Patrick was hot on Nash’s heels as he barged through the bar door without a lick of hesitancy. Inside Broken Spoke, the air was warm and thick with the stench of tobacco. Pool balls clacked against one another while low, croaky country music floated from the busted radio by the bar. Shitty overhead lights bathed the bar in yellow. Broken Spoke was the type of bar that people visited to get piss-drunk or to find a good, hard fuck after a few lonely months on the ranch. Patrick preferred the mouth of a bottle over the mouth of another due to embarrassin’ himself one too many times after one too many drinks.
Patrick grabbed Nash by the scruff of his neck, making him tense and slow down to match Patrick’s pace. “Mighty strong grip you got there.”
“Now look here,” Patrick said, low and deep. “Don’t go embarrassin’ yourself or me, ya hear? You just work here, I live here. Don’t go makin’ a mess of things.”
A devilish smile quirked one side of Nash’s lips. “Now, I rather like when you talk all deep like that in my ear.”
Patrick shoved Nash forward with enough force to make him stumble. Laughter, sweet yet still rough around the edges, met Patrick’s ear. A few heads turned in their direction and Patrick wished he’d blown right past the bar. Then, a hoarse feminine voice holleredBaby, and his heart dropped to his feet. His cousin LeeAnne was walking their way, high ponytail swinging with every step. She pulled Patrick into a tight hug. “How the hell are you, Baby? I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”
His whole face felt like he’d worked fifteen hours in the blazin’ sun. Patrick set his jaw and gave a tight smile, tryin’ his best to let the nickname roll off his back—he knew it wasn’t worth the fight. “Good, how ‘bout yourself?”
She let go of him as she gave a similar answer. Nash wolf-whistled, drawin’ both of their attention. “Didn’t tell me you had a lady friend, Pat.”
LeeAnne crossed her arms as she jerked her chin towards Nash. “And who might you be?”
Nash removed his hat, bringin’ his arm down around his middle as he gave a small, stiff bow. “Nash Colby, ma’am.”
She snorted. “I ain’t no ma’am, but I appreciate the thought. And I ain’t Baby’s lady friend.” A fake shiver ran through her body. “He’s my baby cousin.”
She slapped a hand down on Patrick’s shoulder, which he promptly shoved it off. “I done told you to quiet callin’ me that. I ain’t gonna keep tellin’ ya.”
“Or what?” LeeAnne’s eyebrows shot to her hairline.
“Just lay off it, a’right?”
“Big ole softy this one.” She pointed her thumb towards Patrick. “Don’t pay him no mind when he starts. Ain’t nothin’ but hot air.”
Nash put his hat back on while lookin’ at Patrick. “Nothing but hot air, huh?”
Patrick scoffed. “We drinkin’ or are you two ladies gonna keep yappin’?”
“Like I won’t drink you under the table.” LeeAnne smacked the back of Patrick’s head. “C’mon first rounds on me.”
Havin’ grown up with LeeAnne, Patrick should’ve known better than to try and match her drink for drink. LeeAnne could hold her liquor better than most men three times her size. By the time they were ready to leave, Patrick was trippin’ over his own feet, and Nash wasn’t much better off. There was no way they were gonna make it back to the ranch tonight. Luckily, he’d taken care of the majority of the chores before he left to pick up Nash. So instead of goin’ back to the ranch, they ended up at the bed and breakfast down the street from The Broken Spoke. Patrick tried to recall how they managed to check in, but he couldn’t. What he did know though, was the bed he was layin’ in was mighty comfortable, and he was awfully tired after all that drinking.
His whole body from head to toe was warm and heavy. He wondered if Nash ran hot when he drank. At the thought of Nash, Patrick realized he didn’t know where the li’l blond sumbitch had gone. His head lulled to the left, and there Nash was, eyes closed and chest risin’ and fallin’ with slow, steady breathes. Layin’ as close as they were, Patrick could make out all the fine features he couldn’t see earlier. A faint scar on Nash’s right eyebrow, what looked to be old piercin’ holes in his ear, faint blond stubble across his jawline. Patrick felt the urge to run his fingers across Nash’s jaw.
“Some starin’ problem you got, Baby.” Nash’s slurred words brought a new kind of heat to Patrick’s face. Nash turned his head, eyes barely opened when he looked at Patrick. A tired smirk graced Nash’s lips. “You sure you ain’t that way?”
“I…” Patrick swallowed hard, tongue tied in a fat knot.
Nash rolled onto his side then grabbed Patrick’s chin. “You blush such…” Nash shuffled close enough Patrick could feel the heat radiatin’ from his body. “…a pretty color, Baby.”
Whiskey soaked breath fanned across Patrick’s lips. His insides twisted up real tight. His dick, usually useless after three glasses of whiskey, stirred in his jeans. “Don’t call me that,” he protested weakly.
“Why?” Nash was so close Patrick could practically taste the Pall Mall Reds he’d smoked earlier. “‘Fraid you like it too much?”
Drinkin’ did a lot of things to Patrick, made him reckless and stupid at times. He’d earned himself plenty of black eyes because he didn’t stop running his mouth when he should’ve. He didn’t think he was gonna get a black eye with Nash though, and a weak littleyesslipped out. Nash ran his thumb across Patrick’s bottom lip then patted his cheek. “If only you were in your right mind.”
Nash sluggishly got out of bed and shuffled over to the other one that Patrick hadn’t noticed. He watched Nash shed his clothes piece by piece: jack, boots, long sleeve shirt. His jeans dropped to the floor with a soft thud, revealing skin tight boxers beneath. His ass looked like a ripe peach wrapped in spandex—or whatever the hell those boxers were made outta. Patrick’s cock strained painfully against the zipper of his jeans.
Nash sat something on the nightstand, a silver ring—hisweddingring. Somethin’ vicious snaked through Patrick at the reminder that Nash was a married man, maybe not a faithful one, but a married one nonetheless. And Patrick was layin’ thereall pathetic, his dick harder than it had ever been for any woman. He rolled over, wishing he had whiskey dick.
2
Mornin’ came way too fucking early and way too fucking loudly for Patrick’s likin’. LeeAnne busted into the room at some ungodly hour, shoutin’ ‘bout hittin’ the road bright and early. The only thing that kept Patrick from ripping her straight in two was the scoldin’ hot coffee she shoved into his hands when he sat up. “Two sugars and a shit ton of creamer, just like you like it,” she said.
He grumbledthank youthen sat it on the nightstand so he could rub the sleep out of his eyes. “Why the hell are you here, Lee?”
