Free Better Than Chance by Lane Hayes Page A

And before you say it, because everyone does… yes, some people, maybe not all, some people from Virginia have accents.”
    “I believe you.” He held up a hand in self-defense. “Where in Virginia?”
    I smiled as thoughts of home popped into my head. My family had owned our land for a couple of centuries. Literally. At one time it was a plantation with acres upon acres of fertile cropland. Over the last century, it had been transformed into a very profitable and highly exclusive horse farm. My family raised Thoroughbreds on a large expanse of the most beautiful green rolling hills and pastures in the country. My father was very particular about always referring to us as farmers, though. He may have a fondness for his Mayflower story, but the truth was that he was a humble man and didn’t care for artifice of any kind. At the end of the day we were country people, and I was a country boy trying to make a go of it in the big bad city. My expression was no doubt wistful as I refocused my attention to Morgan’s question.
    “A small farm town smack in the middle of the state. Chatham. My family raises horses. It’s about a two-hour drive from the city. Not too bad.” I tried another sip of the sake. Thankfully, this time I was able to drink it without showering my tablemate.
    “Nice. So, do you ride, then? Horses?”
    “Oh yeah. Probably before I could walk.” I shrugged, a little embarrassed again. I didn’t want to talk about me anymore. “What about you?”
    “Do I ride?”
    “Well, no…I was going to ask where you’re from originally, because let’s face it… almost no one is really from DC. But sure, I’ll ask that one too. Do you ride? Horses, I mean. Because you could ride motorcycles too, but well, that isn’t what I was asking. Do you? Ride motorcycles? Never mind. I think I should just be quiet and let you do the talking for a little while. My mouth doesn’t seem to be working.”
    Peter’s face was a mixture of amusement and once again, something I couldn’t quite read. I felt my face redden. Oh, would this night ever end? I’d only had two sips of sake, so I really couldn’t blame my odd behavior on excessive alcohol consumption. In fact, I needed a shot of something stronger if I had any hopes of making it through.
    “You are a fast talker, Reyn—sorry, Jay. Let me see. Do I ride horses?” I nodded bashfully, thankful that he was going with the flow. “Not really. I’ve been on a horse before, but I don’t really have any skill there. And though I’ve ridden motorcycles a time or two, I don’t own one. I went through a phase when I was younger when that’s all I wanted, but… my mother did not approve.”
    His smile was sheepish and sweet when he spoke of his mom. I looked at him curiously hoping he’d explain. He didn’t disappoint.
    “My mother is from Italy originally and….”
    “I knew it!”
    “How would you know that?” Peter asked, seemingly unperturbed by yet another weird outburst from me. In fact, if anything, he looked more at ease as he took a healthy drink from his beer glass and then leaned forward with both forearms resting on the small table.
    “I didn’t, but I guessed it.” I fumbled. “You look Italian. That’s all.”
    Peter smiled, his grin transforming his handsome angular features into something truly special.
    “Hmm.” We stared at each other for a heartbeat or two before he continued, “Where was I?”
    “Riding?” I offered. I wished I knew him better and could make some off-colored remark about what kind of riding I really liked to do, but I reined in my strange impulse to skewer my probably already tarnished reputation with him. I smiled in encouragement, hoping he’d just start talking so I would stop.
    “Right. So, no to both. And I’m from Atlanta. I think that was your other question.”
    “Well, what happened to your accent?” I demanded.
    “I lost it.” He winked at me and took another drink.
    “But why? Atlanta accents