Chapter 3
I’m out of the tub before Flynn can say another word, water streaming off me. I slip, my bare foot skidding on the wet tile, and grab the edge of the sink to keep from going down.
Flynn is right behind me, water running down his chest, his cock still hard and pointing at me like a loaded pistol. There’s a single bead of precum at the tip. For one completely insane second, I think about licking it off before my brain catches up with the situation.
Jesus Justin, get a grip.
I grab a towel from the rack, dry off as fast as I can, and throw it to Flynn. He runs it over himself quickly, then drops to one knee and presses it to the worst of the water on the floor while I reach over and pull the drain plug.
From down the hall comes the sound of a cabinet opening. The clink of a mug.
He’s making coffee.
Flynn is already stepping into his jeans, no underwear, stuffing his briefs into his back pocket. I pull mine on, fingers fumbling with the button, still slick with cedar oil. We yank our shirts on over damp bodies.
“What do we do with the towel?” I whisper, holding the soggy thing.
Flynn snatches it from me and shoves it in the laundry basket in the corner, burying it under a pair of Wade’s worn jeans.
We grab our boots off the bathroom floor. One last look. Oil bottle back on the counter. Floor as dry as we could make it. Tub still draining with a soft gurgle that sounds deafening right now. The mirror is fogged up.
It’ll have to do.
From the kitchen comes the scrape of a chair.
Flynn leads the way, both of us in socked feet, moving down the hallway one careful step at a time toward the back door. The floorboards creak once under Flynn’s weight, and we both stop dead, holding our breath.
Nothing. Just the glug-glug-glug of the coffee pot.
Flynn reaches the back door and eases the handle down. The door swings open, and we slip through one at a time, pulling it shut as quietly as we can. The afternoon sun is warm on my wet face. The smell of hay and the sound of the crickets have never been so freeing.
We look at each other. We’re a mess. Hair damp, faces flushed, clothes rumpled.
“What the hell is he doing back so early?” I breathe.
Flynn shakes his head, pulling his boots on. “Who cares? Let’s go.”
We walk around the side of the house, boots crunching on the gravel, not running but close. The moment we’re through the barn doors and out of sight, Flynn pushes me up against a hay bale, his forehead dropping to mine.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathes, laughing. “That was close.”
“Too close,” I say, my heart still hammering.
Flynn grins and catches my wrist, sliding my hand down the front of his jeans. “I was about to go off like a cannon in that tub.”
“Me too.” I’m not even kidding. My balls are aching. My cock is still half-hard. Adrenaline and arousal are a hell of a combination.
“Should we…?” He tilts his head toward the empty stall behind us.
I open my mouth to answer. Then I see him. Half in the shadow of the barn doorway, water bottle in hand, looking straight at us.
Rex.
He wasn’t there a second ago. Or maybe he was, and we were too busy looking over our shoulders for Wade to notice.
Flynn must see the change in my face because he follows my gaze. He lets go of my wrist and takes a step back, running a hand through his still-damp hair. “T-Rex,” he says, casual as can be. “What’s up?”
Rex looks at us for a long moment. Then he lifts the water bottle to his lips and takes a slow swallow, eyes never leaving mine, his Adam’s apple working in his throat. He’s the biggest, bulkiest of all of us, a mountain of a man, flannel rolled to the elbows, hat pushed back on his head.
“Just cooling off,” he says, his voice a rumble. The guy can speak. Who knew? I’ve been here a month, and this is the first time I’ve heard him say more than a grunt in my direction.
Flynn clears his throat. “Yeah, hot one today. For October, anyway.” He leans back on the hay bale I was just pressed against, shoving his hands in his pockets. “We were just taking a smoke break before heading back out to the fence.”
Rex nods slowly. He caps the water bottle and sticks it in the back pocket of his jeans.
“You want one?” Flynn asks, patting his pocket. “A cigarette?”
Rex shakes his head. His eyes move from Flynn to me, long enough to make my skin prickle. Then he turns and walks out into the afternoon sun without another word.
The beans are the same as always. Bland, lukewarm, served in a chipped bowl that’s been passed around this table every night since I got here.
I’m sitting in my usual spot, spooning them into my mouth, the rest of the guys around me.
Wade at the head of the table, sawing through his dry chicken with furrowed brows.
Sam, to his right, eating in silence. Malik, telling someone about a calf that got stuck in the mud today.
Rex at the far end, already on his second plate.
And then Flynn next to me, his leg bouncing under the table.
Normal. All completely normal.
Except every sound is amplified tonight. The scrape of my fork against the plate. The tick of the old clock on the wall. The chewing. The swallowing.
“Calf’ll be fine,” Wade says gruffly. “Keep an eye on her this week.”
“Will do,” Malik says. He winks at me across the table. I try to smile back, but it feels more like a grimace.
Malik’s been good to me. Patient, always willing to show me something twice without making me feel stupid about it.
We’ve spent a lot of hours together these past few weeks, out on the pasture, in the paddock, him teaching me how to handle Haywire without getting my foot stomped on, how to throw a lasso without taking someone’s eye out.
Last week he climbed up behind me on Haywire to show me how to hold the reins, his chest against my back, his breath warm against my ear.
It was all I could do to concentrate on the horse.
He’s easy to be around. Easy to talk to.
But he has no idea what’s been going on.
I think. If he does, he’s never given any sign.
He also doesn’t know that ever since that first night in the showers, he’s starred in some of my filthier fantasies.
I’ve imagined it so many times. Us out on a trail ride, miles from anywhere, stopping by a creek, the sun hot on our backs.
Him pulling me off my horse and pushing me up against a tree, that big body pinning me in place.
Me on my knees in the dirt, taking that enormous cock down my throat while the horses graze ten feet away.
Him flipping me over and spreading me open right there on the bank, fucking me into the mud until we’re both covered in it.
And then I feel guilty for even thinking it.
Because Malik is genuinely my friend, or becoming one, and I don’t want to ruin that.
But I’m also a nineteen-year-old guy who has gone from zero to a hundred in the cock department in the span of four weeks, and the discovery that I can have this, that some men want this from me, has made me extremely greedy.
It’s like Pokémon cards. I want to collect them all. And Malik is a fucking Charizard.
Wade looks up from his plate, his gaze sweeping over the table. “Came back early from the auction today,” he says to no one in particular.
My fork stops halfway to my mouth.
“Henderson pulled out last minute. Whole thing was a bust.”
Flynn picks up his cornbread. “Bummer.”
“Mm.” Wade cuts a piece of meat. “Made myself a pot of coffee when I got back.” He puts a bite in his mouth, chews slowly.
Swallows. “Walked through the house a little. Bathroom smelled like cedar. My cedar oil.” He puts his fork down, takes a sip of water.
“Funny thing. I haven’t used that oil in months. Keeps givin’ me a rash.”
The table goes very still.
I take a slow sip of water. My throat is so tight it hurts to swallow.
“Now.” Wade cuts another piece of meat. “The way I see it, there’s two possibilities.
” He spears the piece with his fork. “Either I imagined it, and the stress of this cattle business is finally gettin’ to me.
” He puts the meat in his mouth, chews. “Or somebody who lives on my ranch decided to help themselves.”
The clock ticks. At least half a minute. Somewhere outside, a cow moos.
“And a bath is a fine thing. I’m all for a clean man.
But in my house? My tub? During working hours?
” He looks down at his plate. “That shows a lack of respect. And a lack of character. Two things I won’t tolerate on this ranch.
” He tears off a piece of cornbread. “So I’d ask that somebody have the decency to come forward. ”
No one says a word. I’m trying to breathe normally, but my lungs won’t cooperate. I keep my eyes fixed on the cornbread in Wade’s hands. He eats half, then wipes the crumbs from his mustache with a paper napkin.
I’m trying to figure out how to word this so it sounds as reasonable as possible. I should take the blame. After all, I’m the one who’s been letting Flynn talk me into increasingly stupid ideas. If I’d put my foot down, we wouldn’t be in this mess.
I take a deep breath. My hands are clammy in my lap.
But Flynn beats me to it.
“It was me, boss.”
Wade doesn’t look surprised. He looks at Flynn for a long moment, chewing. “And what made you think that was a good idea?”
Flynn shrugs one shoulder. “My back was killing me. Figured a hot soak wouldn’t hurt. Didn’t think you’d mind.” He says it with such sincerity I almost believe him myself.
I risk a glance at Rex. He’s looking at Flynn. Then, slowly, his eyes slide to me. He knows. He has to know. He saw us come out of that house, damp shirts, boots in hand, flushed and breathless.
Wade wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Your back was killin’ you.”
“Yeah.”
“From all that fence mending this morning?”
“Yes, sir.”
Wade nods. “And you chose to let yourself into my house. When you knew I was gone. And help yourself to my things.”
“I did,” Flynn says, chin up.
“Well. At least you’re honest about it. That’s something.” Wade leans back in his chair. “Was gonna take y’all into town Saturday. Let you blow off some steam, have a few beers.” He looks at Flynn. “But since your back is givin’ you such trouble, I think you’d better stay here and rest up.”
Flynn’s jaw tightens, but he keeps his face neutral. “Fair enough.”
“Good.” Wade picks up his fork. “Now let’s finish dinner.”
I feel bad for Flynn. I should be the one getting punished. But I can’t say anything now without making it worse. So I keep my mouth shut and eat my beans.
When I look up, Rex is watching me from the far end of the table. He holds my gaze for a beat. A small, almost invisible shake of his head. Then he looks away.
I lose my appetite.