by BA Tortuga
“They’re moving it across my land.” He got really damn pissed when he thought about it. “And Jerilyn’s. Thank God I got here before someone hurt her.”
“I would have been there to protect her. I’ve been sheriff for a friggin’ month, man.”
“Hey, I trust you. You know that. This is personal, though.” He hated that his land, his mom’s legacy, might be harboring a fucking biker gang running drugs. Hated it.
“The club is on the county line. Was just a honkytonk up to… I don’t know, a year and a half ago? Marla sold out, and then suddenly there’s hogs everywhere.”
“Okay. I’ll get that to my info tech.” Gianni wanted to know who’d bought it and everything about them. “That smells freaking amazing, man.”
“I do love a burger. You want to fix your bun?”
“Yeah.” He hoisted up so he could move to grab a hamburger and hot dog bun. “Are we expecting more company?” There was a prodigious amount of meat on the grill.
“Nah. I take them for lunch, but you eat as much as you want.”
“I bet your office is popular at noontime,” he teased. God, Chris was chafing at the bit.
“Not usually.” Chris finally sat across from him, burger in hand. “I hate it, man. I loved being a deputy. I was the best investigator and worked with the state a lot. Now I’m a paper pusher.”
“What happened with the sheriff?”
“You know full well, he got caught dipping his wick with an underaged girl. Ugly shit.”
“The undersheriff too?” He opened his eyes wide.
“No, he ran the cover-up. I tried to get them to appoint someone else, maybe bring back Griggs.”
“Griggs has to be ninety.”
Chris shook his head. “Seventy-six.”
“Still. Dude. Just don’t run.”
“If I can figure it. I’m trying to do the right thing here.”
“Do the right thing for yourself. The county will recover.” He munched on his burger. Damn, that was good. Man grill meat. If Chris decided not to be sheriff, he could be a short-order cook. “You ever thought about a restaurant?”
“Shut up.”
“Seriously, you’d rock it.”
“No. I want to be able to carry a gun.”
“Hey, Old Ben did that at the Dairy Mart.” The mart had closed when Ben died, but all the kids for a lot of generations remembered him and his shotgun.
“Oh man. Those onion rings…. You remember those?”
“God yes. And the pineapple milkshakes.” Xavvy had always gone mint chocolate chip, but Jerilyn had taught him and Chris the value of a pineapple shake.
“With malt! Oh fuck, man, I hadn’t thought of that in eons!”
“We should sucker Jerilyn to make them for us. She has Ben’s recipe.” He fist-bumped Chris, laughing like a loon.
Chris suddenly looked young, twenty years falling from him.
Okay, it wasn’t his job to fix this shit, but he was sure gonna try. Chris needed to get out from under the weight of all these local expectations. It killed him, how they had been the three musketeers for two years and now they were virtual strangers.
He wanted to fix that too.
He ate his hot dog after his burger, the crispy casing making him sigh happily. “I might have to have another one.”
“Have all you want. I got plenty.” Chris grabbed some chips and another beer.
“Thanks.” He grabbed a dog and a burger. If he couldn’t finish, well, he’d wrap it up and take it home. “Maria hasn’t had to do for so many in a while, and it’s causing us all rumbly in the tummy. I’ve had to hide my chocolate stash three times.”
“You are a chocolate whore, man. Always have been. I got Maydell to make me a couple chocolate pies. Real ones, not the pudding ones.”
“As in you have them here? Now?” Chocolate pie was always a winner, no matter how many he’d had.
“As in I have them here. Now. In the fridge.”
“Damn.” He put the burger aside for home and ate the hot dog sans bun. He wanted that pie.
“Slut.” Chris’s eyes twinkled.
“I so am.” He would give out blow jobs for chocolate pie. He had, more than once.
“So, what do I need to expect from you when you’re up to the house? Lord of the manor, Eurotrash shit?”
“Yep. I’m going to play it over the top. I need the bikers to think I’m a cream puff.”
Chris looked him over. “Wear loose clothes. You’re built like a brick shithouse.”
“Thanks, buddy. You should see the ATF guy.”
“Yeah? I can’t wait. He playing cowboy?”
“Chauffeur. I’ll bring him into town soon.” Greg would probably love to be shown off.
“Chauffeur. Oh sweet Jesus, I love it.”
“I know, right? Auntie is loaning me a stretch from her garage.”
“You’re not serious! You are going to turn people on their ears. I can’t wait.”
“Me either.” Though he knew it would take effort on his part. He was an ass, but not that much of an ass. “Pie?”
“Pie. Whipped cream?”
“Please and thank you.” He stood and helped clear up dishes and stuff.
The house was just like he remembered. Just like. Nothing was different. How weird. Chris had to own the place now. Why wasn’t he making it more modern? “How long have you been staying here?” Gianni asked.
“Seven years, I guess? Six and a half?”
“What?” Wait. Now he was confused.
“What what?”
“Why haven’t you changed anything? It looks like your mom moved out yesterday.”
Chris shrugged. “I’m not here much. I’m just… waiting.”
“That blows.” He pulled out two more plates. “I mean, dude, get new curtains.”
“Who buys curtains anymore?”
“You do. I swear. I’m going to send Jerilyn to take you shopping. How old are your sheets?”
“Huh? They’re sheets. They don’t wear out.”
“How old are they?” Gianni stormed back to the master bedroom so he could tear back the very serviceable brown comforter. “They have cabbage roses! These are your mom’s! You are a queer guy! Even closeted you ought to do better than this.”
“They’re free!” Chris stood in the door, face like a thundercloud.
“They’re your mom’s! That’s gross, man. You were probably conceived on these sheets.”
“I will wrap you up in my momma’s sheets and beat you until you can’t breathe!”
“Uh-huh. If we could be seen in public, I would take you right now to Kohl’s. In fact….” He grabbed his phone, dialing Colt. “I need sheets.”
“Pardon me?”
“Hang up the phone, asshole.”
“No.” He ducked Chris’s reaching hands. “Two sets of king-size jersey sheets. Manly colors. Put it on my Kohl’s or Macy’s account.”
“You got it, boss. Anything else? Towels?”
“God, yes. Towels, hand towels, and washcloths. Pillows.”
“Boyardee! Stop it.”
Colt hooted. “Did he just call you Boyardee?”
“He did. You do not have my permission. Curtains. Manly curtains.”
“What size?”
“A kitchen sink window and two standard front room ones.” The bedroom was just green curtains.
“Goddammit! Stop it!”
“And some damn throw pillows!”
Chris tore the phone out of his hand, clicking it off. “You. Are. An ass.”
“Uh-huh. You’re caught in a weird nonsexual time loop. You need an intervention.”
“For fuck’s sake, Gianni! I’m stuck in my old hometown in my parents’ house, under the fucking microscope of the sheriff’s office. There is no way to get laid. None!”
He stopped, shook his head. “Buddy, that’s just wrong.”
“I know!” Chris threw up his hands. “Can we go back to the front room?”
“Yeah. Yeah, you promised me pie.”
“You don’t deserve it, butthead.”
“Hey!” Gianni couldn’t keep a straight face. “I got you sheets.”
Chris grabbed him, gave him a noogie. “Fucker. I missed you. Asshole.”
“I missed you too. Now give me pie.” They walked out to the kitchen arm in arm, and Gianni was glad he’d made his friend feel more like himself. This whole thing was horked.
Chapter Twelve
“IS THAT him, dude?”
“Yeah.” Bonner and Micah were standing in the lee of the hay barn, staring over at the pool, where Mr. Cesare was stretched out in the tiniest white bikini deal on earth. It barely covered his cock.
Whoa.
“He’s fucking hot, man.” Micah sounded impressed. “He needs to get wet.”
“Yeah.” Bonner was a little breathless, more than a little hard.
“Come on, man, get in the—who the hell is that?” A stunning hottie in board shorts came out carrying a tray, holding it like a snooty butler in a cartoon.
“I have no idea.” Bonner stared, trying not to drool.
“Damn. What do you think he’d do if I just dropped to my knees and begged for him?”
“I have no idea.” He knew he was repeating himself, and he didn’t care. His eyes felt dry, he was looking so hard. “I guess we have to wait to use the pool.” They were allowed, after hours, mostly, but….
Cesare’s phone rang, and he grabbed it, talking fast and hard. He glanced their way, so Bonner and Micah pressed into the shadows. No being seen.
He wasn’t on the clock, so he wasn’t shirking, but he probably shouldn’t be staring at the boss and thinking thoughts.
“So, do we set up a kiddie pool at the house?” Micah asked.
“Shh.” Gianni had hung up and was standing, stretching up tall. He took the drink from the tray the guy was still holding, then nodded curtly. The guy left while Gianni drank.
“I could go ask Mr. Studilicious if I can get a drink from him.”
“Be good, Micah.”
“What? He’s a working guy like me. Then you can move in on the boss.”
“I might get fired if you do. I don’t know all the rules yet.” He could lick Gianni from top to bottom.
“Oh. Well, at least I got to see him. You had that, huh?”
“He had me, for sure. I didn’t know some of that shit was possible.”
“He looks like he would turn you inside out.”
“Yeah.” He thought he had been, and then Gianni had done it again. Bonner shivered, goose bumps rising on his skin.
“Man, you’re making me all horny,” Micah muttered. “I need a shower.”
“Okay. I’ll catch up with you.” He just wanted a few more minutes.
He needed to cool off and stop being rock-hard before he walked back across the pasture. “Butthead.” Micah slapped his bottom before heading out.
He jumped, his cheeks on fire. He checked to make sure no one had heard that.
Thank God he was alone.
His phone rang, and he damn near jumped out of his skin. “Fuck! Fuck. Okay. Damn.” The boss. “Yessir?”
“Bonner, do you have a moment? I needed to talk to you about some horses. Can you come to the pool?” The command was clear in the question.
“Sure. Sure, boss. Be right there.” Goddammit. He was caught; he just knew it.
“Excellent. See you soon.” The phone went dead, and he thumped himself. Hard. He doesn’t remember you, man. Grow. Up.
He headed out of the barns and toward the pool, trying not to look at anything. It was impossible not to notice when Gianni dove into the pool, flashing right in like a hot knife through butter.
Oh God. Wet Italian stud. Oh God.
No looking.
He stared, though, when Gianni waded out of the pool. That white bathing suit had gone clear. Not one thing was hidden from sight. Not one.
“Ah, Bonner. Bene. I have two more horses coming in. They’ve had all their tests, Coggins etcetera, but I want them quarantined for a week.”
“Of course, sir. Today?” He sounded like a crow.
“They’ll be in first thing in the morning.” Gianni was totally enigmatic behind those sunglasses he slipped back on.
“I’ll make sure they’re taken care of.” He hid his face in the shadow of his hat.
“Good, good. How are the new hands doing? Are they on the… the bat?”
“The ball.” He hid a grin. “Yeah, they’re doing real well, as far as I can tell. All hard workers, and Hank and Mr. Franklin aren’t complaining. Colt meant to be full-time? I think he’s only pulling part-time hours.”
“He’s doing some work on my aunt’s property too.”
“Ah. Good on him. He’s a fine roper.” Micah had pissed Colt off a little at the roping pen, but the man could throw a loop. He guessed broken fingers were easier than missing ones.
“My security man says you have a guest. You should bring him to supper.”
“I—he’s a buddy from the circuit. He’s not staying long.”
“Well, I would like to meet him. I am fascinated with the rodeo.”
“Yessir.” No looking at anything. None. Zero.
“Excellent. About seven this evening, then. Just come to the house.”
He nodded, wondering idly if he could just send Micah by himself. “Have a good swim, now.”
“Thank you.” Gianni beamed at him, and for a moment, just a moment, he had a feeling the man remembered him. He grinned back, warmth flooding him, and he tipped his hat.
He headed back toward his house. Through the barn. Was it bad to jack off in the tack room?
Surely not. It locked. He needed it. Bad. Micah was a great guy, but he didn’t want a hand job from Micah with Bri in the other room. Bonner wanted to imagine Gianni and him together. He slipped into the tack room, breathing in the scent of the leather, letting it soothe him, arouse him too. He unbuckled his belt, pushing his palm down hard on his shaft.
Panting, Bonner gave himself a few tugs, and damn, the need zinged up his spine. God, he remembered Gianni taking him, hard and fast, outside against the fancy-assed house Gianni had rented.
The man had just put him face to the wall, lifted him damn near off the ground, and fucked him, whispering dark, filthy promises in his ear and making him writhe with it.
He groaned, jerking at his cock, his balls already pulling up. Please. Please, just let me get off real quick and I’ll be good for a week. I swear. He was sweating so bad it was running in his eyes, and his ass clenched up, needing to be filled. “Beg me,” Gianni had whispered. “Beg me for more.”
“Please,” he whispered, and shot so hard his balls hurt.
His head spun for a moment, so he leaned against the wall. Lord, that memory was plain as yesterday.
He was an idiot. No question. Just a giant idiot.
Here he was, working with a man who’d fucked his ass, and wishing he could do it again. He rinsed off at the sink and then hitched up his jeans. He needed to get back to Micah before the man told Bri all his secrets.
Then they were going to have to deal with supper.
GIANNI HAD gone inside and jacked off immediately. That stupid Speedo didn’t hide even the slightest wrinkle, and he’d been sporting an enormous hard-on by the time Bonner had left. Then he went to talk to Colt.
“Oh, that was great!” Colt was spinning in his chair, grinning. “A C-note your tack room smells like naughty cowboy.”
“I bet it does. I swear, you’re scary.”
“Well connected. He can’t stop looking at you.”
“Stop it.” He didn’t have time for an affair with the foreman. It wasn’t going to stop him from doing it, of course, but he really didn’t have the spare hours in the day. “He’s coming to supper with his rodeo buddy tonight.”
“Ooh, the roper. I want to kick his ass. He took the purse at the roping pen. You going to have a ménage?”
“I don’t share.” He chuckled. “It was the only way I could think to get Bonner to supper. Greg as the pool boy was a nice touch.”
“You’re welcome. I live to serve.”
“I know. Like I said. Scary.” He flopped down on the couch in Colt’s little apartment. “Bonner was asking if you were part-time. I told him you were helping at Jerilyn’s.”
“I heard. Nicely done. I’m much more helpful up here, you know?”
“I know. Just show up for more than roping, okay? And I swear to God, if I go have sex with the foreman, no listening.”
“No dice. I’m taking bids for video.”
“No, you are not. I will get you removed from the case.” He had to show he meant business.
Colt’s eyes went comically wide. “You would not. I’ve been trapped in that hole for three years.”
“Then behave. No selling or giving it away, okay?” Gianni stared hard at Colt, who dropped his eyes before Gianni did.
“Okay.” Colt blew his hair out of his eyes. “I swear to keep it for blackmail.”
“Asshole. Anything new?”
“Nothing. You have your buddy laying tile Monday. You firing him on Tuesday?”
“I am. Then he can have a tantrum and go biker on me.” Gianni really hated this plan, but it was necessary.
“I’ll have him trained up on the equipment. I need him to bug the bar.”
“Jesus. You’re diabolical.” He shook his head.
“Totally.” And utterly unapologetic too. “Also that bar is not cowboy friendly. At all. Kody damn near got shanked.”
“Why was Kody there?” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re supposed to check in with me.”
“What we do on our free time is our business, yes?” Butter wouldn’t melt in Colt’s mouth.
“I will chain you up here, Colt. I swear to God. I will set Alison to watching you every second.”
“We went after the roping pen. You didn’t come.”
“Bonner was there. I didn’t want to fraternize.” He’d wanted to go roping, and he felt like a sad, left-out little boy.
Colt’s eyes rolled like thrown dice. “Oh, just fuck the kid and get it over with, would you?”
“Colt!” Now Gianni really glared. “You’re pushing it.”