“Because of the alkies?” Peyton asked.
“Because they want everyone to keep a clear head.” The man shifted his weight tentatively from one ass cheek to the other, as if unable to find a comfortable position.
“Did you get thrown by a horse?” Peyton asked him. The guy’s ass must be bruised to high-heaven the way he was acting.
The man snorted. Peyton had no idea what was funny, but the man didn’t elaborate, so he dropped the subject. He hated looking like he didn’t know what was going on.
“I’m Peyton, by the way.”
“Greg.”
“How long you been here?”
“Long enough to be leaving. My flight out is tomorrow morning.” Greg helped himself to a chicken cutlet and a big scoop of green beans. Peyton had already finished his food, but Ambrose was having seconds, so he hung around for the sake of being social.
“You think it helped you any?” he asked Greg.
Greg smirked. He sure found the situation entertaining. “I’m going home a changed man. Gotta figure out how to keep up the discipline without external reinforcement, but for now I’ve got no desire to engage in those old behaviors ever again.”
“What were you in for?”
“Porn addiction.”
Peyton laughed, then realized Greg was serious and stifled his mirth. He shouldn’t be disrespectful of other people’s problems. Like when he’d referred to alcoholics as alkies a minute ago. Any of the people around him might be an alcoholic, which was a serious problem, not a joke. He didn’t like it when Bettina made fun of him for his problem. Still, the idea of coming here to handle a gay porn addiction was pretty amusing.
“All these hot dudes with their shirts off didn’t lend more fuel to the fire?”
“Those guys aren’t here to pleasure us. They’re here to discipline us, punish us. Right now, I’d be happy to never see a hot guy again.”
Peyton frowned. He hadn’t come to The Bars and Stars to be turned off hot men.
“So it’s like aversion therapy,” Ambrose said. “When you think of jerking it to a hot guy, you associate it with punishment. I guess that’s what they’re going to do with me and food.” He looked glumly at his plate.
Peyton relaxed. He didn’t have a porn problem, so his aversion therapy wouldn’t be targeted toward hot men or jerking off. He supposed his would be targeted toward working hard or following through or… or something. He should have read that personalized schedule they’d given him.
“What’s the punishment?” he asked. “Like mucking out stalls?” He didn’t know what ‘mucking out stalls’ meant exactly, but it sounded ranch-like and also unpleasant.
“You remember that contract you signed?”
Peyton nodded.
“Did you read the terms and conditions on it?”
Peyton shook his head.
“Then let’s just say you should have.”
And that was all the information Greg was prepared to hand out.
Chapter 3
He was late. If he’d looked at his itinerary last night instead of working his dick to the memory of muscles bunching, he would have known what time he was supposed to be at the corral and planned accordingly. He didn’t have a porn addiction, but it was definitely possible he used masturbation to avoid scary or unpleasant items on his to do list. Like this morning’s session, to which he was late.
He skated around the corner of the barn to the corral where he was supposed to meet his trainer and found a stone-faced cowboy with his arms crossed over his chest. The man wore a long-sleeved plaid shirt fastened nearly to the top with pearl snaps, but Peyton knew what he looked like without a shirt on because that was his wood chopper, the hunk with the swoon-worthy physique. Beneath the brim of a well-worn cowboy hat, the guy’s deeply tanned face was every bit as swoon-worthy. But also angry.
“Sorry I’m late.” He offered his hand, which the cowboy looked at like it was a used tissue so he changed the shaking motion to a wave as if he’d meant to wave all along. “I’m Peyton. But I guess you know that ’cause you’re standing here waiting for me. Because I’m late,” he added redundantly.
“Tex,” the man spat out.
