Chapter 2 #3
He wore fitted shorts, the same style branded T-shirt of the waitress this morning, and a pair of well-worn work boots, white socks peeking over the top.
His hair wasn’t short, but not long either.
Soft curls had the longer pieces falling down over his forehead.
The closer he stepped the more the blond and gold strands sprinkled throughout his hair came into focus.
Fuck. A word of appreciation I loved to use when nothing else came to mind.
The guy was stunningly masculine. Most certainly fodder for my wet dreams tonight.
Country boys laid down roots in the soil they grew up on. That wasn’t anything I had ever found interesting or attractive before.
“Damn, you’re good-lookin’. Any chance you’re into dudes?” Wyatt asked in a shock and awe sort of way, and gave another low whistle, leaping from the back seat to the ground, either in greeting or about to get his ass beat. “I’m Wyatt Willis.”
“Mace Sutton.” He extended his hand to shake Wyatt’s, a slight lift of his eyebrows showing a hit of recognition. “You part of Governor Willis’s family?”
“If it sways you my direction, then yeah, I am,” Wyatt said, lifting his ball cap to scratch his sandy blond hairline. “We’ve been circlin’ the street lookin’ for this place. Good thing we found it.”
Wyatt was so damned confident, and there was no doubt in his interest, but this Mace—a name that fit the guy perfectly—didn’t respond with enthusiasm, but he also didn’t recoil from the interest like many country boys might.
“We’re pretty depleted from the weekend, but go take a look in the cooler, see if you want anything,” he said, pulling a cell phone from one of his shorts pockets.
“We’re havin’ some connection problems today.
It’ll be cash only.” The deep rich tenor of Mace’s voice was better than any massage I’d ever had, relaxing me from the core outward.
And Wyatt Willis had better back the fuck off.
I had claimed him first. Without question, I sensed none of the same attraction in return, but having four gayish friends meant parameters needed to be in play early on. One was the first to claim.
Wyatt didn’t move a muscle toward the cooler, only dropping his fingers into his front pockets, openly staring at the guy.
“I have an order to pick up. Do we park anywhere?” I asked. Instead of watching Mace, I stared openly at Wyatt. “Settle down, buddy.”
“What? Fuck you,” Wyatt replied quick and short, putting on that cocky grin he displaced so well.
“He called dibs,” Scout backed me from the passenger seat. That side of the vehicle’s door opened and Scout stepped out.
“Fuck you, Scout,” Wyatt shot back. “Get back in the Jeep. I got this.” Wyatt never glanced our way.
Several steps later, Scout had a grip on Wyatt’s shoulder, guiding him with force toward the walk-in cooler.
“Who stays up in the middle of the night to talk to your sorry ass with no information where you are or what you’re doin’?” Wyatt complained. “You should have my back.”
“You got the cash?” Mace asked, turning toward me, seemingly ignoring Scout and Wyatt.
“I do,” I said, my mouth growing as dry as the Texas prairie in August.
Mace’s eyes lowered to the handheld device, his thumbs bouncing off the small keypad. “You can pull closer to the cooler. I’ll go get your order. I had to fight off the partiers this weekend to keep it intact. Wasn’t easy.” Mace swiveled around, dismissing me.
No one ever ignored me. Which honestly made the subtle action quite the turn-on. I was left to watch him walk away.
That ass just became my newest wet dream. The bar now set higher.
“Damn,” I murmured, managing to roll the Jeep forward again, parking about a foot away from the cooler. The liquor store’s door closed behind Mace.
“I swear to God, Wyatt. All your craziness brought the whole town around the corner.” Scout pointed to the people they’d just left at the café, now peeking around the side of the building to see what had caused all the hoopla. “Stop drawin’ attention to Slade.”
“I might be in love,” Wyatt said, exaggeratedly. Both hands covered his heart.
I was barely parked and out of the Jeep when Mace’s head popped back through the building’s main door. “Beer’s in the cooler in the far back. Your name’s on it.” As he spoke, he used his ass to hold the door open, a cardboard box loaded with assorted liquor bottles popping out the top.
“How much did you order?” Wyatt asked. “You make us look like a bunch of alcoholics.”
“You’re the alcoholic,” I murmured, loud enough for Mace to hear. “Damn hard problem for him to kick.” My thumb cocked toward Wyatt.
“In the back of the Jeep?” Mace asked, ignoring us again.
I did my best not to get lost in the strong biceps and moved quickly to open the tailgate. “Is this all I ordered?”
“Nah, you have two more boxes inside,” Mace said, pushing the box inside the bed of the Jeep. “Plus six cases of Bud Light.”
My brows drew together as I finally had a thought that wasn’t consumed with Mace. Exactly how much did Tommy think we drank?