Deciding to do horse riding with some of the soccer team girls was a great idea.

For you.

But for Natalie? Gods, she was done for.

She’d had a crush on you long before you transitioned, back when you were still figuring yourself out, but now? Now it was worse—like someone had poured gasoline on a fire she’d been trying to smother.

You were in front of her on your horse, the black tank top stretched over your chest and shoulders, catching the late sun and outlining the strength you’d built. Your arms, lean, flexed slightly as you handled the reins. The wide silver belt buckle at your waist caught the light, and your old, faded jeans sat low on your hips, hanging just enough to make her breath catch. That cowboy hat tilted low over your curls was the last straw—like you’d stepped out of some country song she’d never admit she listened to.

She was supposed to be focusing on her horse, on the path, on literally anything else, but her eyes kept wandering. To the way your back shifted as you moved with the saddle. To your thighs, snug against the horse’s sides, guiding it with an easy confidence. To the curve of your jaw when you glanced back to check on the group.

Natalie gripped the reins tighter.

And then you slowed your horse a little, letting hers come up alongside.

“You good back there?” you asked, voice easy but with that slight rasp you’d developed since starting T—a sound that made her stomach flip.

She nodded too fast. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”

You gave her a small, crooked grin, one side of your mouth quirking up like you knew something she didn’t. Then you tipped your hat and turned forward again, spurring your horse into a gentle trot.

She cursed quietly under her breath, because of course you had to look like that—broad-shouldered, sun-kissed, a little wild around the edges—and be you. The same you who still remembered her coffee order, who could talk about soccer for hours, who always made sure she had someone to walk with after practice.

Natalie had no idea how she was going to survive the rest of the ride.

When the trail opened to a stretch of pasture, you looked back over your shoulder, hat brim casting a shadow over your eyes. “Race you to the fence?” you asked, your voice low, teasing—but there was something else under it, a dare that felt sharper than before.

Her pulse kicked up. “What do I get if I win?” she asked before she could stop herself.