Also, I might owe Riley an apology.
* * *
I got a prettydecent night's sleep despite myself, but that hasn't improved my mood at all. I make my way down to the kitchen. Colt’s pouring himself coffee and Abel’s looking freshly fucked and happy. I wonder what's going on with him, Taylor, and Oliver.
“Fun night?” Colt asks, grinning at me.
Colt has never once asked about how my hookups have gone. He always looks a little sad when I come in the next day. It's a fact I’ve been ignoring, except I can't now because he's not even fucking sad.
He’s got this stupid I’ve-just-been-fucked-against-Joaquin’s-dresser grin on his face, and I want to fuck it off him.
Whatever. He's not even thirty.
Not sure why his age is important to me, but it is.
Joaquin walks in from his daily sunrise yoga, super predictable, looking like one of those…one of thoseyogaguys.
Worse than yesterday, Joaquin walks up to Colt as he’s fixing his coffee and hugs him from behind. Colt isn't wearing a shirt either, and I imagine that Joaquin's chest, warmed by the morning sun, probably feels pretty damn good across Colt’s back.
This is all bad enough, but then Joaquin practically buries his face into the curve where Colt’s neck and shoulders meet. He’s inhaling Colt’s neck like it’s his only source of oxygen, and his hands areeverywhere, skating up and down Colt’s delicious body.
Colt leans into his hold, raising his hands to the back of Joaquin’s head, arching every pleasured muscle like a damn cat. I stand there gape-mouthed for several seconds, but Abel is non-reactive as fuck. What the fuck does Abel know that I don’t?
I mutter something under my breath, and they part, looking at me as though they finally remembered I was here.
Yeah, motherfuckers. Right. Here.
Colt’s cheeks heat up a bit, and they finish fixing their go-cups of coffee.
“I'll be back down in a minute. I just need to get changed,” Colt says, scratching his belly.
Joaquin bites his lower lip. “I’m following you up.”
They’re not even three steps up when Joaquin reaches out and pinches Colt’s ass. Colt swipes at his hand, laughing, and Joaquin leans forward, kissing his shoulder.
Seriously,what the actual fuck?
“Would y’all stop playing grab-ass? We gotta get through breakfast because the gutters here and on the barn still haven't been cleaned out. We’re in wildfire season, and even Trip’s technique can't keep the paddocks green. We need to take this seriously, dammit.”
They both turn around, looking at me curiously.
Joaquin kisses Colt’s temple, then addresses me. “Quick reminder,” he says, pointing to himself. “I'm the foreman. So watch your mouth. And the stallion barn is on schedule for today. Abel’s afraid of heights, so we had to order a ladder safe enough for Colt. He’s a big boy, and I don’t like the idea of sending him up on the wrong equipment.”
Colt preens like a goddamn pretty princess, and it takes everything I have not to vomit all over this gross display of affection.
Joaquin, apparently, is not done with me. “And we are well aware of the condition of the paddocks. Trip and I have been talking about that this entire week, and we've got an irrigation plan in place. So slow your fucking roll. And maybe get something to eat. You’re awfully cranky for someone who just got laid last night.”
I open my mouth to retort that I, in fact, didnotget laid last night, but close it, deciding the entire house doesn’t need to know I couldn’t get it up.
Deciding I need some fresh air, I stomp outside. The abundant greenery around the edge of the deck only reminds me of the filth that we swept out of the barn to enrich the soil.
Renée kept promising that it would be beautiful, but I was calling her a sadist by the end of it because I’d thrown up twice and ruined two coveralls.
Actually, I was always more of a switch.
God, I loved you.
Fat lot of good that did. You being in loOoOoove with me is really fucking you up right now.
