Chapter 15
John
The Bull Horn was a country dive bar with a mechanical bull smack dab in the middle of it, surrounded by a leather-cushioned fence and thick padding beneath.
The bar was reserved for the rest of the evening for Jin’s art gallery after-party.
It was packed to the brim with sparkles, glitter, sequins, wigs, heels, and fans that snapped and flayed to life with wrist flicks and hair sweeps.
John was mesmerized by the color and vibrancy of the people crowding around the bar and the bull as he managed to shoulder his way through to the bar.
He hailed the bartender and signaled for two beers.
Wyatt and John had entered the bar together, but once Wyatt was spotted, he was immediately pulled away by a mob of drag queens. Wyatt jumped up above the wave of fans and wigs, yelling out that he’d be right back.
John found an empty barstool and took a seat, turning it to enjoy the view of the crowd that had already begun gathering excitedly around the bull, which was worn and beaten-up.
Its horns were worn down, capped, and flat, ensuring no one got stabbed if they went flying off the front end.
The bull's hide was real, black, and freshly brushed.
The brown leather saddle was strapped securely over its flank.
The colorful strobe lights danced all over the arena, illuminating it as country music roared from the stage speakers, which were decorated with cowboy hats, rope, spurs, and even a couple of pairs of leather chaps.
John arched his eyebrows, knowing Steph and Samuels would love this place.
Maybe when Wyatt finally got his doctor’s badge and residency finished, he could tell his friends about them and they could all come back here as a group.
He smiled at himself, enjoying the idea of eventually telling his friends, even his family, about Wyatt.
He pictured Wyatt at his side during the holidays with his family… saw him move in—living with him, sleeping in his bed, together. He’d never have to come home to an empty house again.
His throat tightened, and he blinked rapidly as the emotion bubbled up.
It’s been one date, John. And we’re still on it.
Don’t mess this up and start thinking too far ahead.
But he couldn’t help it. Everything just felt easier being around Wyatt—natural, even. He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he laughed this much.
“Ladies and Queens,” Jin announced from a microphone on stage, drawing his attention. Jin’s wonderful pink glasses framed his face and his confidence oozed from him as he walked the length of the stage that sat behind the bull arena. “Welcome back to the Bull Horn!”
Cheers erupted from the crowd, followed by whistles and shouts.
“I’m so glad everyone could come out and support not only the art, but the artists. This year, we’ve raised over twenty thousand dollars on behalf of the Queer Love Art Collective!”
Another round of applause broke out, and John caught a glimpse of a familiar white hat emerging from backstage, quickly making his way through the crowd toward the bar where John sat.
Jin kept talking about the art show and the people involved, but he heard none of it. All he saw was his cowboy, white teeth flashing in a grin over his tanned, stupidly gorgeous face, his sandy blond hair tucked beneath his white hat as he emerged from the crowd and spotted John.
He was wearing tight, light-blue jeans, a faded white T-shirt, a sizable golden medallion belt buckle, and…
was his skin shining? Wyatt’s exposed, muscle-bound arms glistened under the flashing lights of the bar and by the time he finally reached him, Wyatt was practically panting, grabbing the extra beer out of John’s hand and taking a long drag.
John traced a finger over Wyatt’s forearm and felt the silky oil.
“Body oil,” Wyatt explained gruffly, setting his beer down on the bar. “For the fans.”
“Fans—what?” John asked, trying hard not to gape like a fish.
“Fans—money, for charity. The better I look straddlin’ and ridin’ the bull, the more money we make,” Wyatt said triumphantly, flashing him a grin.
“How many times have you done this?”
“Once, last year. It was my idea to do this as an after-party,” he gestured to the mechanical bull.
“Mostly for people like me who weren’t interested in purchasing art but still wanted to donate.
” He edged closer to John, his pale blue eyes sparkling with mischief that licked up his spine.
Wyatt slid between his legs on the barstool, invading his space.
The smell of liquor, body oil, and musk filtered through his nose.
Jesus fuck, this kid is gonna kill me.
John tipped his head back, heat pooling low in his belly. Wyatt saw something in his gaze and moved closer still, their bodies brushing, and not a single person paid them the slightest attention. Here, they were free to touch, taste, and marvel.
“Last year, they made more doing this with me than they expected. So apparently, Jin and the gallery are making this the official after-party from here on out. They even brought in another guy to ride after me.”
“Was it just you last year?” he asked.
Wyatt hummed, and somehow John felt it in his chest. “I can put on quite a show.”
Something about the way he said it, about the confidence radiating from him, lit a fire beneath John that he felt in only rare moments in the ED, and now…
with Wyatt. John, without thinking, without needing to, reached up and grabbed Wyatt’s thin shirt and jerked him down, their eyes colliding and holding.
Wyatt’s pupils dilated, capturing John’s open mouth, spearing his tongue inside and nearly rocketing John off the stool.
Wyatt’s lips peeled back, whispering heatedly against the shell of his ear, “You’re the only ride I can’t stop thinkin’ about.”
His cock reared to life and he gasped at the sensation of Wyatt’s eager, urgent kisses at his neck, caressing him, sucking, licking.
“I ride first,” Wyatt murmured breathlessly. “There’s a trailer out back for the cowboys to change and go into if they take a hard fall.”
John tensed.
“Which I won’t,” he reassured, grazing his teeth against his neck. “I do get a little worked up doing this, though…” he husked.
Holy fuck.
John, frozen to the spot, could only stare in wonderment at his sexy cowboy, letting his fingers clutch at his waist and wanting desperately to drag his body against his for friction.
“And if I do this right,” Wyatt said between kisses along his jawline. “You’ll be just as hard as I am when I’m done.”
“I’m hard right now, cowboy,” he murmured in a tight groan.
Wyatt cursed and sucked harder on his neck, bruising him, and discreetly slipped his hand between their bodies to feel the proof of John’s desire.
“Fuuuck,” he groaned into his ear, slipping the lobe into his mouth and biting. “I’ve never ridden with a fuckin’ hard on before.”
John gripped the back of Wyatt’s neck and dragged him around for another searing kiss.
Someone moaned nearby, and a few others turned and started making squeeing sounds at their very public PDA. John blushed, pulling back, licking his lips nervously and touching the hickey on his neck.
Wyatt looked completely unbothered compared to how nervous he seemed at the art gallery.
He wondered if it was the familiar environment of the country bar that gave Wyatt that much more swagger.
Wyatt’s chest was heaving beneath the thin white T-shirt, his eyes on the fresh hickey at John’s neck and a slow grin crawling up his lips.
John’s dick shuddered at his possessive, claiming gaze.
Jin’s voice boomed out over the PA system, announcing Wyatt’s name, and the crowd roared in excitement for their favorite bull riding cowboy.
He dragged John off the barstool and led them through the crowd.
His heart raced in his chest and his blood thumped in his skull, but he heard and felt none of it, focused only on Wyatt.
He positioned John right outside the arena's padded wall, and without a word, slipped off his hat, placed it on top of John’s head, then yanked off his shirt and tossed it into the crowd.
The crowd yelled hungrily, demanding that he take off more clothing, to which Wyatt replied with a coy wink and a smile.
He snagged his hat from John and kissed him hard and fast, before jumping the wall between them.
John raked his fingers through his hair, shouting over the crowd. “You didn’t say anything about doing this shirtless?”
Wyatt’s smile was pure sin. “Jealous, daddy?”
John’s heart swooped into his belly, feeling Wyatt’s heated gaze go straight to his cock.
“Good,” Wyatt purred and sauntered over to the black mechanical bull, giving the crowd another flashy, handsome smile before climbing onto it.
The strobe lights went out in that instant and everyone grew louder, the lights flashing to life over Wyatt and the bull. His oiled, shirtless torso glistened, his hands firmly grasping the reins and legs locked around the bull, smiling broadly and tipping his hat, looking right at John.
John couldn’t help but chuckle, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck and blushing.
I’m so fucked.
“Well, ladies and queens,” Jin drawled over the microphone. “This year, Wyatt won’t be the only one on the bull. In fact, he’s got some—stiff—competition.”
Conner Hobbs strolled arrogantly out onto the stage, and the crowd roared again. John arched an unimpressed eyebrow as the young pitcher walked out in all black with a matching cowboy hat.
John, deciding to be petty, booed.
Wyatt noticed this and grinned affectionately at him.
Oh damn, kid, stop.
Stop making this so easy for me to fall for you.
The music began to play, and Wyatt shot Jin a firm look and shook his head.