Sleep doesn’t happen,and now I'm running late. I race through a shower, toss on clothes that I hope are some level of clean, and head down to the kitchen. Thank Christ somebody thought to put on the coffee because I practically fall on the carafe and pour the steaming liquid into the biggest mug we have.
Colt nudges me. “Hey, Desi's got a full spread down at the house, and Joaquin and I are about to head over. You walking over with us?”
I stifle a growl. “Maybe. Let me see what this coffee does for me.”
Joaquin opens the barn door wearing only yoga pants and a string of turquoise mala beads, pretty against his sepia skin. Suddenly I’m wide the fuck awake.
He walks like a man who wants to fuck you until your knees give out. His black-and-silver hair is getting a little long, and it shines in the early-morning sun. I’ll never understand how his aging process makes him even more gorgeous, which is patently unfair.
I realize that I might be staring when he grins at me.
“Late night?”
I cough and clear my throat, then throw my shoulders back to act like I’ve got a functioning spine. “Yeah. Finally found a guy with some stamina.”
Joaquin pats my shoulder. “Good man.”
I open and close my mouth a couple of times like a fish that’s been rudely hauled onto a boat.
What the…?
I mean, I wasn’t thrilled about catching him and Colt post-nut this morning, but I’d be a liar if I said I’m not aware that Joaquin has started developing feelings for me. Sure, he seems willing to be an adult about it and not push for something he knows I can't give him…but shouldn’t there at least be a goddamn hint of jealousy?
Abel saunters into the bunkhouse, his hair damp and his grin leaning toward jackass territory. He fucks with my hair on the way to the coffee pot. “Guess I’m not the only one just making it in this morning.”
“Shut the fuck up, Abel,” I mutter, knocking his hand away.
He draws his chin back and raises his brows. “Sorry, Wick. I was just congratulating you on getting fucked. Didn’t mean anything by it.”
I gesture an apology, feeling like a shithead. “Sorry, dude. Long night.”
Colt grins at me. “Ignore us. We’re all doing the walk of shame this morning.”
My eyes ping-pong back and forth between Joaquin and Colt, and there’s no missing the shy grins they share with one another. They’re not even trying to hide the fact that they fucked.
Makes me want to puke.
Even Colt’s smile is no longer tinged with the sadness I'd gotten used to seeing. I assumed it was a combination of what’s going on with Destry and maybe a little about the crush he’s got on me, but it looks like Joaquin’s cured him of whatever melancholy he’s been carrying around. Colt’s a great guy, and he deserves somebody like Joaquin. I should be happy that Colt’s redirected those tender feelings elsewhere.
I mean…I’m not, but I should be.
I grumble a good morning to him and sip the coffee. It’s delicious, which means Joaquin made it, and that also burns my damn biscuits. Colt’s eyes flick back to Joaquin, and they share another cozy little smile.
I mumble into my caffeine, my posture drooping. Joaquin’s large hands land on my shoulders. “It’s Sunday, Wick. Colt is visiting Destry, the kids from the local 4-H are helping us muck out the stalls, and I can handle the paperwork for the Wills ranch. Take the day.”
I snort.Take the day.What I need is to get the hell out of this bunkhouse. What I need is a break from all this disgusting happiness.
“Thanks, jefe. If you don’t mind, I’ll take Sisko out instead. It’ll be good to stretch his legs. Maybe check out the fencing on the back forty.”
Joaquin nods. “Sounds good. Then come back and catch up on your rest.”
Ha. Rest. That’s never been good for my head, and I can’t imagine it’ll start now.
* * *
So yeah.Work isn’t the answer either. I’m out here on Sisko, ignoring the fences and finding myself in a tizzy overemotions, of all things. Needless to say, I’m not a fan. Thankfully I know just the person to go to for advice.
A few years ago, I tried out a hidden little BDSM club north of Austin, but it wasn't for me. That said, the owner of the club and I hit it off, and she says I'm her one exception for vanilla sex. I don't know if you’d call what we've donevanilla, exactly, but it didn’t involve nipple clamps or a safeword, which is probably the bar.
