Free World Enough and Time by Lauren Gallagher

you’re going to tell me that’s not the case?”
    “Most definitely not,” I said. “I use everything when I ride. Legs, abs, butt—”
    “Explains a lot.” He winked and picked up his drink.
    I laughed. “Yeah, so, the horse definitely doesn’t do all the work.”
    “Okay, so it’s definitely a sport, then,” he said. “But, what is it, exactly?”
    I pursed my lips, then took a breath. “Well, the name originates from a French word meaning ‘training’. It's kind of like figure skating or gymnastics or ballet; the horse and rider learn patterns and movements that become sequentially harder as you move up the levels.”
    “And the purpose of the patterns and movements?”
    “To demonstrate that horse and rider are working together, basically,” I said. “Like dance partners. As if they’re thinking with one mind instead of one responding to the other’s cues.”
    “I suppose that’s a bit more complicated with an animal than another human?”
    I laughed. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think it’s easier to get on the same page with a horse than most humans.”
    He chuckled. “For some reason, I don’t doubt that at all. So how many levels are there?”
    “You start with Training Level, which is relatively simple, then there’s First through Fourth. After that, you move into the upper levels like Prix St. George, Intermediaire, and Grand Prix. Grand Prix is where you start seeing Olympic-level competitors.”
    “So where are you, as far as a level?”
    “Depends on the horse,” I said. “I’m working with a few at Training Level, a few at some of the mid-levels. I’ve competed as high as Prix St. George, and I’ve got one now that’s getting ready to move into that level.”
    “Sounds like it might be fun to watch.”
    “I’d suggest coming to a show if I didn’t think it would bore you to tears,” I said.
    “Actually, it sounds kind of interesting. If you don’t mind my showing up, I might just take you up on that.”
    “Your funeral,” I said. “Two weeks from now, I’ll be up on Whidbey Island for a few days. I know it’s a bit of a drive, plus the ferry ride, but—”
    “I’d love to.”
    “Don’t blame me if you’re bored,” I laughed. “I can usually drag a guy to one show, but after that, he’d sooner chew off his own arm.”
    He grinned. “Well, assuming you’ll be dressed the way the dressage riders dress at the Olympics…”
    “You’ve watched it?”
    “I’ve caught it a few times, tried to figure out just what the hell it was,” he said. “But I certainly noticed those outfits.”
    “Filthy man,” I said.
    Another grin. “Isn’t that why you’re out with me?”
    “Damn right.” Then I paused. Awkward silence threatened to set in, and I remembered the unanswered questions lurking in the back of my mind. “Speaking of which…”
    His eyebrows jumped. “Hmm?”
    “Okay, so, if you’re leaving in a few months, that means this…” Gesturing back and forth at the two of us, I trailed off, not quite sure how to put it into words.
    “Could get a little complicated.”
    I nodded. “So it’s probably something temporary. Which is fine for me. I mean, you’re moving, and I’m still fresh out of another relationship.”
    “As am I.” He paused. “In all honesty, I’m perfectly okay with doing this and knowing it’s just a short term thing.”
    “I don’t have a problem with it,” I said. “As long as we’re on the same page. Same expectations.”
    “Which boils down to going out, having fun, and having a lot of sex, right?”
    I laughed. “Exactly.”
    He smiled. “Well, I’m okay with that arrangement if you are.”
    “I’m definitely not complaining about it.” I leaned forward and rested my forearms on the table. “So, I guess if it’s just a short term thing, then maybe we should use the time we have and get in as much as possible.”
    The smile became a delicious grin. “You know, I love the way you think.” Then he