Dreamspinner Press Year Six Greatest Hits

by JD Ruskin

  “Just believe me,” he whined, and I could hear the need in his voice. “I don’t care, Web, I don’t! The job you do doesn’t mean anything to me.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “And you should stop caring what strangers think, or what people I know think, or what people you know think. What does it matter? What you do should only mean something to you, only make you happy.”

  “But there has to be respect.”

  “What respect? Me respect you?” he asked irritably.

  “Yeah.”

  “Jesus, Weber,” he said, and his voice was broken and needy and surrendering. “Baby, I respect you more than anyone else I know. You have done everything you wanted, your way, and you went for your dream instead of just sitting on your ass and talking about it.”

  “But I didn’t make it,” I reminded him. “I ain’t a professional bull rider.”

  “But you tried,” he assured me, easing free of my grip, rolling to his knees, rising over me. I had to tip my head up to hold his gaze before he straddled my hips, sliding into my lap. “Most people never even have the balls to try.”

  I grabbed hold of his ass, loving as always the feel of the firm round globes under my palms, and yanked him forward, his groin shoved against my abdomen.

  “I will never, ever get tired of you or bored with you,” he promised. “Don’t you see, I have no desire to watch you ride off into the sunset. I want you here, at home, every night, waiting for me to get here. Do you have any idea how badly I wanted to leave that fundraiser so I could get back to you?”

  “How bad?” I asked, my voice low and husky.

  “Let me show you,” he said seductively, hands attacking the buttons on my shirt.

  But it wasn’t what I wanted, so I stopped him, covering both his hands with one of mine, flattening them against my chest, the other lifting to his face, his cheek.

  “Web?”

  “Get up.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Get up,” I ordered him a second time.

  He stood, and I did as well.

  “Go change into your pajamas and get in bed.”

  “What? No, I want—”

  “Just go do it. I’ll be right there,” I said, leaving him no time to argue with me before I walked away from him. “I’m gonna get the lights and check the doors.”

  He left without another word.

  I walked around and turned everything off, made sure the house was locked up for the night, and finally joined him in the bedroom. He was sitting up in bed, shirtless, bottom half under the covers, waiting for me. He said nothing as I stripped down, changed into sleep shorts, and walked around to my side of the bed, the left side, the one closest to the door.

  “Get in bed,” he said, throwing back the covers in invitation.

  I got in and turned off the light on the nightstand before lying down, arm under the pillow.

  “Why don’t you want me?” he asked softly in the darkness.

  “Idiot,” I said, reaching a hand for him. “I always want you.”

  He was wrapped around me in seconds, his body plastered to mine, head under my chin as he pressed against me.

  “But we’re both being idiots,” I said into his hair, inhaling him, my fingers sliding lazily up and down the smooth skin of his bare back. “You think if you don’t come home and fuck me that I’m gonna lose interest in you. And I think if I ain’t riding bulls no more that you won’t want nothin’ to do with me.”

  His breath caught as he clutched at me.

  “We’re both grown men, Cy, thinking such foolish things.”

  He took another quivering breath. “All I want is for you to realize that what you do does not dictate the kind of man you are. What you do and who you are, are two separate things.”

  “Not necessarily,” I sighed, loving him draped over me, the feel of him, his weight, his breath, as he tilted his head back, over the side of my neck. “I think what a man does, what anyone does, is part of them, but I’ve always thought that if I wasn’t wild that you wouldn’t want me. I thought you had an idea in your mind of what you wanted, and if I wasn’t that then you weren’t interested.”

  He groaned loudly. “For the love of God, Weber, I don’t give a shit what you do. I don’t need a cowboy or—”

  “A prince?”

  “Hell no,” he grumbled, lifting up so he was looking down at my face, which he could now see in the darkness after our eyes adjusted. “You’re loving and kind and gentle, and no one makes me laugh like you do, and no one gets me like you do. I mean, I took one look at you and threw caution to the wind. I never did that before in my whole life, and I can’t tell you how many times I’ve cursed that decision, because apparently the second I saw you I fell in love with the one man I can’t have.”

  I reached up and pulled him down to me, my eyes closing as his lips sealed over mine.

  “Jesus, Weber, do you realize you sigh like you’re coming home every time you kiss me?”

  “Yeah, I know,” I grumbled.

  “Don’t sound so happy about it.”

  “It ain’t funny,” I told him before I rolled him over on his back and made sure he didn’t want to talk anymore.

  “I thought we weren’t going to do this?” he asked minutes later between kisses.

  “Don’t tease me. I can’t help it. I’ll miss being in bed with you when I’m gone.”

  “Like I’m going to let you go.”

  I didn’t have it in me to argue with him.

  Chapter Six

  A MALE nanny, no matter what year it was, seemed to be of interest to a lot of people. The people at Carolyn’s boss’s house were absolutely riveted. I didn’t see what the big deal was, but what was surprising was the acceptance. All those powerful businesswomen, just like Carolyn, and they found me new and shiny and didn’t think it was strange that I was there. It was quite the surprise.

  I was complimented on how good the boys looked, how polite they were, and over their manners. They didn’t run around like crazy people, drop anything, or make a general nuisance of themselves. Tristan helped open doors, Micah said please and thank you, and Pip brought the hostess a glass of water because he thought she looked thirsty. They were a hit. I gave all the credit to Carolyn; she volleyed it back to me. Apparently, my manners were wearing off on them, even after only a few days.

  To Carolyn’s colleagues, I was her employee, so after the initial novelty wore off, they ignored me. The other nannies were looking for husbands to provide better lives for them or they were going to college, so they all treated me like a buddy. They shared juicy gossip about their employers, told me to stick to my guns when demanding days off, and suggested places to take the kids on outings. They were, as a group, far more accepting then I could have ever imagined. We were all doing the same job. I was one of them, and the shared camaraderie was nice. And while I had no misconceptions that I would always be met with such openness, that they were full of only friendly banter and no harsh judgments was very refreshing.

  “Well,” Carolyn said with a sigh as we were on our way home, me driving because she’d had four cosmopolitans, “you were the belle of the ball.”

  “Was I?” I teased her because she was a cute drunk—being tipsy made her giggly.

  “Oh,” she said and burped, “yeah. I had to tell three of the women who work with me that I was paying you very well and that you did not want to leave my employment.”

  I snorted out a laugh. “Did you, now?”

  “Yeah.” She hiccupped. “Awww, crap.”

  “God, you’re cute.” I smiled at her.

  She sighed deeply and after a moment said, “Weber Yates, I wish you liked girls.”

  I grunted. “And I wish you could have met my brother. You would have liked him, and he sure as anything would have liked you back.”

  “Oh.” Her voice broke suddenly, and she grabbed hold of my shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

  I nodded, not trusting myself to s
peak, choked up that fast, the sting of losing him the only pain that had not eased with time. My brother with his quick laughter and wit, his warm eyes that flashed when he was up to no good, and his innate kindness, was a loss that I still felt as sharply as the day the army officers had found me to deliver the devastating news. I had wanted to see him get old.

  She sniffled, and I knew without looking that she had teared up.

  “He—” I took a breath, glancing over at her, seeing her biting her lip as she looked at me. “—was handsome, you know. He looked like my dad. Dark brown hair and deep blue eyes like your boys. My mama always said that I was the younger, lighter version of him.”

  “I wish I hadn’t missed him.”

  “Next time around,” I told her.

  “Absolutely,” she whispered and took hold of the hand I offered her. “Next time.”

  AFTER DRIVING Carolyn and the boys home and taking the Lexus back to Cy’s, I was surprised that his car wasn’t in the garage when I returned. It was late and he was still out, and though I wanted to call him and check on him, see where he was, I had no way to do that as there was no landline in the house. What was interesting, though, was that when I walked into the kitchen, there was a cell phone on the bar. I was thinking that maybe there was someone else in the house, but after a quick walk through, I realized I was alone. When it suddenly played “Desperado,” I figured the call was for me and answered it.

  “Very fuckin’ funny,” I grumbled.

  “You needed a phone now that you’ve got the kids with you, and I should be able to get a hold of you, right?”

  It seemed logical.

  “And you might need to call me sometimes too.”

  I grunted.

  “Like tonight.”

  “This one’s too fancy.”

  “I’ll show you all the cool stuff it can do later.”

  “All right,” I agreed.

  “And how ’bout that ringtone?” He cackled.

  “It ain’t funny,” I groused at him.

  There was at once his lilting laughter on the other end, sensual and mirthful at the same time. “Oh c’mon, get a sense of humor.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I need a favor.”

  “Whatzat?”

  “I met some friends out for drinks tonight after work because you had to go to that party with Carolyn and you wouldn’t have been home anyway, but now I realize I should have just gone home and waited for you.”

  He was rambling, and his voice was rising. Someone was trashed. “And so?”

  “Well now I’m a little drunk and so is everyone else and we walked to my friend Jeff’s place but I realized I left my car in the parking lot of the bar and I don’t want them to tow it but I don’t think I should be the one to move it and—”

  “Take a breath before you pass out.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll move it,” I told him. “Is there a second set of keys, or do I need to come get them from you?”

  “You don’t want to get me?”

  “I do.” I smiled into the phone. Cy sounding unsure and needy was very cute. “But if there’s a second set, I can drive to you instead of making you walk with me back to the car.”

  “Oh, yeah, that makes more sense.”

  “So?”

  “There’s a second set in the nightstand on my side of the bed.”

  “Okay, where’s the bar?”

  “Are you mad?”

  “Why would I be mad?”

  “Just that I went out drinking without you.”

  “You’re a big boy. You can do as you please.”

  “No, I know.”

  “Did you have a bad day?” I prodded gently.

  “What makes you ask that?”

  “You’re not a big drinker. There has to be a reason for you to do that on a whim.”

  “Yeah.” He sighed. “I had a long, shitty day. I lost a patient, really nice lady, mother, grandmother, right before Christmas—fuck.”

  “And did you tell your friends that?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “We don’t—that’s not something we do. We don’t sit around and share our feelings. That’s what your boyfriend is for.”

  “I see.”

  “That’s what you’re for.” He said it, emphasizing the word “boyfriend” in case I missed it.

  I was quiet.

  “I mean, I told them I had a fucked up day, and they just told me to drink and feel better.”

  But that was his fault for not explaining that he didn’t just have a bad day, he had a terrible one.

  “You should have just come on home,” I told him.

  “I know that!”

  “Why are you yellin’?”

  “Because I know I should have just come home. I said that already.”

  “I would have been here.”

  “Jesus, Weber, I know! The only place I want to be right now is with you, but my car will be in some impound yard tomorrow if I leave it at the bar!”

  “Okay,” I soothed him. “I’ll be right there. Tell me where the bar is.”

  After he explained and gave me the address, I called for a cab and went to change out of the good clothes I was wearing and into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and a long-sleeved button-down shirt. I grabbed the peacoat I found I liked more and more with each passing day, my denim jacket still hanging in Cy’s closet from the day I had arrived, and my cowboy boots that I had picked up that morning from the shoe repair shop. Why I was antsy I had no idea, but the idea of him being drunk when I wasn’t there to warn other men off annoyed me. My reaction to him was normal; the feeling of possessiveness was not.

  If I just hadn’t stopped to see him, if I had simply stayed on the damn bus, I would not have to come face to face with the truth.

  Hell.

  I found the bar and the lot and drove the sleek car the five blocks to his friend Jeff’s place, easily finding the huge converted warehouse that was now full of renovated, trendy lofts. I took the stairs up to the fourth floor instead of trusting the old metal freight elevator.

  I thought I was going to a small get-together, but even before I reached the level, I could hear the voices and the music. It was a party, loud and raucous, and it was surprising for a Tuesday night. But I was used to going to bed at nine and being up at four in the morning. My guess was that none of these people had to be up before dawn.

  Pushing between people, making my way through the crowd outside the apartment, I finally made it inside and saw him standing by the kitchen, drink in hand, leaning heavily against the wall. Several men were near him, one with a hand on his shoulder.

  As I crossed the floor to him, he looked up and saw me. His eyes lit up as he levered off the wall, putting his drink down before he brushed by the others to reach me. He could have waited, but he didn’t, meeting me halfway instead.

  “Holy shit, Web.” He smiled wide, his eyes glittering. “You’re breathtaking.”

  “You’re drunk.” I laughed softly, reaching out, my hand moving to the back of his neck, my fingers sliding under the open collar of his dress shirt as I drew him forward. The look on his face, the hooded eyes, made my stomach hurt. He was just beautiful. “Can I kiss you?”

  “Really?” He asked because normally public displays were not within my comfort zone.

  “No one cares in here, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Well, then—” I wet my lips. “—may I?”

  “That would be good,” he answered, his voice hoarse.

  I eased him closer, my mouth slanting down over his, letting him feel my desire and need, my tongue tasting him, the tequila he’d been drinking, and the faint sliver of salt. When he moaned into my mouth, I clutched him tight, savoring the way his body melted against mine.

  His arms wrapped around my neck fast as he whimpered, pressing his obvious erection to my groin.

  Drunk and horny, his body flushed with heat—I
needed to get the man home fast.

  “No-no-no,” he whined when I pulled back, taking a deep breath of air.

  “You need to come with me,” I said, loving the glazed look in his big, wet eyes.

  “Web, just take me into the bathroom.”

  “You have lost your mind.” I sighed as I held his face in my hands and smiled slowly, lazily. “I was worried that maybe you might’ve started kissin’ frogs again.”

  His hand went to my shoulder, and he looked at me hard. I saw the muscles in his jaw flex. “Christ, Weber, you’re my prince, idiot. You were never a frog,” he said gruffly, his voice low and husky.

  It was dumb that I needed to hear the words—I was an action-over-declaration kind of guy—but from him, it was necessary. Always had been.

  “Let’s just go home. Please. I wanna go home.”

  “Why?” I teased him.

  He leaned his head forward so my hands slipped around his neck. “Because I need you, and you won’t fuck me here.”

  I breathed against his ear and felt the shudder go through him. “No, I won’t, but I will put you over the couch in the living room when we get home if you can’t make it to the bedroom.”

  “Fuck,” he half yelled, squirming like his clothes were suddenly too tight.

  “Talk to me.”

  “I don’t want to talk to you,” he whispered fiercely, and I watched him shut his eyes hard, hoping to stop the tears. They leaked out from under his long, thick lashes anyway. “I want you to stay. God, Weber, I have never needed anyone like I need you.”

  “Same here.”

  Instantly, his head tipped up, and I was swallowed in his golden-brown gaze.

  “I love you,” I told him, and it finally felt good to say and not terrifying.

  “You do?”

  “Of course, don’t be stupid.”

  He lunged at me, wrapped his arms around my neck again and this time hugged me tight. He was trembling, and with that realization, every doubt and every fear burned itself out of me. I finally understood that the man truly and completely loved me. And he didn’t love me because I was a cowboy, and he didn’t love me because I was some romantic ideal but because I was me. He loved plain old Weber Yates, poor, out of work, and clueless. He worshipped the ground I walked on. It made no sense. We were as different as we could be. I was a nothing, and he had the world at his feet, but apparently, in this scenario, he didn’t see it like that. He didn’t have everything unless he had me. The man saw me, cherished my heart, recognized how much I loved him, and knew that it would never occur to me to stop, ever. There could be no mistake. We would be in this for the long haul if I would finally, could finally, let it start. And really, why would I not? The only thing standing between us was my pride, and it was not strong enough to keep us apart. I was not a vain man, but I realized when I was needed and when I alone would do. I squeezed him tight and kissed his cheek.