecting those dots…

Yet, Drew shook his head.

Fox huffed. “What about the blonde over there by the pool tables?”

Another headshake.

“Well, Hell, man,” he complained. “What kind of woman do you like?”

Drew shrugged and turned his gaze back to the entrance. “I dunno man, that’s why I’m here. I used to go for these types—”

“You mean the sex on legs types?”

Drew looked at him drolly. “Yes. The sex on legs types.” Back to eyeing the door. “But none of ‘em are catching my attention tonight.” The young jock ran a frustrated hand through his uneven locks, yanking on the colored strands in agitation. “I dunno. Maybe… maybe I’m just out of it. Worried about the Debutante, you know?”

Fox sighed and clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “That’s why we’re out here, boyo! To forget about the Debutante! Listen, you’ve been riding Thalassa for the past month training for this moment. I know it’s easy to stress, but it’s not necessary. It’ll only make you tenser come race day.”

Drew nodded and opened his mouth to reply, but a flurry of movement by the door seemed to catch his eye. He froze, suddenly very interested in whoever had just entered. Fox turned to look.

As they watched, an ice princess stepped onto the dance floor, surrounded by duller-colored brunettes who seemed like moving logs to her effervescent beauty. A hip-hugging, barely there dress covered her important bits in ice-blue waves. Her never-ending legs created the illusion that she was as tall as a (sexy as hell) giant, though when compared to her dance floor companions, she was really quite petite. As she and the crowd surrounding her drew closer, Fox could make out the baby blues peeking at them.

He grinned.

Sure enough, not two minutes had passed before the blonde glided her way closer, making walking in those heels of hers seem effortless. Like walking on air.

“Hej killar…” the woman drawled. Those baby blues flicked up and down the both of them before settling firmly on Drew. “Gentlemen. I am thirsty. Who wants to buy me a drink?”

Fox glanced over to his companion in time to catch the Argentinean literally shiver under the power of her Swedish charm. And she was a Swede—Fox had been around Sven often enough to pick up on it now despite having failed every language class he had ever taken. Sven had actually used similar greetings in the locker rooms before races, though certainly not in the sexy drawl this woman possessed.

He nudged Drew pointedly. The kid blinked out of his stupor and sprang to action. Before Fox’s eyes, his friend transformed himself from the smart-mouthed punk he knew to a completely different man.

“Of course. What would you like, la belleza?” A sexy smile spread across Drew’s face as he waved to the bartender. He knew what the smiled looked like—he had practiced it often enough. That smile had gotten him everything from free meals to free women and, as the woman before him inched closer, he knew he hadn’t lost his touch.

“A foreigner, too, eh?” she purred. A long-fingered hand smoothed across his chest. “Where are you from, Snygging?”

Drew caught her hand on reflex. Something in chest suddenly felt very heavy, woken by her touch. His brain screamed at him that this was good, this was right, that she was gorgeous and obviously willing. Yet, a tiny voice niggled in the back of his mind that, while the skin colors and accent were right, the body was wrong, too soft and curvy, the hand too dainty, the voice too high and flirty.

Seeing her frown, he covered his move by lacing their fingers together. He upped the wattage on his smile. “I am from here, la belleza, our beautiful America. And you? I’m going to guess… Sweden?”

A pleased flush took over her face. “Yes, I am Swedish. How did you know?”

Drew shrugged. “Your accent is familiar. I’m Drew.”

The woman smiled and edged even closer, practically in his lap now. “I am Svea.”

A glance to his right showed Fox long gone from his post as wingman with nothing left but an empty beer bottle to mark his passing. He turned back to Svea with a grin. “Tell me, Svea, do you like horses?”

She practically chortled. “As a matter of fact…”

But all the while, that little voice in the back of his mind kept whispering…

Shown:

Svea

Svea © =decors
Art, Other Characters and Story © me

Thanks for letting me borrow Svea, babe!

Next on: