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─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
TUSK (2015 REMASTER), FLEETWOOD MAC
THE WINDS OF THE SAN DIEGO BEACH rattled the tent's walls and every belonging of Riley's confined in it. The ruthless gusts knocked over countless items she had set out, and with every tumble, she felt herself grow more and more agitated. She always compared every aspect of the United States to Spain ever since she had set foot on the foreign territory, and Spain was always in the lead.
She promptly laid everything out, choosing between items and making final adjustments in preparation for what she needs and what she doesn't.
"Hygiene, obviously," she sighed, putting her toothbrush, loofah, soap, and other miscellaneous items in one of the many pockets of her bag. Scanning the items, she placed all of her makeup in her bag without hesitation. She left behind food because she figured she could always buy some along the way, but she brought a canteen of water.
"Oh, and toilet paper," she said, grabbing the roll before shoving it somewhere in the seemingly bottomless pit of her bag.
The countless announcements all 3-5 minutes apart signaled the beginning of the race. All participants were to line up in their respective places at the start line by 10:00 am, no later. Riley, already mounted her horse at the line, was there at 9:30.
Hat, the nickname deemed by Riley for the man with the green steel balls, only stood six places to the left of her, B-636. He was already at the start line before she had even gotten there, and she was impressed by his thoroughness.
Just because this stupid Italian man is tall, mysterious, strong, handsome, and knows how to ride a horse, doesn't mean he can beat me, she'd tell herself, reassuring the deepest depths of her soul. Romantic, or in her words, such tedious feelings never bothered her or distracted her from her craft. But a familiar tingle in her heart and the sudden feeling as if it lay in her stomach was no mystery that she, Riley DeSantos, was in fact, nervous.
There was nothing but empty space that separated the blonde from Riley. There was no tension simply because she felt like he was too focused on the race or preparing internally for whats to come.
She found herself studying him, looking at the sharpness of his jawline and the unique design of his facial hair that complimented it greatly. The shadow of his hat disguised his eyes as they looked forward, serious as ever.
The man furrowed his eyebrows and glared over at Riley, as he'd become suspect of her blatant staring. She finally came to and turned away to face front.
Fuck, she whispered, mourning the fact that she was caught giggling at the man. In her peripheral, she noticed that he persisted in glaring at her.
