Chapter 7
Roper slept like a dead thing. The bed was comfortable, but it wasn’t so quiet—there was noise everywhere. Not terrible, but just enough to make it feel like any one of a hundred hotel rooms, or home even. And it felt like heaven.
The need to pee got him up and moving from under the covers, and he checked his phone.
Seven o’clock.
So he hadn’t slept late, but he’d gone to bed damn early, or at least that was how he felt.
He eased himself up and carefully galumphed across the hall to the bathroom and did his business, getting himself cleaned up as best he could.
He couldn’t believe he’d just crashed out in a stranger’s house.
In fact, he didn’t even remember going to bed. Obviously, he’d gotten himself there because he woke up wearing his unders and nothing else.
Well, nothing else but his boot. He was dying to get that thing off long term.
He headed back out, finding little Whiskey in the hallway. “Hey, sweet girl. How’s it going?”
He scooped her up, loving on her, humming deep in his chest, tickled by the way his stubble caught her fur.
“I had to locked her in my room last night. She wanted in with you so badly. I’m surprised you didn’t hear her howling at your door.” Toby was in the kitchen, reading something on his phone. “Coffee is over there. How do you feel this morning?”
“Better, thanks. I slept hard.” He poured himself a cup of Joe, careful of the cat. “Did you miss me last night? I bet you’re a snuggle-bunny.”
“She cuddles right in and sheds on the comforter.” Toby was wearing a concert T-shirt for a band he didn’t recognize and checkered flannel pajama pants. “It’s a compliment, you know. That you could sleep here. I’m glad.”
“Me too. I appreciate it.” He didn’t want to be a bitch, but Charlie and Ry’s place just wasn’t real. Not at all.
“There are eggs, hot or cold cereal, uh…toast…”
“I’m good with coffee. No worries.” He wasn’t hungry. He was just…weirdly awake.
Toby glanced up at him. “Eat something.”
He felt the tiniest buzz, and he knew he was going to push, to see where things were. “Thanks, but I’m good.”
“From this point on, you’ll earn a swat for every time you refuse, defy, or disobey. Every single time. They’ll add up over the course of the day until I decide it’s time to dole them out.” Toby put his phone down. “Understood?”
Oh, fuck. That was hot, and that little buzz got just a bit bigger. “I hear you.”
In fact, he was intrigued.
“You hear me?” Toby set his coffee down. “I’m glad you’re not deaf. It was a yes or no question. Answer it.”
He caught his bottom lip in his teeth, looking Toby up and down. All right. All right, he’d play a hand or two at this table.
“Absolutely not deaf. I understand.” He had to wonder what constituted defiance…
Toby nodded. “That’s a good boy. Now. If you don’t want a real breakfast, that’s fine. I have a drawer full of granola bars, and there’s fruit on the counter over there. Eat something.”
He chose a banana, because he loved those, and they went with coffee, oddly. Also, he could drink coffee and peel all the strings off and drag things out.
Those strings were weird.
“Today, I just want us to get to know each other a little. Let’s start with your safe words. Assuming you have any.”
“I do.” He’d never used them, but he had them. “I’m real simple—I just got red.”
“Too simple. Red is stop? So we’ll add yellow, meaning that we pause and check-in with each other. Yellow is good for moments of…uncertainty. Not a full stop, but not a green light. Agreed?”
“Yes, Sir.” That was fair.
He started peeling the banana, then he carefully removed the weird strings.
“Okay, so I’m going to consider this whole day in-scene. You need your words, you use them. For anything. If you don’t, I assume a green light.” Toby sat with him. “I don’t like those weird strings either.”
“Right? They’re just…funky as all get out.” He wrinkled his nose and offered Toby half. “All destringified.”
Toby gave him a quirky grin. “Thank you, but I’ve eaten. Also, nice try.”
“Nope. Just being friendly.” He didn’t need help to eat a banana.
“Ah. Apologies, then. Let’s see. What’s your best time of day? Are you a morning person, or do you need a slow start? Do you like to stay up late, or do you start to drag?”
He pondered that. “There are a lot of answers to that, I guess. I used to always be the first one up, then I spent years working mostly evenings and partying after. Since the accident, I’ve slept a lot.”
“Yeah, tell me about that. About the accident, as you call it. Why have you been sleeping so much?” Toby took a sip of his coffee, but those eyes never left his face. “It seems like it’s more than healing.”
“I went over the head of a little Mexican bull in Dallas and got trampled.” He sighed and shook his head. “Broke everything from my femur down. Got a couple titanium bones, a rebuilt knee, and this boot.”
It had been the worst wreck of his career, so far. Not like Ry’s head injury, but pretty damn bad.
“Damn. That sounds horrific. Are you done with riding, then?”
He shook his head. No. He was going to figure it out, no matter what the doctors said. It wasn’t like Ry. He wouldn’t die. He might hurt, but he wouldn’t die.
Toby frowned. “Why not?”
He tilted his head. “Why not what?”
“Why aren’t you done riding? After an accident like that, I would think you’d be ready to move on.”
He blinked, knowing he looked totally shocked. “What the hell else would I do? I got no skills that don’t involve riding.”
Toby raised an eyebrow. “Got it. So it’s riding or bust. No other possibilities.” Toby got up and made another cup of coffee. “That must be scary.”
Life was scary. Everything was fucking scary. He was broke dick. His brother was gone and being a…fucking housekeeper and cook. His baby brothers were on their own, basically. He was fucking terrified. “It’s not a new situation. It’s just a level of degree, I reckon.”
“That’s very well-adjusted.” There was that sarcasm again. “So, let’s leave that alone for now since it’s not something you want to talk about. Let’s move on to your experiences at the club.”
That was easier. “We just didn’t have a connection, I guess. I’m less formal than most of those men, and I’m not particularly good at bowing and scraping. Maybe scrapping…” Oh, that was funny.
“Wow. You make the Doms at the club sound like chauvinists. Bowing and scraping.” Toby snorted. “I think I know what you’re trying to say though. Having read your file, I can see why you might be paired with hard-liners. You’re tough, right? Angry. Bratty. Stubborn. That screams for a firm hand.”
“Yes. I’m not suited to being good. I’m strong, I’m smart, and I’m fucking loyal, but I am not good.”
“I believe you.” Toby shot him a grin. “I bet kneeling in that boot is a bitch too.”
“Shit… I got a titanium femur, a knee that don’t bend, eighteen pins—if I got down, I might have to die there.”
That got him a laugh. A real one, and it made Toby look young. “It’s a good thing that’s not something I need, then. I do like a boy over my knee, but we’ll just have to experiment a bit. Yellow will be helpful if you’re uncomfortable or in pain or need a new position. Just a suggestion.”
“Good thing there’s nothing wrong with my hips.” He nodded, though, because he understood just what Toby meant. He got it.
“Mm. No. You have perfect hips.” That was clear as bell too.
“They’re an important part of riding.” If Toby wanted to play, he could handle it. He was a bull rider, after all.
Toby chuckled and pulled something from his pocket. “Indeed. Close your eyes.”
“Pardon?” Surely he hadn’t heard what he thought he’d heard. He was in a damn boot. What if he toppled over? Well, he knew that answer. Falling was literally half his job. But still…it seemed an odd request.
“That’s one. You keep count, and I will too. If our numbers don’t match at the end of the day, I add five. Close your eyes.”
“You know how easy that would be to cheat?” The logical thing would be to just have five as a start and not bother with matching, but whatever.
He closed his eyes.
“You give me your number first, by the way. Always.” Toby tied a strip of soft leather around his eyes, then bent to his ear and whispered, “I can’t cheat at a game in which I make all the rules, kitten.”
One eyebrow lifted, all of its own accord, and he hoped it hid his little shiver. “Meow?”
“Ha!” Toby barked out a laugh that took a minute to dissolve into soft chuckles. “You’re never going to live that down.”
“Yeah, yeah.” But the man paid attention to the word and not the shiver, didn’t he?
“Take a sip of your coffee. Be careful though. Let me know if you need help so you don’t spill it.”
Okay…that was an odd request. He frowned, fingers finding the edge of the table.
The banana peel.
Icky strings.
Oh. Whiskers. Rough tongue. “Whiskey!”
Whiskey rubbed her face against his knuckles and purred hard.
“She loves bananas, but she can’t eat the peel. That’s toxic.” He felt Whiskey being lifted away. “And she’s a naughty girl who shouldn’t be on the table.”
“You must collect naughty beasts.” He didn’t know about the banana peels. He’d remember now.
“You said it, not me. Need help finding your coffee?”
“Yes, please.” He’d had it, but Whiskey had derailed his fingers. “At this point, I’ll likely spill.”
Dammit.
This was the weirdest situation.
A booted cowboy in a blindfold tries to find a cup of coffee for some unknown reason. It was a fun, if somewhat awkward, start to a joke.
Toby pressed the coffee cup into his hand. “Good boy.”
He took a deep drink, the bitter sweetness splashing into his belly. Oh, that was the good stuff.
“See? Easy. Okay. Set it down and stand up.”
At least now he knew it wasn’t full.
He set the cup down—maybe a little too hard—and stood up, gritting his teeth against any pain he might get hit with.
A hand touched his elbow, not firmly enough to steady him, it felt like it was more out of concern. “That hurts? Just standing up?”