Stick Shift

Big Bull Mechanics, 3

K.M. Neuhold

Copyright © 2023 K.M. Neuhold

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Editing by Kate Wood
Cover Image by FuriousFotog
Cover Design by Natasha Snow Designs

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Blurb

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Epilogue

More by K.M. Neuhold

About the Author

Stalk Me

Blurb

Is it possible my straight best friend had a sudden stick shift?

I made peace with my hopeless crush on my straight best friend, Journey, years ago. It helps that he’s never in the country long and our relationship consists of sporadic texts and video chats at odd hours.

Now Journey is back—back in the country, in my space, sharing my bed—and something is changing between us.

Neither of us has a clue how to run the small farm his uncle left him, but I’m willing to be the idiot standing next to him, figuring it out. Learning how to shear an alpaca or keep a rogue mini cow out of the kitchen looks easy compared to navigating the sudden change in Journey.

Is he looking at me differently? Is he touching me more? Straight guys don’t normally kiss other men, right? I don’t know what’s happening between us, but I’ll put things in gear and floor it all the way.

***Stick Shift is a bi-awakening, best friends to lovers story with farm animal shenanigans, nosy mechanics, and all the steam and sweetness you can handle.

Chapter 1

RED

“Which one of us do you think will be the next to get all heart eyed and domestic?” Auggie muses, leaning against the counter in Steele’s kitchen, tilting his head to look through the window at Tallahassee and Gates bickering over the grill, while Steele and Porter try to wrestle an enormous branch away from Denali so she’ll stop using it to whack their other dog, Bunny.

“You, all the way,” Shep says without pause. “You would’ve proposed to your neighbor Demetri if he had so much as smiled at you.”

Auggie scoffs but doesn’t argue. There’s no point to him denying it, even I could see he was gaga over that guy, and reading people isn’t exactly my strong suit.

“Well, it won’t be me, I can tell you that much.” Shep smirks.

“It’s weird.” Riggs joins the two of them in looking out the window, craning his neck to make up for the fact that he’s a good head shorter than either of them. “But does seeing those guys all swoony and in love with each other make you guys feel…” He waves his hand and scrunches up his nose.

“Lonely?” Auggie guesses, ending the word on a little sigh.

“Gross. No.” Riggs screws up his face even more, like he just put something rotten in his mouth. “What’s the word for horny but in, like, an emotional way?”

“Lonely,” Shep echoes Auggie’s answer.

“That’s disgusting.” Riggs fakes a gag.

I’m barely listening to the exchange going on between the three of them, and I couldn’t possibly care less about who’s going to fall in love with who or any other of the Dawson’s Creek drama currently going on around the shop. Number one, because as far as my heart is concerned, I fell in love twenty-five years ago and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about the fact that he’ll never feel the same way. Number two, and a hell of a lot more important than who’s sucking whose dick, I can’t get my mind off the message Journey sent me in the middle of the night last night, or the fact that he hasn’t responded to a single call or message since.

I tap my phone screen absently, the motion automatic after having done it at least two hundred times in the last fourteen hours. Still nothing. I scroll past all of the unread texts I sent, all the way up to the text from him that I woke up to this morning.

JOURNEY: I know it’s the middle of the night, but I really need you to be awake right now. I got some really shitty news and, fuck, I need my best friend.

JOURNEY: RED

JOURNEY: Fuck. Okay. Call me.

That’s it. Three ominous texts sent one minute apart at two o’clock in the morning my time and nothing since. My stomach is a mess of knots at this point, and I’ve chewed my bottom lip raw. The metallic taste of blood touches my tongue and I realize I’m doing it again.

“Dude, you’re bleeding,” Auggie says, quickly springing upright from his leaning position and grabbing the roll of paper towels off of the counter to hand me.

I tear one off and press it to my mangled lip, probing the throbbing skin with my tongue in between dabbing it.

“Still no reply?” Shep guesses, and I nod.

Fucking pick up your phone! I mentally shout into the void, probably the exact same way Journey did hours ago while I was fast asleep. It’s useless, but I can’t stop trying to will some kind of freaky psychic connection to manifest between us so I know he’s alright. My skin crawls and my heart refuses to slow down and beat at a normal rhythm. I want to climb out of my damn body. Better yet, I want Journey to pick up his goddamn phone.

“Would another beer help?” Riggs offers, nudging one of the beer bottles on the counter in my direction.

“No. I think I’m just going to take off, actually.” I’m not sure what damn good it’s going to do to go sit at home and obsess about where Journey is and what the fuck has happened, but the sound of everyone’s voices is only making me twice as edgy.

Journey always called this my Tortoise Mood, where I swear I can feel everyone else’s bodies taking up physical space in the air around me and all I want to do is retreat into a shell to get away from it. It’s like the white noise of the universe is too fucking loud on its own and they’re only making it worse.

“You sure?” Shep checks. “You want someone to ride with you or anything?”

“I’m good. I’ll catch you guys Monday.” I wad up the bloody paper towel and toss it into the trash on my way out the door.

I’m able to breathe a little easier once I’m alone, but nothing shifts the weight of the Journey situation from my chest. I immediately shut off the music in my car and roll down the windows, working to focus on the feeling of the breeze on my skin instead of my racing thoughts. I count the streetlights between Steele’s house and mine, feeling a little calmer as each one passes. I know nothing is going to be different once I get home and I still won’t know what’s going on with Journey, but it’s soothing anyway.

I pull into my driveway, letting my truck roll all the way up to the garage door before I put it in park and hop out. I slide my phone out of my pocket again. Still no missed calls or messages.

“Just call,” I growl at my phone, shaking it as if that’s going to magically dislodge a whole heap of messages that are stuck in the ether. Of course, it doesn’t do jack shit except make me want to wind up and see just how far I can toss the damn thing.

As I near my front door, I notice that my mat is crooked and some of the rocks in the overgrown garden next to the stoop look like they’ve been moved around. I frown. It was probably the neighbor’s cat over here hunting the rabbits that like to eat my flowers. Well, the flowers that grow around the front yard on their own and are either too stubborn or too sturdy to be deterred by all the weeds and lack of tending, I should say.

I unlock the door and step inside, flicking on the light and kicking off my shoes. It only takes about five seconds before I register that something isn’t right. I freeze and hold my breath to listen, working to catch up with whatever it was that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up before I even consciously registered that anything was wrong.

Snoring. There’s soft snoring coming from the direction of my living room.

Snoring? Did someone break in to take a nap? Or were they waiting to mug me and fell asleep? I stay quiet, straining for any sound of movement, any sign that the intruder heard me come in, but there’s nothing except the heavy slumbering breaths.

I glance around my front hall for anything I could use as a weapon, settling for the umbrella that’s leaning against the coat closet. With my makeshift weapon raised at the ready, I creep silently down the hallway, carefully avoiding the boards that creak.

My heart thunders in my ears and my muscles tense as I slowly peek around the corner into the dark living room. My eyes zero in immediately on the lanky form of a man sprawled out on my small couch, one leg draped over the arm, the other hanging down off the side, both arms tucked under his head like a pillow, while the actual pillows lie scattered on the floor.

Relief punches through me so acutely that my knees buckle. I lean the umbrella against the wall and step into the living room, silently gathering up the strewn pillows and stacking them next to the couch. His phone is on the floor too, right next to the couch where it must have slipped out of his pocket while he slept. It’s off, just like Riggs suggested, all the messages I sent just waiting to fill it up as soon as he turns it back on.

Journey doesn’t so much as twitch as I go to my bedroom and grab a blanket to drape over him. He just continues snoring peacefully like he hasn’t given me a damn stress ulcer. I fill a glass of water in the kitchen and set it on the coffee table a few feet from him before I return to my bedroom to change out of my work clothes and into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. Then I pull the sheets off my bed and carry them back into the living room with me.

The recliner next to the couch groans as I sit down and extend the footrest, leaning it all the way back and wrapping myself in my covers. His rhythmic breathing isn’t like all the other sounds that have been getting under my skin all day. It’s peaceful and calming, coaxing my eyelids to get heavy and my own breathing to slow to match it.

I can’t remember how long it’s been since I last saw my best friend in person. Five years? Six? He was home for a few days right around the time I bought this house, so I guess that would make it seven, actually.

Seven years of sporadic texts and middle of the night video chats to fit around our busy schedules and the constant time differences, but in a strange way it feels like it was only yesterday that I was hugging him and watching him trot into the airport, pausing right before the automatic doors to toss a smile over his shoulder that warmed my chest and stoked the flames of my useless crush.

When he told me he wanted to start a travel blog, I hated the thought that he would hardly ever be around, but I figured it might be the only way I would ever shake the feelings I’ve had for him since we were teenagers. Besides that, I’m always going to support anything that makes Journey happy. So I cheered him on, bought him a big-ass backpack to take along, and made him promise to at least call when he could.

That was fifteen years ago. Since then, he has built the most visited travel blog on the internet and has had articles featured in numerous magazines, been to a hundred and fifty countries, and been home exactly twice. I was wrong about one thing though—the distance didn’t cure the crush. I’m not sure anything will, and I’ve made peace with that.

So, yeah, I won’t be the next mechanic from Big Bull to fall in love and get all stupid over anyone. My peaceful life, predictable job, and unrequited feelings for my best friend are good enough for me.

And whatever had Journey rattled enough to send those texts and then immediately fly home, I’m here for it. After we both get some much-needed sleep, obviously.

Chapter 2

JOURNEY

I peel my eyes open in the pitch black without the first clue where I am. Even once my vision adjusts to the dark, and the dim shadows of a living room come into focus, it still takes my groggy, jetlagged brain an extra few seconds to fill in the blanks.

A fresh wave of grief hits me when I remember why I had to drop everything and get on an immediate flight home. It wasn’t until I was on the plane that I realized I’d lost my phone charger—no doubt left at the hostel thanks to the breakneck packing speed I had to employ in order to get my ass to the airport in time. I made it to my gate with only a minute to spare, sprinting through the closing boarding door like Indiana Jones dive-rolling out of the Temple of Doom.

I sit up, rolling my neck from side to side to work out the kinks. As my brain becomes fully functional, I realize there’s a blanket over me and a glass of water sitting on the coffee table, right next to a massive, partially finished Lego castle. I had an irrational fear that I would somehow accidentally break the damn thing as soon as I walked in and saw it. My mind filled with visions of my foot catching on the edge of a rug, sending my body tumbling forward, ending in a bellyflop on top of the intricate Lego building that Red has clearly spent hours of his life working on.

Luckily, none of that happened, but I’m still extra careful as I sit forward and reach for the glass of water as slowly as I can manage, one eye on the Legos at all times.

“I glue each piece down as I go. You can’t break it.” Red’s voice is raspy with sleep, the unexpected sound of it startles me, making me jump and knock over the glass of water.

“Fuck,” I mutter as it tips forward, sending its contents spilling over the table and cascading onto the floor.

“I guess I should have glued the glass down too,” he says with a yawn, sitting upright in the chair.

“I got it,” I assure him, jumping up and hurrying into the kitchen. I snatch the rag off the counter next to the sink and return to the living room to mop up my mess.

The lights are on now and Red is rubbing his eyes with both hands. “What time is it?”

“No clue. I’m all fucked up from the time change.”

Luckily, there wasn’t anything else on the table besides the Legos, so the water didn’t do any damage besides being a nuisance.

Red pushes himself up out of the recliner with a grunt and picks up his building, carrying it over to the table on the other side of the room to set it down.

If it were anyone but him, I would wonder how they can have enough confidence to glue Lego pieces together as they go. What if they fuck up? What if they change their mind about where a piece belongs? It’s just how his mind works though. He could probably see every last block and its proper placement in his head the second he dumped the Legos out to start working on it. He’s always been like that.

“Want pancakes?” he asks, scratching the dark stubble on his chin, his face still puckered into a partial scowl that I think has more to do with the odd hour and interrupted sleep than it has to do with me.

I snort, standing up with the sopping wet rag in my hands. “Hey, bestie, long time no see. I’m sure you’re wondering about the text I sent and also how I got inside your locked house. By the way, I fucking missed your face, I hope you’re not mad I’m here.”

“Yeah, all that.” He nods. “Pancakes?”

I grin and shake my head. There aren’t a whole lot of stable things in my life that I can count on, mostly by design, but fuck, there’s something nice about the fact that Red never changes.

“Pancakes sound great. Let me toss this into the sink and take a piss.”

It doesn’t take long for me to get myself feeling human again. In the bathroom, I splash water on my face and borrow Red’s deodorant to swipe under my arms. When I’m finished, he’s already waiting in the front hall with his shoes on, swinging his keyring around his index finger and leaning one shoulder against the wall near the door.

I stop at the end of the hallway and chuckle. “You look like a gunslinger from an old Western.” He looks down at his sweatpants, t-shirt, and tennis shoes, and then back at me with one eyebrow raised. “It’s the vibe. I can’t explain it.”

“The vibe?” he repeats. “What does that even mean?”

“The vibe, you know.” I snap my fingers and wiggle my shoulders, and he just continues to stare at me in confusion. “Never mind, I have no fucking clue either. I shouldn’t try to be hip.” I wave a hand dismissively and slip on my shoes.

“Yeet,” Red says, nodding.

I bark out another laugh. “Wow, okay, you’re even less hip than I am.”

He shrugs and flashes me a quick smile. “I’m fine with that.”

Red swings the door open and I move to walk past him, but he grabs the back of my shirt to stop me before I get far.

“Oomph.”

He tugs me to a halt, and I turn to look back at him. “I fucking missed your face too.”

Red wraps his arms around me from behind, one across my chest and the other around my middle, and he squeezes me tight in a crushing bear hug. I pat his lower arm and gasp dramatically for breath.

“You’ll miss me even more if you accidentally kill me,” I tease, and he huffs and lets me go.

It’s weird, but I miss the hug as soon as he pulls away. Maybe it’s just been too damn long since I’ve touched another person, or maybe I need a little comfort after the news I got yesterday. Either way, the only place I wanted to be as soon as my plane touched down was right here with Red.

RED

We both climb into my truck and Journey chuckles.

“I can’t believe you still have this thing. It’s older than some of the women I’ve been with.”

I laugh. “I’m not even going to touch that one,” I say, and Journey grins as we pull out of my driveway. “Besides, why wouldn’t I still have her? There are a lot of good memories in this truck.” I shrug. Sure, she’s more of a Frankentruck these days, kept alive with all new parts, but she’s been good to me.

“Yeah, I guess there are,” he agrees, rolling down his window and leaning back in his seat.

I glance over at him, still not quite believing that he’s really here. The warm summer breeze ruffles his hair and a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. Whatever brought him home can’t be too bad if he’s still smiling, right?

The road is empty, and I keep a close eye out for deer as I jump on the highway and head a town over to the twenty-four-hour diner with the best damn pancakes in the state. There are a couple of semitrucks in the parking lot, and just one other customer actually inside the diner when we go in.

“Sit wherever you like, I’ll be right over,” the middle-aged waitress calls over to us from across the restaurant where she’s mopping the floor.

Journey nudges me towards the booth we frequented as teenagers, coming here probably right around this time most Saturday nights after drinking ourselves half to death at parties in random fields or classmates’ basements. The sweet smell of syrup and the odor of burned coffee definitely hit differently sober than they did after half a bottle of the cheapest, nastiest vodka we could find.

We slide into the booth, neither of us bothering to pick up the menu.

“So?” I ask, and he blows out a long breath.

“So,” he echoes, bobbing his head and scuffing his shoes against the sticky floor under the table. “Well, for one thing, your neighbors definitely thought I was an intruder trying to break into your house.”

I snort. “You were.”

“Fair enough. I figured you would have a key hidden somewhere, so I checked under the mat and looked for one of those hide-a-key rocks. When that was a bust, I figured I’d see if I could guess your garage code, and I should have just started with that because it was laughably easy. I got it on the first try.” He smirks.

“I thought you were some creep who broke in to murder me and fell asleep waiting,” I admit. “I almost hit you with an umbrella.”

“Sorry. I would have texted you to let you know I was there, but I left my phone charger in Europe.”

“It’s fine, it was a good surprise once I realized you weren’t actually a sloppy hired assassin.”

The waitress finishes mopping and makes her way over to our table, putting our conversation on pause while we order a couple of coffees and German apple pancakes, even though they’ll take a good forty-five minutes to cook.

“My mom called yesterday,” Journey says as soon as the waitress gives us our coffee and leaves us alone again. “We had been missing each other for like a week thanks to the time difference.” He runs a hand along his jaw and then takes a sip of his coffee before continuing. “You remember my Uncle Milton?”

“Yeah, the one with the small farm.” I stretch my legs out under the table and take a sip from my own mug of coffee.

“He died,” he says.

“Oh shit, that sucks.” I’m terrible in these kinds of situations, I never know the right thing to say or do. I’m sorry sounds so lame and empty, and he’s in a better place isn’t much comfort when neither of us have ever been very religious.

I settle for finding his foot under the table and nudging mine against it, hoping it will give him a small amount of comfort.

“Yeah, it does suck,” Journey agrees, absently dragging his index finger around the rim of his mug and giving me a half-smile that doesn’t look quite right. “I couldn’t get here in time for the funeral, which was yesterday apparently, but I guess for some unfathomable reason he left me his farm.”

“What?” I frown. “He left you his farm? The animals and everything?”

“Apparently.” He rubs both hands over his face and sighs. “I don’t have the first fucking clue what I’m supposed to do with it, but I figured going over there to see it is the first step. His farmhand, Jane, has been taking care of things. Maybe she’s dying to buy it off of me.”

“Okay.” I nod and take another sip of my coffee. “I’m off work tomorrow…today. We can go in a few hours once the sun is up and the rest of the world is awake.”

Journey’s smile shifts, looking a hell of a lot more natural, and he bumps his foot back against mine. “You want to come with me?”

“Of course. Unless you wanted to go by yourself?” I frown, unsure if I just invited myself along where I’m not wanted.

“Hell yes, I want you to come with me. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing with a farm,” he says with a snort.

“You think I do?” I raise both eyebrows at him and he laughs again.

“Being idiots together is always a lot better than being an idiot all alone.”

“Always,” I agree. “Hey, do you remember that time when we were like twelve and we were spending the weekend at his farm and that ornery old donkey bit me?”

“Shit, that’s right. What was his name? Doc, I think, right? You ended up needing four stitches.”

“Five,” I correct, running my thumb along the scar that’s still on my palm from it.

“How about that summer we went swimming in that little lake out past the barn and ended up covered in leeches?” Journey reminisces.

I cringe and then shudder, remembering the feeling of pulling those little bastards off one by one and checking each other’s backs for any that we missed. “What about that night we wanted to camp out, even though he warned us about the coyotes. I think we made it until about ten at night and as soon as the howling started, we freaked out and ran inside.”

“Yeah, and he had sleeping bags already laid out in the living room for us because he knew we would never last out there.” Journey looks off into the distance like he’s picturing it all.

“There were a lot of good times at that farm. I always liked your Uncle Milton.”

“Me too.”

The waitress finally returns with our pancakes and we dig in, continuing to trade stories about Uncle Milton and the farm while we eat. It feels like a hell of a better tribute to the man’s life than a cursory sorry for your loss.

When we’re finished, we head back to my house with about four hours to kill before it’ll be a reasonable time to drive the thirty minutes to the farm.

“Are you going to get some more sleep or what?” Journey asks as we toe off our shoes.

“Nah, I’m up now.” I go straight for the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. No way am I getting back to sleep at this point, but I’m going to need a hell of a lot of caffeine to get through the day.

Back in the living room, Journey sprawls on my couch with one socked foot sticking up in the air, his arm tucked behind his head again as he watches the ceiling fan overhead go around and around.

I let my gaze wander over him for just a few seconds, taking in the messy way his hair falls over his forehead, the shape of his mouth that I spent too many of my teen years obsessing over, even the way his t-shirt stretches across his chest with the outline of his hardened nipples pressing against the fabric. I swallow and do my best to ignore the familiar tug of heat in the pit of my stomach, and the way my cock swells lazily.

Nope, still not over him.

Chapter 3

JOURNEY

My hands are shaking from the obscene amount of caffeine that’s doing the lord’s work of fighting off my jet lag. When we put on the third pot of coffee an hour before leaving the house, Red actually insisted on looking up how much caffeine is a toxic dose. Luckily, it’s like a hundred cups of regular coffee, so we’re not going to die, but there is a strong chance I’ll hurl if he doesn’t stop taking the corners of this damn winding dirt road so sharply.

I grip the oh shit handle and take a deep breath in through my nose, willing my stomach to settle. We’re only twenty miles outside of town, but it’s the fucking boonies out here, with a single gas station breaking up dairy farm after dairy farm. I hate to say it, but even after nearly two decades of traveling the world, there’s still no more comforting smell in the world to me than cow shit. You can take the man out of Wisconsin, as the saying goes.

“What’s the address again?” Red asks, and I pull out my phone to double check.

He gave me one of his spare chargers so I could get it turned back on. As soon as I did, I was hit with the barrage of worried messages and missed calls he’d left while it was off, and I wanted to hug him all over again.

I open up the message thread from my mom and rattle off the address to him. He slows the truck to a stop and then throws it in reverse.

“What are you doing?”

“We just passed it,” Red answers, swinging his arm over the back of the seat and backing down the road about half a mile until the familiar green gate comes into view along with a hand-painted sign advertising fresh eggs and firewood for sale.

The driveway has seen better days, the pavement full of potholes filled with gravel and bushes overgrown on either side. If it’s any sign of what to expect, I have a feeling the farm is going to be a serious fixer upper at this point. I’m not sure what else I expected considering it was just him and Jane up here, and from what my mom said his health had been iffy for a couple of years now before it took a serious turn for the worse a few months ago.

Halfway up the driveway, Red slams on his brakes to avoid hitting a fat orange cat that struts across our path. The feline gives us a reproachful look that is made even more menacing by the fact that the poor thing only has one eye. He flicks his tail, which everyone knows is universal cat language for the finger, and then trots the rest of the way across and disappears into the tall grass.

He parks when we reach the top, and we both hop out. I stuff my hands in my pockets and survey the single-story house that looks about as well off as the driveway is. The paint is peeling and the porch looks like all it will take is a little wind to knock it right down. The roof looks solid enough from where I’m standing, but I’m a travel blogger, not a roofer, so what the fuck do I know?

The screen door swings open and a woman who looks to be in her sixties or so steps out wearing a baseball cap over a long gray braid, a pair of overalls with various stains and tears in them, and a pair of boots caked in what I’m choosing to assume is mud.

“You must be Journey.” She wipes her hands on her overalls and trots down the stairs with one outstretched in greeting.

“That’s me,” I reply with a friendly grin, taking her hand. It’s calloused from years of hard labor and her grip is stronger than an ox. I’d venture to guess she’s won her fair share of arm-wrestling competitions in her day and probably still can.

“You look just like him,” she says, looking me up and down.

“Yeah, my mom’s family genetics definitely bullied my dad’s into submission,” I agree with a chuckle.

It feels weird that the two of us haven’t met before now. From what my mom told me, Jane has been working here with him for the past twenty-five years, but that was right around the time Red and I stopped coming to the farm every summer, too busy with high school shit like parties to bother with the leech infested lake or vicious donkeys.

“I know you haven’t been up here in a while, why don’t I give you the tour?” she suggests.

“That sounds great. By the way, this is my best friend, Red.” I introduce them and they shake hands as well. I fight back another bout of laughter at the shock on his face from her grip, and the helpless look he shoots me.

With the greetings out of the way, Jane waves for us to follow her around the side of the house and down the dirt path that leads straight to the barn and the large, fenced-in pastures that surround it. There’s a tractor on the side of the path, half in the grass.

“It stopped working last week. It’s older than Eden, so it’s probably a lost cause, but I’ve been meaning to get someone out here to take a look and see if there’s anything we can do,” she explains, patting the tractor as we pass. Red eyes it curiously with that wrinkle in his forehead that means he’s thinking hard about something.

The barn, thank fuck, looks to be in solid shape compared to the house and everything else, making it obvious where Uncle Milton’s priorities were. As we get near it, a furry white cow ambles out with a crown of flowers on her head. She walks right up to me and nudges my hand with her smooth pink nose, snaking out a ridiculously long tongue and wrapping it around my wrist.

A startled laugh bursts from my lips and she retracts her tongue to moo in response. The sound isn’t anything like I expected either, like a grunt that ends in a high-pitched honk.

“What even are you?” I ask, patting her nose cautiously and getting another lick in return.

“This is Angie.” Jane pets the cow’s rump and gives her a scratch like you would with a dog. “She’s a mini highland and she’s absolutely useless, but Milt was just wild about her. The two of them used to lay out in the pasture and he would read to her.”

Red cocks his head to the side. “What kinds of books do cows like?”

“Fuck if I know. It’s a cow. But he swore Animal Farm was her favorite.”

“Well, that’s concerning,” I mutter, and Red snorts.

Angie seems to get bored with us, wandering away into the open field closest to the house. “She doesn’t need to be fenced in?”

“She won’t stay. When we first brought her home, we put her in her own pasture, and she wouldn’t stop opening the gate. Padlocks didn’t stop her, nothing kept her in. We figured maybe she was lonely, but when we tried to put her with the alpacas, she just let them out too and they’re a bitch to wrangle. Eventually, we gave up. She never leaves the property, so we let her be.”

We step into the barn, where there are four large stalls lining either side. The smell of hay, animal shit, and musty wood hangs heavy in the air.

“The alpacas go there.” She gestures to one side, “And Angie sleeps there.” Jane points to the other stall. “Indoor chicken coop, and food storage.” She waves at the other two as we pass, barely pausing as she leads us straight through and out the far door, into the fenced-in pastures. “We’ve got our chicken coop.” She points as we pass. “It’s meant to be all hens, but one of the girls turned out to be a rooster and Milt didn’t have the heart to get rid of him, so sometimes we get fertilized eggs. Chicks are real popular at the county fair, so that’s fun every once in a while.”

I pause by the chicken coop, a smile tilting my lips as memories of coming out to gather eggs with my uncle fill my mind. One summer when I was seven or so, he let me show one of the chickens at the fair. She didn’t win, but I remember petting her and telling her she was still a pretty chicken on the truck ride back to the farm afterwards.

A feeling tugs at the center of my chest as I force my attention away from the coop to listen to Jane pointing out the boundaries of the property. It would be crazy to take over the farm, right? I mean, I don’t know the first damn thing about… well, any of this. The smart thing to do is ask Jane if she wants it, and if not, just sell the animals and the property, and get back on a plane to my real life.

“And, last but not least, the moneymakers that keep this farm functioning.” She stops and gestures to the pasture containing five alpacas of various colors dotted across the open field, all grazing on the grass. “Ben, Beau, Butternut, Bernard, and Tim,” she lists them off, pointing to each one like I’m supposed to remember who’s who. There are more of them the next pasture over, it looks like at least fifteen or twenty, but Jane doesn’t bother to tell me all their names, which is just as well.

“You sell the wool?” Red asks.

“Fleece,” Jane corrects. “That, and they’re popular to rent out for kids’ parties, like a little mobile petting zoo. When Angie’s in the mood, we bring her along too and the kids go nuts for her.”

I walk over to the fence and lean against it, watching the alpacas amble around the field, picking up their heads to look around every so often. It’s a charming picture with a tree-lined hill running up against the edge of the pasture and a cloudless blue sky overhead. That heavy tugging feeling takes up room in my chest again and I run a hand along the rough stubble on my cheeks, giving myself space to feel it for a minute so I can see where it goes.

Behind me, Red is asking Jane a bunch of questions about the farm that I’m sure I’ll need the answers to eventually too, but I tune them out and listen to the cluck of the chickens a few feet away and the far-off moos Angie is still calling out with.

I can’t run a farm, can I?

I glance over my shoulder at Red, who’s typing some of the information Jane is giving him into his phone, that wrinkle back in his forehead again.

I definitely wouldn’t be able to do this alone, but do two clueless idiots add up to one semi-competent farm owner? Would it even be fair of me to ask Red to jump on this crazy-ass bandwagon with me?

One of the alpacas wanders over towards me with a determined look on its face. Can an alpaca look determined? Maybe that’s just his face. Hell, for all I know, that’s his ‘I’m about to fuck you up’ face.

“Here,” Jane says, reaching into her pocket and handing me a small chunk of carrot.

I take it and extend my hand towards… I think the black and white one is Tim? If I do this, I’m going to need to get each one of their fluffy asses a name tag until I learn them all. Maybe-Tim makes a cute little humming sound and eats the carrot out of my palm, his fuzzy lips tickling my skin. The others see the exchange happen and all start to flock in my direction.

My smile widens as Jane hands me more carrots and I pass them out to the alpacas as they butt into each other, all vying for their share of the treats. A feeling swells inside of me, big enough to overtake all the doubts I was having only a minute ago.

Fuck, I think I want the farm.

RED

Journey is quiet as we head back up the path towards the house. I glance at the tractor again as we pass it, curious about what kind of engine it has, my hands immediately itching to pop the hood and poke around a little out of curiosity. Maybe it’s just the fact that Jane seemed skeptical that it could be fixed and that’s always been my Kryptonite. The good memories aren’t the only thing that has inspired me to keep my truck running all these years, the part of me that hates to see any vehicle run out of usefulness has been a big motivator too.

The front door creaks loudly on its hinges as she opens it, stopping just inside to lift a ring of keys off the hook next to the door. She turns to Journey and presses the set of keys into his palm.

“For Milt’s truck, the tractor, front and back door to the house, the padlock on the barn, and a few others that only god knows what they unlock but would end up being the one key you need to save your ass if you give up and throw it out,” she tells him.

He chuckles and wraps his fingers around them before stuffing them into his front pocket.

The inside of the house isn’t quite as rough as the outside, but it has definitely seen better days. It could use a fresh coat of paint and the wood floors need to be sanded and refinished at a minimum, not to mention the faint but concerning smell of mold. If Journey needs to sell this place, he’s either going to have to put some work in first or set the price at rock bottom and call it a fixer upper.

We follow Jane down the hall and into the kitchen at the back of the house. It’s a nice space with windows that face the barn and a door out to the back, lots of counter space, and a small wooden table that looks handmade.

“Lemonade?” she offers, opening the refrigerator and pulling out a pitcher.

“Sure,” Journey accepts, and I nod along, both of us taking a seat at the table while she pours a few glasses.

Journey leans back in his chair, turning to look out the windows at the property once again, rubbing his chin and staying quiet in a way that can only mean his mind is working overtime.

I take a sip of the lemonade that Jane sets down in front of me and then clear my throat. I’m not sure where Journey’s thoughts are lost to, but I can do my best to try to get the information he’ll likely need later.

“Are you interested in buying the farm?” I ask Jane plainly.

Journey tears his attention away from the window, whipping his head around to look at her.

She lets out a loud bark of laughter. “Fuck no. I love this place, don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t trade the last twenty-some years for anything, but I’m getting too old for all this.” She waves in the direction of the pastures. “My brother just bought a two-bedroom condo down in Florida, and I already have my bags packed and a plane ticket bought. I was just waiting to hand over the keys and make sure the animals would be in good hands. Which reminds me…” She stands back up and crosses the kitchen, pulling a binder down from the top of the refrigerator and setting it on the table in front of Journey. “Feeding schedule, vet records, purchase paperwork, everything you need for the livestock.”

Journey runs his hand over the front of the binder but doesn’t bother flipping it open, just stares at it, jiggling his knee up and down under the table.

Jane reaches across and puts a hand over his. “He left you the farm because he always had fond memories of the summers you spent here. He knew I didn’t want it and since he didn’t have kids of his own, you were at the top of his mind. He wouldn’t have wanted it to cause you any trouble or stress. If you decide this isn’t for you and you want to sell it all off, your uncle would understand and so would I. Figure out what’s best for you, okay?”

He nods, then finally speaks. “I appreciate you sticking around to make sure everything was taken care of until I could get back here. And thanks for everything else.”

“It was no trouble,” she assures him, patting his hand and then standing up. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll go fill the water troughs one last time and then you’re on your own.”

He stands up too, opening his arms and giving her a tight hug. “Enjoy Florida.”

“I will. And good luck with everything. I’m sure you’ll make the right decision.” Jane squeezes his arm and then gives me a brief smile and nod goodbye before heading out the back door, pulling it closed behind her.

Once she’s gone, Journey starts to pace around the kitchen, absently opening and closing each of the cabinets and drumming his fingers on the countertops.

“So?” I ask.

He stops and turns to face me, letting out a long breath. “It would be crazy, right? For one thing, my literal job is to travel the world. This isn’t just accepting a house and a menagerie of crazy animals from a dead relative, it’s giving up my career, my lifestyle, basically everything I’ve known for my entire adult life.”

I nod. “Yeah, it’s a lot.”

He starts pacing again, returning to rubbing his hand over his stubbled chin, pausing every few turns to look out the window again. “Okay, so tell me to sell it. It doesn’t make an ounce of sense for me to keep it, and my brain knows that, but the rest of me is getting stuck. Tell me to sell it.”

I hesitate, leaning forward to rest my elbows on the table. Journey has always been one of the most decisive, self-assured people I’ve ever known, for better or for worse. When we were kids and he decided he wanted to skateboard off the roof, no amount of logic in the world stopped him— although the broken arm and leg slowed him down for a couple of months afterwards. When he came up with the idea to start a travel blog when blogging was barely even a thing and everyone else in his life kept telling him he should choose a more realistic and stable career, he waved them off and bought his first plane ticket to Taiwan. He doesn’t need anyone to tell him what to do, and he sure as hell doesn’t need to be talked out of a damn thing. Logic has never been the deciding factor.

“You should keep it,” I tell him.

He leans against the nearest counter, bracing both hands there and staring at me for a full minute, the muscles of his face twitching with different emotions I don’t have the time to try and guess before each one changes.

“I don’t know the first thing about taking care of all those animals. I’ve never even had to keep a houseplant alive,” he reasons. “Besides, it’s obvious the house and the property are in need of some serious work, which I also don’t have a fucking clue how to do.”

I shrug. “We’ll figure it out. I’ve successfully kept a cactus alive for years, how much harder could a cow be?”

Journey exhales through his nose in a sound that I think is meant to be laughter. “We’ll figure it out?” he echoes.

“Well, yeah. I’m not about to let you flounder here all alone. When we were thirteen and you made me pinky swear that we would always help each other when we were in need, that meant for life as far as I was concerned.”

He buries his face in his hands and laughs again. Or maybe he’s crying? It’s hard to tell, honestly. When he lowers them again, he’s grinning but his eyes look a little too wild. “Okay. Fuck, I can’t believe we’re going to do this.”

“How hard can it be?” I reason.

The words have barely finished leaving my mouth when the doorknob rattles and the door swings slowly open, just an inch at first, then all the way, slamming against the wall with the force of the push from the other side. Angie steps into the kitchen without even acknowledging us, her long, furry tail swishing from side to side as she lumbers over to the refrigerator. Journey and I watch in silence with our mouths hanging open as she uses her nose to nudge open the refrigerator door and carefully plucks an apple from inside the door without disturbing any of the other contents, ambling back out of the house as confidently as she came in, leaving both the refrigerator and the back door wide open as she saunters away.

Yup, this will be a breeze.

Chapter 4

JOURNEY

I flip open the binder just to the first page to see the feeding schedule, snorting when I just see “ass crack of dawn” written down in the time slot. The rest of the instructions on the page range from “duh” to “what the fuck does that even mean?”

“What the hell is a flake of hay?” Red asks.

“Fuck if I know,” I mutter.

He pulls out his phone, tapping away on the screen for a minute before producing an answer. “Apparently the hay bale should come apart in slices, those are the flakes.”

“Huh. I guess that makes sense.” My stomach squirms with anxiety and I flip the binder closed. It’ll be a miracle if I manage to figure all of this out and keep the animals happy and healthy.

“We need a plan,” Red says, downing the last of his lemonade and then standing up to take his empty glass over to the sink. I nod, still in a daze about this whole thing, half expecting to wake up back in the hostel that smells like dirty feet and realize that this whole thing was just a crazy-ass dream. “Here’s what I’m thinking, I’ll head back to my place to get your stuff, some clothes, and other essentials. I’ll need to make a plan for the rest of my shit, and we’ll have to decide what we want to do about the furniture in here, but that can wait for another day. In the meantime, why don’t you go to the grocery store and then settle in a little?”

His tone snaps me out of the numb stupor, giving me a sense of purpose without the effort of needing to figure anything out myself, which is perfect because I’m not sure I could tell you my own name right now if I had to.

I pick up my own glass of lemonade and dump it down the sink. “I don’t have a car,” I realize, rubbing my forehead.

He closes the few steps between us and slips two fingers into my front pocket. Maybe it’s my state of extreme physical and mental exhaustion, but something about the gesture makes my skin heat in an instant, my face flushing and my breath catching. He tugs out the set of keys I forgot I stuffed into my pocket earlier and places them in my hand.

“Your uncle’s truck. I want to take it to the shop with me tomorrow to check it over, but it should be fine for one trip.”

I chuckle weakly as he takes a step back, leaving the space he just occupied feeling more empty than it should. “If the rest of the house is anything to go by, I can’t say I have a lot of faith in the state of the truck.”

“My thoughts exactly,” he agrees with a smirk. “So, drive carefully. You do know how to drive a stick, right?”

I grimace. “I tried it once in college.”

“Okay, new plan. Forget the divide and conquer thing, we’ll just go get it all done together. And remind me to teach you how to handle a stick when we have time.”

“Looking forward to it,” I deadpan. As if I don’t have enough shit I need to figure out right now. But he’s right, I’m sure I’ll thank him later when I’m an expert with a stick shift. “Let’s get going, I have a feeling I’m going to crash hard by the afternoon.”

“Alright, but you know if you want to beat the jet lag, you can’t go to sleep until a normal time here, right?”

I groan. “Don’t torture me with that logic until later, okay?”

“Deal,” he says with a grin, patting my shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Outside, the grumpy one-eyed cat from earlier is perched on the hood of Red’s truck, grooming himself without a care in the world. When he hears us coming, he snaps his gaze in our direction, giving us another intimidating death glare with one hind leg still up in the air like some kind of power move. When his glare doesn’t stop us in our tracks, he hisses and jumps off the truck, scampering under the front porch.

“Hey, everything has been about my drama today. I haven’t had a chance to ask what’s been going on with you,” I say once we’re headed back down the road towards Red’s place.

He shrugs one shoulder, his eyes on the road. “Nothing new. Work’s the same, my hobbies are fun but not much to talk about.”

“I like hearing about your Legos and stuff,” I assure him, and his mouth curves into another smile. “But what about everything else? It’s been ages since you’ve told me about a date or anything.”

“I hate dating,” he grumbles. “It’s such a waste of time.”

“Yeah, I can’t say I disagree with you there.” In high school I got a lot of shit for being best friends with Red after he came out, but I never gave a fuck. We might be interested in different types of people, but I had a hell of a lot more in common with him than I did with any of the straight guys in school. Sex is great, but dating is a hassle I never had much patience for. My right hand and my imagination get me by just fine most of the time. “You know, I think my mom was more disappointed when I told her I couldn’t really see a future with a wife and kids than she was when I told her about the travel blogger thing.”

He tears his eyes off the road for just a second to glance over at me curiously. “You really still feel that way? I always figured some beautiful woman would catch your eye and change your mind one day.”

“Hasn’t happened yet. And I can’t imagine there will be a lot of dating opportunities anytime soon.”

“Fair enough.” He tilts his head and then returns his gaze to the road. “But I wouldn’t count Angie out, she seemed sweet on you.”

I chuckle, my lack of sleep turning it into a full-on, uncontrollable belly laugh almost immediately. Red joins in, our lack of sleep and the stress of the big decisions we made today only adding to the absurdity of the situation.

When I finally regain control of myself, I reach over and pat his leg, surprised by how firm and warm his thigh is even though his jeans. I clear my throat and pull my hand back. Red doesn’t say a word or even acknowledge the strange gesture that I chalk up to the jet lag, just like everything else that’s felt a little off today.

After everything that’s happened in the last forty-eight hours, I think I’m entitled to a little weirdness. Right?

RED

It’s mid-afternoon by the time we make it back to the farm with my truck bed full of groceries, clothes, and other essentials I grabbed from home, like bedding. I already have a mental to-do list running through my mind of everything I’ll need to get done: go through this house and decide what stays and what goes, rent a moving truck and load up the rest of the stuff back at my house, sell my house, do some research on all the things that are going to go into running this farm…

Some of it can wait, I just need to get it all down on paper, so I’ll be able to prioritize it all.

We hop out of the truck and grab the bags of groceries, leaving the rest for the moment. Although, from what I’ve seen of this place so far, we’re bound to come back out later to find a herd of goats eating our clothes, but I suppose it’s a risk we have to take.

The fridge doesn’t have much in it aside from a pitcher of lemonade, dozens of eggs, and a door full of apples that I’m starting to think now are specifically there for the cow to help herself to.

While Journey unpacks the groceries and puts them away, I start on tidying up the kitchen, even breaking out a package of sponges I bought and putting some work into scrubbing the grout between the countertop tiles.

“Oh shit, where do we even get the food for the animals? I should probably know that.” Journey finishes putting away the groceries and looks around the kitchen as if he’s expecting the answer to be plastered somewhere. It might be in the binder, but that’s not where he’s looking.

“It’s a regularly scheduled delivery,” I answer, pulling out my phone to bring up the notes I took earlier while he was feeding the alpacas carrots. I wasn’t sure about what-all I would need to know, but I was able to get some information at least like where the food comes from, how often the alpacas are meant to be shorn, and the names and phone numbers of anyone we might need to talk to about the farm or the animals. I send it all to Journey in a text and then slip my phone back into my pocket. “I just sent you what I have. Between that and the binder, we can at least fake our way through it while we figure the rest out.”

Journey leans against the refrigerator and gives another one of those not-quite-right smiles, running his hands through his hair and blowing out a long breath. “Thanks, man, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Even though I know he’ll never mean it the way I want him to, his words still warm the pit of my stomach and make my chest feel too full. I nod, knowing he doesn’t need me to try to figure out the right words to say back.

“I’m going to go check out the bedrooms and the rest of the house, figure out just how much work we’re in for,” he says, pointing over his shoulder towards the nearby hallway. I nod a second time, and he disappears while I continue my work of trying to make the kitchen into less of a biohazard zone.

The floorboards creak with his steps, and each of the doors he opens groans loudly. There’s a strange kind of charm to a house that feels so lived in. I remember his uncle telling us about how he and Journey’s mom had grown up in this house. Back then, the family owned three times as much land out here and grew corn, if I remember right. A lot of it was sold off over the years, and when Milton took over, he decided he would rather focus on the animals than the crops.

I’m down on my hands and knees, ready to start scrubbing the baseboards around the counters when the creaking lets me know that Journey is back. I glance up to find his face screwed up in a grimace as he leans against the doorway into the kitchen.

“What?” I ask.

“The second bedroom is… bad,” he says.

“How bad?”

“That smell…” He gestures broadly, and I grunt to let him know that I’m following. “Yeah, that’s the bedroom. The walls must be completely full of mold inside. I don’t even know what they do about that, but I’ll probably need to call a mold squad or something.”

“A mold squad?” I raise an eyebrow and snort. “Like the Ghostbusters but they use their proton packs to suck up the mold instead of a ghost.”

“I don’t fucking know. Who do you call when your house is two-thirds mold?” He throws his hands up in the air.

“I know some contractors. I’ll give them a call tomorrow to come out and take a look. They might need to tear it down to its studs, replace the insulation, the drywall, the whole thing. We need them out here anyway to check out the rest of the place.” I toss the used sponge into the sink, wipe my hands on my jeans, and haul myself to my feet.

“Well, you can’t sleep in there in the meantime. I was in there for about two minutes, and it gave me a massive headache.” He shakes his head.

“I’m not letting you sleep in there either then. I guess I could drive home tonight and come back in the morning.”

“That’s stupid. You’re already going to be wasting enough gas having to drive all the way to work from here every day, you’re not going back and forth multiple times a day,” Journey says.

“So, what do you suggest?” I haven’t even peeked into the living room yet to find out what kind of state that’s in.

“The main bedroom is fine. I think it’s the one part of the house he managed to keep in good condition. We can just share the bed for a few nights or however long it takes to make the other room habitable,” he suggests with a shrug.

My stomach does a little flip. Sharing a bed with Journey? Like, the two of us under the same covers, in our underwear, going to sleep and waking up together? My heart rate picks up and I dart my tongue out to lick my suddenly parched lips.

“Don’t look so freaked out. I promise I don’t sleep naked or anything,” Journey teases, and I give a weak laugh, my cock immediately starting to swell at that unneeded fantasy fodder.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” I agree, clearing my throat and then turning to pick the sponge back up out of the sink to rinse it out, more for something to do with my hands than anything else.

“Cool, I’ll go start unloading the truck so I can change out the sheets and everything.”

“I’ll help.” I shake off the unwanted feelings and turn to follow him back out of the house.

Maybe this will be a good thing, actually. Space certainly didn’t do a damn thing, but maybe exposure will. We’ll sleep in a bed together for the next few days or weeks and eventually my body and brain will figure out that nothing is ever going to happen between the two of us. Poof, inappropriate crush gone. Yup, this is going to work out perfectly.

There aren’t any goats in the truck bed when we go back outside, but there are a couple of chickens. We shoo them out and spend the next hour bringing shit inside and setting up the bedroom.

Having woken up before dawn starts to catch up with both of us by the late afternoon.

“We should just order a pizza and then pass out early,” Journey suggests.

“I doubt they deliver anything out here.”

“Fuck. What are we doing? We cannot live somewhere without pizza delivery,” he groans and flops down on the couch in the now reasonably clean living room.

I join him, my muscles aching from the marathon cleaning session we’ve spent the last several hours working on. I opened the living room windows to let some fresh air in, the warm breeze carrying the scents of hay and cow with it in a surprisingly relaxing way. It’s hard to believe just how quiet it is. It’s not like I lived in the busiest town to begin with, but out here there’s nothing. No traffic from any nearby highway, no kids shrieking from their backyards, no barking dogs. It’s just… quiet.

I let out a long, slow breath, my body relaxing at the peace of it all. Without giving it much thought, I reach over and put my hand over Journey’s. His skin is warm, and when he flips his hand over so that our palms and fingertips meet, it’s almost jarring how smooth his are compared to mine. That won’t last long. If we’re really doing this, he’s going to end up with well-earned callouses in no time.

“It’ll work out,” I assure him.

He squeezes my fingers and my skin prickles with more unwanted heat. “Yeah. It’ll work out.”

Chapter 5

JOURNEY

The obscenely loud crow of a rooster has me bolting upright in bed, blinking around the bedroom illuminated only by a sliver of light from outside. Red is snoring heavily beside me, the sheets all twisted around him like a cocoon.

The rooster crows again and Red snorts and jolts awake while I’m busy rubbing the sleep out of my eyes and asking myself for the millionth time in the last twelve hours if I’ve lost my goddamn mind.

“What time is it?” he asks, his voice rough from sleep as he shakes off the blankets and sits up to rub his hands over his face too.

“The ass crack of dawn, just like Jane promised,” I answer with a yawn.

“Perfect.” He stretches his arms over his head, letting out a little groan as his shoulders and spine pop and crackle. My eyes are drawn for just a second to the way his t-shirt stretches across his chest when he puffs it out, the outlines of his nipples pressing against the fabric.

I shake my head and tear my gaze off of him. It’s a weird thing to notice and is more than likely another sign of sleep deprivation and stress. I fling my legs over the side of the bed and stand up. I lift my shirt to scratch my belly and then saunter into the attached bathroom to take a piss.

When I’m finished, I splash some water on my face and then return to the bedroom to pull on a pair of jeans while Red takes his turn in the bathroom.

“Here, I’ve got some work boots that should fit you,” he says, opening the closet and pulling out one of the pairs of boots he brought from his house yesterday.

“Thanks, man.”

Two early mornings in a row, plus the jetlag I still haven’t quite shaken, has me feeling like I’m sleepwalking as we shuffle out of the bedroom, pausing in the kitchen just long enough to start a pot of coffee before heading out the back door and down to the barn.

It’s already humid out, even with the sun barely peeking over the horizon. The sky is painted in shades of pink and orange, casting just enough light for us to see the dirt path ahead of us. When we reach the barn, I unlock it and flip on the light.

It was surprisingly easy to get the animals into the barn last night. They all seemed to know the routine and happily went where they belonged as soon as I opened their gates. And judging by how excited they all seem to see me this morning, I’m hoping that feeding will go just as smoothly.

“Do we feed them here or let them out first?” I ask, turning to Red in the hopes that he’ll have an answer.

He shrugs. “I’m not sure. Will the alpacas attack each other or fight over the food if we feed them in here?”

They’re already crowding around the edge of the pen, sticking their necks over and making that same high pitched rumble sound they made yesterday when they wanted the carrots from me.

“I have no clue,” I admit. “I guess let’s let them out just to be safe?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Red says, striding right over and lifting the latch on their gate.

All their ears go up at once when they hear the sound, the rumbling getting louder and more excited as they rush towards the gate in what can only be described as a stampede.

“Oh shit,” Red mutters, flinging open the gate and jumping out of the way when he notices them coming. But instead of rushing for the door to the pastures, they all go straight for the last stall in the barn, the empty one that’s piled high with hay and bags of feed.

“Oh shit,” I echo, rushing forward, unsure how I’m supposed to stop more than a dozen alpacas all at once as they trot straight into the open buffet and start helping themselves.

As the alpacas rush in, several mice come scurrying out. The grumpy one-eyed cat—Cornelius, according to the binder—leaps out from behind an upturned wheelbarrow to pounce on the nearest mouse, which lets out a shriek as the feline carries it off with a flick of his tail and a purr loud enough to be heard even over the alpaca melee.

“It’s like Wild Kingdom in here,” Red says, glancing helplessly at the alpacas, all happily feasting on a month’s supply of hay.

Another one of the mice flees into the indoor chicken coop, and is quickly snatched up by the rooster, who stops his crowing just long enough to swallow the little rodent whole. I glance over at Angie who’s happily resting her chin on her own stall door, her flower crown from yesterday hanging out of her mouth as she slowly devours it.

“It’s way too early for this level of insanity,” I complain, and Red just laughs.

“I think we’d better get used to it.” He squeezes my shoulder as he passes me, snatching a couple of leashes off of a hook on the wall. “Here.” He hands me one and I just stare at it.

“We just put them on like they’re dogs and lead them out?” I ask, and he shrugs again.

“Let’s find out.”

Figuring out how to put a collar, or whatever they are, around a hungry alpaca’s face while it’s trying to eat is an adventure to say the least, and ends with several bitten fingers and more than a little spit being spewed in both my and Red’s direction. But eventually we get them outside one by one and into the proper pastures, with some extra hay tossed in for them just to make sure they all got enough to eat.

The chickens aren’t much easier. I open the coop and jump back, expecting them to come rushing out like the alpacas did, but they all stay perched, blinking at us while the rooster, Sanders, struts back and forth with his feathers puffed up.

“Now what?” Red asks, and it’s my turn to shrug.

“I guess we just pick them up and carry them to the outside coop?”

“Okay, go ahead.” He waves me forward to try it.

They’re just chickens, how hard could it be? I step into the coop and Sanders immediately spreads his wings and puffs up even more, rushing at me with a series of clucks.

“Oh fuck.” I jump back and close the door quickly before he can attack me. Red cackles and I shoot a glare at him over my shoulder. “Care to try?” I offer.

“Sure, I’ll give it a go.” He cracks his knuckles and steps up to take my place.

He only gets a couple of steps into the coop before Sanders is pecking at his legs and flapping his wings wildly again.

“Ow, dammit!” Red does his best to dance out of the way of the rooster’s assault, rushing forward and scooping up the first chicken he can reach, which only seems to piss Sanders off more.

“I think he’s protecting his girlfriends.”

“Good for him, but goddamn his beak is strong.” He yelps and hurries out of the coop with Sanders right on his tail, making a valiant attempt to rescue one of his vast harem of hens from the clutches of the chicken thief.

Luckily, the rest of the chickens follow, flapping their wings and scurrying after them in a parade of feathers and clucking.

With the chickens in their outdoor coop with feed and water on hand, Angie is the last to deal with. Luckily, she’s the easiest, all we need to do is unlock her stall and fill her troughs. Before we leave the barn, I dump some cat food on the floor in case the mouse wasn’t enough, and we head back up to the house for coffee. I’m going to need a hell of a lot of caffeine if I’m going to spend the rest of the day questioning all of my life choices.

RED

Milt’s truck handles better than I expected during the half hour drive to the shop. I still want to get a good look at the brake pads and do a tune up, but I’m fairly satisfied that it’s not going to burst into flames if Journey ever tries to drive it.

Teaching him to handle a stick is a top priority, otherwise he’s going to be stuck on the farm twenty-four seven, and I know that’s the last thing he wants. After the feeding shenanigans, we sat down for a cup of coffee and I scrambled us a couple of eggs, then I left him to clean out the stalls while I took off for work. My phone has been pinging in my pocket for the last fifteen minutes, so I’m sure I have a handful of texts from him complaining about how much shit the animals produced in a single night.

I pull into the parking lot of Big Bull Mechanics and right up to the first bay, putting the truck in park and hopping out to open the bay door. As soon as there’s a good foot of space, Denali and Bunny come bounding out to greet me with loud, shrill howls and excited yaps. I give them each a couple of ear scratches and then shoo them away so I can pull the truck in.

“What’s this?” Auggie asks, eyeing the truck when I get out a second time, inside the garage now.

“No way did you trade in your truck for this hunk of junk.” Shep leans against the car in his bay and tilts his head to take it all in. “You’re way too committed to your girl for all that.”

“He’s monautomous,” Auggie quips, and Riggs groans while Shep chuckles.

I arch an eyebrow, trying to figure out what the fuck that’s even supposed to mean. “It’s not mine, it’s Journey’s.”

“Hold up. Journey?” Auggie repeats.

“I thought he was M.I.A. in Prague or some shit?” Riggs asks.

“He was, but when I got home from Steele’s the other night, he was there,” I explain. “His uncle died and left him this farm, so I guess we’re doing that now.”

Steele saunters into the shop with Tallahassee in tow, the two of them carrying a box of donut holes and a carafe of coffee from the donut shop next door.

“Who has a farm?” Steele asks.

“I do, apparently.” I shrug. “I have a lot to figure out though. I’ve gotta move the rest of my shit there, probably sell my house…”

“So, wait, back up.” Shep shakes his head and waves his hands as if that’s going to clear the last minute and a half of conversation. “This long-lost best friend of yours pops back into the country without warning and now you’re selling your house to fund some farm?”

I frown. “He wasn’t lost, he’s a travel blogger. And I’m not funding it, there’s just no point in keeping the house if I’m living there.”

Auggie rubs his chin and trades a look with Steele, all of them suddenly frowning and staring at me. My skin prickles from all of the attention and the distinct feeling that they all think I’m some kind of fucking idiot for some reason.

“What?” I bark, wanting them to just say whatever it is they all seem to be thinking.

“It’s a little… suspicious, is all,” Tallahassee says gently, moving to stand next to me and putting a hand on my shoulder.

I shrug it off. “He’s my best friend, there’s nothing suspicious about it.”

They trade looks again and I grit my teeth.

“Maybe these nosy assholes would feel better if they met him,” Riggs suggests.

“You could have just said that,” I mutter.

“Why don’t we all go to Wooley’s tonight?” Steele suggests.

I stop myself from reminding them for the millionth time that Journey is straight and maybe a gay bar isn’t the ideal hang out spot to meet him. But that always seems to lead to jokes about the barely concealed crush I have on him, so I bite my tongue and just nod. He won’t mind spending a few hours at the gay bar. Like he pointed out, it’s not like scoring a hook-up has ever been his top priority anyway.

The thought tugs at the back of my mind that just because it’s not a priority doesn’t mean it never happens. What will it be like when he inevitably brings a woman back to the house? The place is small enough that I’m sure even from my own bedroom I would be able to hear them going at it. My skin crawls at the thought, but I force myself to shake it off. That’s a problem for another day, and by that, I mean I’m going to obsess about it in a lowkey way until it eventually happens, but right now it’s more important to turn my focus to work instead.

With the conversation seemingly settled, the guys all surround the coffee and donut holes while I get to work on checking over the truck.

By the afternoon, I’ve texted Journey to tell him about the bar night, which he responded to with a selfie giving a thumbs up, covered in sweat, hay, and a fair amount of manure from what I can tell. I’ve also finished with his truck, leaving her purring like brand new, and called Cole, one of the owners of Four Bears Construction, to see when he or any of the guys could swing by the farm to take a look at some things. Checking shit off my to-do list like a boss. I give myself a mental high five as I finish up another oil change and manage to catch Riggs in between things as well.

“Hey, what do you know about tractors?”

“They’re usually standard diesel engines, why?” He twists the cap off a water bottle and guzzles half of it down, wiping the sweat off of his forehead with the back of his hand. Even the strategically placed fans aren’t touching the heat in here today.

“We’ve got a broken one at the farm. I’ve never worked on diesel, so I thought maybe when you have some time you could come out and take a look, show me some stuff so I’ll be able to maintain it better going forward?”

“Yeah, no problem. I’ve got fuck all else to do.” He grins. “Can I ride a horse?”

“We don’t have any horses. There’s a cow you’re welcome to try to ride, but I doubt she’ll like it.”

“Challenge accepted.”

“Hell, if you want to ride something, you should have just said so,” Auggie teases, and Riggs gives him the finger.

“I want to ride something that will give me a thrill,” he clarifies, and Shep snickers.

“Burn, dude.”

“You’re not my type anyway, babe.” Auggie winks at him.

“You know, there is that bar twenty minutes or so north on ninety that has the mechanical bull,” Shep says, waggling his eyebrows.

“That is the sluttiest suggestion I’ve ever heard in my life,” Riggs scoffs, and then grins wider. “I’m in.”

“Wait, are we meeting somewhere else tonight then?” I check, trying to follow the volley of the conversation.

“Nah, let’s do Wooley’s. We can find out next time which one of us has the best skills to stay on a bucking mount.” Shep smirks at Riggs, and for a second it actually looks like the prickly man blushes. He turns and climbs right back up into the engine of the semi he’s been putting back together without another word though, so it’s hard to know for sure.

Chapter 6

JOURNEY

I’m already showered, dressed, and ready for a night of fun and debauchery by the time Red walks through the door in his half-unzipped gray jumpsuit, his chest on display and showing a hint of the tribal tattoo that extends from his shoulder down over his left pec. He smells like motor oil and sweat, and as he passes me, my stomach leaps unexpectedly.

It makes sense, I guess, that I’m excited to just be around him again. It’s been a long damn time since I’ve been home and had the chance to spend time with my best friend without an upcoming flight looming over my head.

“Give me fifteen minutes to get ready,” he calls over his shoulder as he continues down the hall to the bedroom.

“No rush,” I assure him, pulling out my phone and going to sit on the couch to wait for him.

I thumb through social media for a few minutes, reading updates from random friends I’ve made over the years in various countries, keeping in contact online here and there. A weight has been sitting on me for two days that’s been easy to ignore in favor of all the more immediate shit I’ve needed to deal with. But with a few minutes of actual free time, I can’t avoid it any longer.

I pull up my blog page to find dozens of comments on my last post asking why I’m late updating and if everything is okay. That’s what I get for being so punctual with all of my entries for the past decade and a half, even two days late and my followers are ready to start calling embassies and setting up international search parties.

My thumb hovers over the create new post button as I chew on my bottom lip, considering what exactly I should say. Taking on the farm means giving up on the travel I’ve done for the last fifteen years. Does that mean my blog is dead? Just like that, nearly half my life worth of work down the drain? There might be other ways I could use it, talking about old adventures, recommending sites in various cities and countries I didn’t focus on before… I just haven’t had the time to really sit down and give it any thought. Besides that, a day of shoveling stalls and taking care of things around here didn’t give the impression that I’ll have tons of free time to keep up with the blog like I have in the past.

I drag my hand along my jaw, the familiar prickle of my stubble grounding me. I suppose for now I can keep it simple and honest and cross the next bridge when I get to it. I hit the button and start typing, pouring out several days’ worth of information into the post. I tell them about my uncle and the farm, my decision to take on the new challenge, and I spend a few paragraphs telling them all about Red and how I wouldn’t be able to do any of this without him.

His heavy footsteps echo down the hallway again, so I call it good and press the button to publish the post, then slip my phone back into my pocket and stand up.

“Ready?” he checks.

The clean smell of soap is following him now, his damp hair slicked back, his jumpsuit replaced with a pair of jeans with oil stains and a couple of holes here and there, and a white t-shirt that fits his body like a glove.

“Hell yes. I need a drink or ten, and once I’m good and drunk, I want to go somewhere to eat something greasy and terrible for us.”

His lips twitch into a smile. “Sounds like a plan. By the way, I should probably warn you that we’re meeting the guys at a gay bar.”

I shrug. “That’s cool. Am I dressed alright?” I glance down at my cargo shorts and the loose black tank top I’m wearing. I have no clue what the dress code is at a gay bar, but I’m guessing this is fine if that’s what he’s wearing.

“Yeah. The place is casual, there just happen to be a lot of gay dudes there.”

“As long as there’s booze, I don’t care if there are guys fucking each other right there on the bar.”

Red lets out a raspy laugh. “No one will be fucking on the bar,” he assures me.

“Cool. Let’s hit it.”

We stop by the door to slip our shoes on, and then head out the front door, not bothering to lock it all the way out here in the middle of nowhere. There wouldn’t be a hell of a lot for anyone to steal anyway.

Angie is lying at the foot of the steps, the new flower crown I made her hanging from one ear while she chews on what looks like a mouthful of weeds.

“I thought she ate that this morning,” Red says as I stop to adjust her crown and then carefully step over her.

“I made her a new one. And let me tell you, it was harder than YouTube made it look.”

She tries to snag the leg of Red’s pants as he steps over her, making him stumble. I catch him before he can end up on his face in the gravel.

“Thanks,” he says. This close, I can smell the faintest hint of motor oil still on him, like he’s spent so much of his life under the hood of a car that it’s permanently embedded in his skin. It’s a homey smell actually, and the more I think about it, he’s smelled like this since high school when he started taking auto shop as an elective and spent most of his free time in the school garage, rebuilding the truck he still drives today.

I pat his shoulder firmly and then take a step back so I can climb in on the passenger side of his pickup. We roll down our windows and he cranks up the music as soon as we pull down the driveway and start back towards town.

As we pass the cornfields, barns and silos coming every few miles, I’m hit with a wave of nostalgia. Memories of hundreds of nights spent driving up and down this road in this same truck wash over me, the two of us singing along to hair metal and talking about life until well past curfew.

“Are you happy with how your life turned out?” I ask, letting my arm hang out the open window, the sun warming it as my tank top flaps in the breeze.

“Happy?” he echoes, as if he’s never considered the question before. Maybe he hasn’t.

“Is your life where you wanted it to be? Are you generally content?”

Red stares ahead for a few seconds before answering. “Yeah, things are cool. What about you?”

Yes, jumps immediately to my lips, but I hesitate, forcing myself to give the question some actual thought. My blog is more successful than I ever thought it would be, paying for the life I’ve been living for years now, full of adventure, new experiences, and different cities every week. When I was twenty, it was the only thing in the world I wanted, but now…?

I think about the countless nights I’ve spent in crowded hostels and lonely hotel rooms, all the places I’ve gone and things I’ve seen, and the thrill that has diminished little by little.

“I think…” I glance over at Red and then back out to where the fields are slowly turning into more and more houses. “That the last fifteen years were incredible, but that I’m ready for something different.”

“Is that an answer to the question?” he asks, cocking his head to one side and slowing down to stop at the traffic light that signals the official town limit.

I grin and catch myself leaning just a little closer to him on the bench seat of the truck, all the possibilities of what this crazy new adventure will hold with my best friend back in my life full time running through my mind.

“I’m happy,” I answer.

“Good.”

We pull into the parking lot of the bar with the Wooley’s sign lit up over the door. It looks like any ordinary, hole-in-the-wall type bar, with a somewhat grungy exterior and neon beer signs in the windows. The only real clue it’s a gay bar is a rainbow flag hanging on the door.

As we’re getting out of the truck, a few more cars pull in and park near us. I recognize the men who climb out of each one from pictures Red has sent me over the years from various holiday parties and other things. My personal favorites were the dog wash photos of all of them soapy, wrestling soaking wet pooches.

“Wow, you’re real.” The man with too many tattoos to count and a hoop through his left nostril grins and pokes me like I might evaporate upon further inspection.

“Last I checked.” I pat myself down to prove it.

“Cool. We half expected you were just Red’s imaginary friend.” A shorter man who’s built of pure muscle and just as many tattoos as the first man offers his fist to bump.

“Or maybe that you were scamming him with this whole farm thing.” A tall man with sandy hair eyes me suspiciously like he’s still not totally sure I’m not scamming Red.

“What? I’m not—”

Red puts a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t be assholes,” he says flatly to the group of men gathering around us. “Journey, these are the guys: Steele, his boyfriend Porter, Tallahassee, his husband Gates, Auggie, Shep, and Riggs.” He points to each man in turn, and I do my best to memorize all the names that go with the faces I’ve gotten to know over the years.

“I need a drink,” the smallest man, Riggs, declares, seemingly already bored with the interrogation the rest of the guys had planned for me. “Come on, Shep. I forgot my wallet, you’re buying,” he calls over his shoulder when no one else budges, all of them still silently sizing me up.

Shep scoffs but turns to follow along anyway.

“He’s not scamming me. I offered to help him,” Red says, giving me a little push to start walking. “I’m set on winning back the two hundred bucks I lost to you at pool last weekend, Steele, so I hope you and Tal are ready for a rematch.”

“They have pool?” I perk up instantly, pushing through the door into the bar. It’s a Monday night, so I’m not surprised to find that it’s quiet, just a handful of other men scattered around the bar top and various tables in addition to our group.

“Of course they do. Swinging our big sticks around to impress other men is the whole reason we come here.” Steele smirks, and I chuckle.

“Good to know.” I turn to Red. “Grab me a cue, I’ll get our first round and meet you over there.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

I saunter up to the bar, glancing over my shoulder once to see Red, Tallahassee, and Steele claiming a pool table. Steele says something and Red throws his head back and laughs loudly, filling my chest with a strange sense of happiness and maybe just a twinge of jealousy.

I’m glad Red hasn’t spent the last fifteen years sitting around, waiting for me to come home. And it’s comforting to know that the guys he works with seem to get him, at least from the little I’m seeing of them together. But the petty fifteen-year-old who still lives deep down inside of me wants to shoo Steele and everyone else away and make sure they all know that he’s my best friend.

A low chuckle escapes my lips and I shake my head at myself.

“What can I get for you?” a bartender with long blond hair and a nice smile asks, pulling my attention away from Red and the guys.

“Two beers, whatever you’ve got on tap,” I request, and he nods, grabbing a couple of mugs and filling them.

“You new around here?” he asks, eyeing me as he tops off the second glass.

My face heats. “Oh, I’m uh… I’m not gay.”

He snorts a laugh and holds up his left hand, wiggling his ring finger. “I’m married, sweetie. I wasn’t hitting on you, I just get curious when someone new comes around. We get mostly regulars.”

“Sorry,” I mutter, the heat intensifying on my skin until I’m sure I’m glowing as red as a tomato. I clear my throat. “Yeah, I grew up around here, but I just moved back to town. Red brought me here tonight for a couple of drinks with his friends.” I gesture over my shoulder, hoping my association with one of his regulars will erase some of the I don’t belong here feeling.

His smile widens. “I know Red. He’s a good guy.”

“He’s the best,” I agree, grinning right along with him now.

The bartender pushes the two drinks in my direction and then extends a hand for me to shake. “I’m Sawyer. I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other.”

“Journey, nice to meet you.”

“And just an FYI, some guys take the I’m straight thing as a challenge, so next time just try ‘no thank you.’” He winks and then turns to help the next guy who approaches the bar.

I carry the drinks over to the pool table, handing one over to Red who taps it against mine in a cheers and then takes a drink.

“That bartender, Sawyer, just said that some guys take straight guys as a challenge. He was just fucking with me, right?” I ask as Red passes me a cue.

Red shrugs one shoulder, not giving me a real answer, so I look over to Steele and Tallahassee.

“Some guys say they’re straight but still like to fool around with other men on the DL,” Steele explains.

“No one is going to bother you if you’re clear with them, but they might flirt a little just to be sure,” Tallahassee adds.

“No one is going to bother you,” Red assures me, bumping me with his cue. “Break.”

RED

It’s been probably twenty years since Journey and I have played pool together, but it’s as seamless as it always was. Not that Steele and Tallahassee aren’t a good team in their own right, but we manage to win my money back and then some before they throw up a white flag and decide to call it.

“What should we do with all of our winnings?” Journey asks, thumbing through the stack of twenties we won.

“I’m thinking another drink and then maybe that greasy dinner you wanted,” I suggest.

“Perfect.”

“Go sit down with the guys, I’ll get the drinks this time.”

Journey puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes it. It’s not the first time he’s touched me tonight. During the game he brushed a hand against me each time I passed by him, brief touches that it almost seemed like he didn’t notice. His hand is gone from my shoulder just as quickly, and he makes his way over to the table where most of the guys are already halfway to drunk and acting rowdy.

I make my way up to the bar and lean my elbows on the sticky bar top. If I’m not mistaken, West, Sawyer’s husband, ripped out the bar and built a whole new one for him last summer, a little bigger and much nicer than the aging one that had been here since the bar opened decades ago. Sawyer notices me and holds up a finger to let me know he’ll be right over.

“Let me get that drink for you.” A man slides onto the stool right next to where I’m standing and smiles at me.

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Are you sure?” He reaches over and drags his index finger lightly over my forearm. The ghost of the touch makes my skin crawl, and I jerk away.

“Yup. I’ve got a man.” Even if the feelings are one-sided, it doesn’t make it any less true.

“Too bad,” he says, and I just nod.

Sawyer fills a couple of beers and passes them across the bar to me just in time. I hand him more than enough to cover it and then pick up the drinks and turn to head back to the table.

My eyes land on Journey immediately. He’s staring past me with a frown, an angry kind of heat glaring in his expression. I look back over my shoulder, but I don’t see anything other than the guy who was just hitting on me. Weird.

I set Journey’s drink down in front of him when I get to the table.

“Was that guy harassing you?” he asks.

“Who?”

“The creep at the bar.” He jerks his chin in that direction and then picks up his drink to take a gulp.

“I’m fine.”

Journey blows out a breath, his expression melting into something that looks more relaxed. “Sorry. I saw him touch you and all of a sudden I swear I was ten years old again, ready to march over there and kick someone’s ass for teasing you.”

A warm feeling fills my chest and creeps up into my throat, making it feel thick. I take a sip from my drink in an attempt to clear it, but it doesn’t do much.

“I fight my own battles these days, J.”

“I know.” He squeezes my bicep, and unlike the unwelcome touch from the man at the bar, Journey’s hand on me makes my stomach squirm and my cock swell.

“So, for real, what’s the deal?” Shep asks, leaning over the table and using the hand he’s holding his drink with to gesture between the two of us, the contents spilling over the sides as he swings it back and forth.

“What deal?” Journey asks.

“Are you like straight straight? Or have you just not met the right man yet?” Shep waggles his eyebrows, and Auggie snorts a laugh into his own mug of beer.

“Dude, that’s so offensive,” he says, smacking Shep’s shoulder and then grabbing a napkin to mop the beer off of his nose and mouth.

“Oh, come on. It’s not like we haven’t known a straight man or two who ended up riding the D train,” Shep points out.

“The D Train?” Journey’s eyebrows go up, and I groan.

“Ignore them, they’re drunk,” I mutter.

“You’ve gotta admit, actual straight men are kind of unicorns around here,” Riggs says, seeming far more sober than anyone else at the table.

“Yeah, what is that?” Gates asks. “Think it’s something in the water turning every dude in this half of the state queer?”

“Scientific research must be done,” Auggie declares, holding up his drink and sloshing it around the same way Shep just did. “I’m going to start a survey of all the men in a fifty-mile radius.”

“Good luck with that,” Steele says with a chuckle.

“Hey, how about that food?” I ask, nudging Journey’s shoulder.

“Oh, yeah.” He tilts his mug back and guzzles down the last of his beer, while mine remains barely touched. “Let’s do it.” He stands up and gives a broad wave to everyone at the table. “Good to meet you all. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you.” He turns to me, a little unsteady on his feet after chugging his drink. “Oh, hey, before we go back to the farm, we should stop by your house and pick up some more blankets. You’re a blanket hog and having just one isn’t cutting it.”

“You two are sharing a bed?” Shep gasps. “Come on.”

“We’re leaving,” I say a little more loudly this time, giving Shep the finger for good measure, then grabbing Journey’s arm to drag him away before he can give them any more ammunition to use later.

“Bye,” Journey calls again over his shoulder as I cart him out of the bar.

There’s a burger place just down the block, so I bypass my truck and lead the way on foot down the street. The short walk seems to sober Journey up.

We grab a table and order water and a couple of burgers and fries, and just like the other night at the diner, our feet bump under the table.

“I am straight, for the record,” he says.

“I know. Like I said, they’re just drunk idiots.” I wave it off, ignoring the unnecessary twinge of disappointment in the pit of my stomach. Of course, Journey is straight. I don’t care what ridiculous rom com plot the rest of the guys are writing in their heads, most men don’t wake up at forty and suddenly have a craving for dick. That’s just not how life works.

Our food comes and we dig in. While we eat, he tells me about how the rest of his first day taking care of the farm went, and I tell him about a couple of asshole clients I dealt with, both of us laughing and enjoying a simple moment together.

The ride back to the farm is peaceful too, with the windows down and the road dark and quiet now.

“We should have put the animals in before we left,” Journey says when we’re greeted by Angie in the same spot in front of the porch as she was when we left hours ago. She’s standing now instead of lying, helping herself to the flower garden.

“Hey, shoo.” I wave my hands to get her to walk away from the flowerbed, but she just gives me a lazy look and keeps chewing. “Go.” I walk over and give her rump a push, but she doesn’t budge.

“Oh, I know. Hold on.” Journey climbs over the railing to get to the front door, hurrying inside and returning a minute later with an apple in hand.

Angie perks up immediately, stepping away from the flowers and following him as he tempts her with the apple, backing down the dirt path towards the barn.

I follow them, heading around to the alpaca pasture gate. Just like last night, they’re gathered by the fence already, ready to come in for the night.

Once all the animals are safe and sound inside the barn, we make our way back up to the house, kicking off our shoes inside the kitchen door and shuffling into the bedroom.

Last night I was dead on my feet after too many hours awake and a day spent scrubbing every inch of this house, so I fell into bed without much conscious thought. Tonight, I’m all too aware of Journey standing next to his side of the bed, stripping his shirt over his head and tossing it aside.

I shouldn’t look at him. It’s creepy and wrong to ogle him, but fuck, it’s hard to look away from the dark trail of hair on his belly and all of his lean muscles on display in the dim bedroom light. His shorts go next, pooling on the floor at his feet, his light blue briefs stretching taut over the swell of his cock.

My own dick tingles and plumps. I slam my eyes shut and spin to face the wall, forcing myself to mentally run through the process of assembling a combustion engine over and over until my body settles down.

“You okay?” he asks, the rustle of sheets behind me letting me know that he’s climbing into bed.

“Yeah. We forgot to stop for the extra sheets.”

“Oh, damn. Well, next time.” He yawns, and I finally start undressing, keeping my back to him as long as possible and then hurrying into bed before he can notice that my cock is still half hard.

He reaches over and clicks off the light as I settle under the blankets, feeling the heat of his body even with the foot of space between us.

“Hey, Red?” he says.

“Hm?” I grunt, not trusting my voice.

“Is it weird that we’re sharing a bed?” he asks.

“No. Do you think it’s weird?”

“No,” he says, yawning again and scooting a little closer to me. His foot brushes my calf and I expect him to jerk back quickly, but he doesn’t.

“Red?” he says again.

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you’re my best friend.”

My heart beats a little faster and the guilt in my gut intensifies, reminding me why I can’t check him out, I can’t let him know about these useless feelings I’ve had for too damn long. The last thing I want to do is lose the best friend I’ll ever have over a stupid crush.

“I’m glad you’re my best friend too.”

Chapter 7

RED

The rooster crows just before the sun comes up again, and Journey and I roll out of bed in a half-asleep stupor, throwing on the same clothes we wore to the bar and shuffling outside to get to work.

I spent my lunch break yesterday not only texting Cole about taking a look at the house, but also looking up some tips to hopefully make this morning easier. When we get down to the barn, I grab an armful of hay and then tell Journey to close and latch the stall where all the feed is stored.

So, this time when he opens the alpaca stalls, their best option is to follow me out to the pasture, where I scatter the hay on the ground and step aside for them to converge on it in a fluffy feeding frenzy. A mouse scurries from the hay pile, but this one manages to disappear into the grass, so all in all a much happier ending than feeding time yesterday had.

“Look at you, Old McDonald.” Journey jostles my shoulder, and I chuckle.

“Learning from past mistakes,” I correct.

“Alright, any ideas on how to deal with Sanders without getting attacked again?” he asks, stopping outside of the indoor chicken coop and eyeing the rooster who’s already puffed up and ready to defend his ladies.

“I do, in fact.” I glance around the barn for a second until my gaze lands on a large wooden board that more than likely was intended for exactly this purpose. I stride over and pick it up, positioning it in front of my legs and then nodding for Journey to open the coop door.

Sanders runs towards me, crowing and flapping his wings, but as soon as he realizes he can’t reach me through the wood, he settles for strutting past in the direction of the outdoor coop. The chickens run after him one by one, only a couple left behind, easily picked up and carried outside without having to fend off any angry pecking.

“Well, damn. That was a hell of a lot easier.” Journey wipes his hands on his shorts after he fills Angie’s trough with food.

“We might just get the hang of this after all.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Journey lets out a long breath and then runs his hands through his hair. “Come on. Coffee time.”

I follow him back up to the house, spotting Cornelius on our way, trotting through the grass with a mouse dangling from his mouth. Well, I tried.

In the kitchen, Journey starts the coffee while I sit down and slump over the table, exhaustion from the past few busy days weighing my whole body down.

“Oh, by the way, I have a contractor coming by the end of next week,” I tell him when he sets a cup of coffee down in front of me.

“Awesome. That gives me time to actually meet with the estate lawyer and get the bank accounts and all the other paperwork sorted out.” Journey pulls out the chair across from me and sits down with his own steaming mug. “I should probably do that today actually, just go ahead and get it over with. After I muck out the stalls.”

“Muck?” I repeat, wrinkling my nose.

“Muck,” he says again. “You’re not the only one who can Google farm shit.”

“I’m not sure which sounds worse, shoveling animal shit for hours or sitting down with a lawyer and filling out paperwork,” I muse, and he laughs.

“Equal, I think.”

I grunt and nod, sipping my coffee and waiting for the magical moment when the caffeine gives me new life. “Speaking of painful tasks, I really should call around to some realtors to get the ball rolling on selling my house.”

“Are you sure you want to rush to do that right away?” He sets his mug down and leans back in his chair.

“Why wait?” I shrug.

“I don’t know, maybe just in case.” He has the kind of edge in his voice that always tells me that there’s subtext I’m supposed to be getting, which is annoying at the best of times. I really don’t have the energy for it this morning.

“In case of what?” I ask bluntly.

“In case you decide you don’t want to help out with this. You should have an escape hatch.”

I snort. “It’s a farm, not a space station,” I point out. “Besides, I don’t need an ‘in case.’ As long as you’re doing this, I’m doing this. And if you decide you’re done with it, it’s not like there won’t be other houses I can buy later.”

“Okay. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t rushing into anything.”

“Don’t worry about me.”

Journey fixes me with another look I can’t quite read. “I’ve worried about you since we were eight, it’s a hard habit to break, okay?”

“Yeah, I get it. But I swear I can take care of myself these days,” I assure him.

We continue to enjoy our coffee in relative silence, both still coming to terms with being conscious. When I’m done, I put my cup in the sink and leave Journey to finish his while I take a shower and get ready for work.

The bathroom off the main bedroom is the most updated room in the whole house. I’m betting Milton had it renovated right before he got sick a few years ago. There’s a soaking tub and a large walk-in shower with glass doors. I reach in to turn the water on and undress while it heats up.

I reach down and lazily grasp my cock, swelling and stiffening against my palm, giving myself a few slow strokes. The biggest downside to sharing a bed with Journey is that now we’re both going to have to sneak around here like teenagers, jerking off in the shower and hoping the other one doesn’t hear.

The steam from the hot water fogs up the mirror, so I slide back the door and step inside, my mind unhelpfully conjuring the image of Journey standing right here in this shower with his cock hard and thick, soapy suds clinging to his wet skin. My cock gives a heavy twitch and my eyes flutter closed, the image even more clear as the fantasy continues. Journey, filling his palm with conditioner from the bottle resting on the ledge and wrapping it around his throbbing cock with a horny, breathless gasp, bracing his free hand against the glass door and pumping himself desperately as he bites his lip to keep quiet.

I groan out loud, the sound rising in my throat too quickly for me to have the chance to stifle it. I wrap my fingers around my erection again and thrust into my grasp, guilt and lust swirling heavily in the pit of my stomach. I stroke myself faster, my hand flying up and down my shaft as another moan rumbles from my chest.

“Fuck,” I pant, leaning against the tiled wall, my poorly muffled grunts and gasps echoing off the walls. “Oh yeah, oh fuck. So good.” My cock swells and pulses, my balls pulling up tight as I fuck wildly into the tunnel of my fingers now, unable to fight off the images of Journey that fill my mind, a mix of fantasy and the memories of him undressing last night, close enough to reach out and touch if things were different.

I let out one last groan as my cum paints the wall with a splatter, rinsed away quickly by the water, my chest heaving and my knees quaking as I try to catch my breath and banish the thoughts I shouldn’t have been thinking in the first place.

JOURNEY

I stand with my ear pressed to the grainy wood of the door—my heart hammering wildly against my ribs, my cock straining, pressed against my zipper—feeling like the world’s biggest pervert but somehow unable to tear myself away.

I came into the bedroom to get changed into grungier clothes to muck out the stalls. The first groan that came through the door stopped me in my tracks, making my stomach clench and my skin heat. I started to laugh it off. Red can jerk off in the shower—we’ve all done it, it’s not exactly scandalous. But for some reason the next moan had me moving a little closer, knowing I should have turned and left the room to give him the courtesy of a little privacy, but my feet seemed to have a mind of their own.

Another moan—deep and guttural, nothing like the breathy feminine moans that fill my sexual history and the porn I rarely bother to look at—and I found myself in the position I’m in now. Up against the door, holding my breath to hear him better.

My skin smolders hotter as Red’s grunts and heavy breaths come faster and louder, the unmistakable sound of his hand moving up and down rapidly over his shaft echoing through the door. He lets out one last deep, shuddering moan and my cock throbs so hard I bite back a gasp.

The water shuts off and the bathroom goes quiet except for the wet sound of Red’s footsteps as he gets out of the shower and dries himself off. I force myself away from the door, the last few minutes feeling like an out-of-body experience.

I hurry away from the door, my cock still rock hard and tenting my shorts as I yank open the dresser drawer, grab the first pair of jeans I find to change into and a pair of thick socks to protect my feet from the boots. I watch the door, my hands trembling as I dress as quickly as I can and then flee from the bedroom before Red can emerge.

I’m breathing hard as I shove my boots on and rush out the back door. I don’t know what the fuck that was, but I’m sure a few hours shoveling shit will set my brain right.

Angie is casually sauntering out of the barn as I reach it. She stops to nudge my sternum with her nose and I run my hands over her shaggy head, picking a few bits of straw out of her hair and making a mental note to look up whether I should be brushing her regularly. She tugs my shirt between her teeth and then moos indignantly when I pull it free and try to shoo her away.

“If you let me clean up now, I’ll sit and read you a story later like Milt used to. How does that sound?” I bargain with her. Either she’s happy with this deal or she’s just bored of trying to eat my clothes and has more important cow things to do. Whatever the case, she continues on her way, leaving me to the piles of shit that need to be dealt with.

I grab the shovel and wheelbarrow on my way into the barn and get to work, starting with Angie’s stall. It’s extremely clear to me that I’ve taken for granted how little physical labor I’ve had to do in my life. My back and shoulders are tight and sore from doing this yesterday, and as soon as I start shoveling, the blisters on my palms sting again. Sweat breaks out over my skin in no time, helped in part by the humid morning hanging heavily around me.

Unfortunately, it turns out that, as physically taxing as the work is, it’s not exactly mentally stimulating, which leaves my mind free to wander. Of course, it chooses to stroll immediately back to the sounds Red was making and, more importantly, my reaction to them. I drag my forearm across my forehead to wipe the sweat away in between dumping shovel loads into the wheelbarrow while the deep, undeniably masculine moans and grunts from earlier play on a loop in my mind.

There’s no shame in what Red was doing in the shower. Just because I’m a weirdo who practically forgets he has a dick for months at a time doesn’t mean I have anything against sexual urges. He should jerk off as often as the mood strikes him—every day if necessary. The image of him in the shower, covered in soap and dripping wet as his hand works his stiff cock fills my mind and I gasp, nearly dropping my shovel.

Cornelius jumps up onto the wall of Angie’s stall and watches me, blinking his single eye and slowly flicking his tail from side to side.

“So I heard him getting off. It’s not a big deal,” I tell the cat. He doesn’t seem all that interested in the situation, simply meowing once before deciding my human angst bores him, hopping down and strutting away. I continue talking out loud even though I’m completely alone now, save for whatever mice are scurrying around the feed stall a few feet away. “My reaction wasn’t even about him. It’s hot to hear people moaning and stuff. Hell, it’s the best part of porn when you can find some that isn’t fake and cringy. I can’t even remember the last time I bothered to jerk off, so of course I got a little horny,” I reason out loud to no one with a shrug, tossing another shovelful onto the growing heap, feeling better already with the solid logic I’m laying down.

I’ll jerk off when I have the chance and that will be the problem solved. Simple as that.

It takes me a few hours to finish cleaning out the barn and then going around to refill all of the water troughs. I spend some time talking to Beau, the alpaca… or maybe it’s Butternut. He tries to spit on me, so it’s possible I’ve got his name wrong. And then I find Angie and sit down in the field with her. I don’t have a book on hand, so I read to her from my Twitter feed, which she doesn’t seem that thrilled about considering at one point she knocks my phone out of my hand and tries to step on it. I get it, Twitter is a cesspool.

“I’ll find a book for tomorrow,” I assure her, patting her neck and then heading up to the house to take a shower, mentally making a plan for the rest of the afternoon that includes going to the lawyer’s office and the bank.

I kick off my boots just inside the kitchen door and whistle as I head through the house towards the bedroom. Stripping out of my dirty clothes, I toss them into the hamper and then sit down naked on the edge of the bed. I pull up one of the very few bookmarked porn clips I have on my phone.

This one in particular is an amateur video with a man and woman who are clearly a couple in real life. I’ve never had the burning desire to settle down with someone, but I can’t deny that there’s something nice about the intimacy between the couple on screen, kissing and whispering to each other, touching each other with a familiarity that’s missing from the types of casual encounters I’ve had my whole life. As they start to undress each other, my cock slowly swells. I wrap my fingers around my shaft, coaxing it to stiffen more, my eyes fixed on the bounce and sway of the woman’s breasts, the dimples just above her ass when she turns around to face the bed, the pitch of her laughter when the man playfully slaps her ass. I conjure the memories of dozens of faceless one night stands I’ve had over the years, beautiful and interesting women I’ve lost myself in for a few short hours before going our separate ways.

I stroke myself a little faster, spreading my legs and leaning back, setting the phone down next to me so I can continue to watch the screen while I put my weight on my free hand. The man enters the frame more fully now, just as naked as the woman. My eyes zero in on his large, thick erection, the skin a dark shade of pink, his foreskin rolled back to expose his precum-slicked head. It sways as he moves, his heavy balls swinging between his thick, hairy thighs. The horny tingle in my cock intensifies and a lump forms in my throat. Have I always noticed him in this video, or is it just because of what happened this morning?

I still my hand and try to think back, trying to remember a single specific jerk off session I’ve had in my life and what I might have been thinking about. Nothing stands out. I’m overthinking, I have to be, right? All guys must look at the dudes in porn a little, otherwise male porn stars wouldn’t need to have such epically big dicks.

I try to focus back on the video, but it’s hard to get into it now. I can’t help but notice every single time my eyes land on the man’s body, keeping a running tally in the back of my mind of how often I look at him versus the woman. My cock isn’t even hard anymore, all thoughts of jerking off left by the wayside as I try to analyze my viewing habits and what they could mean. Eventually, I give up, closing out of the tab and leaving my phone on the bed while I go to start the shower.

When the water is warm, I step in and reach for the soap. Of course, as soon as I’m standing under the heated stream with the water pelting my skin, the scent of soap filling the air, I immediately picture Red right here this morning with his dick in his hand. With the fresh image of a hard cock in my mind thanks to the porn, my brain fills in the blanks in excruciating detail. Red’s cock that deep pink color, a bead of precum clinging to the swollen head, thick, pulsing veins lining the shaft.

My erection returns with a vengeance, and I let out a loud groan that ricochets off the shower walls. I ball my fists, the bar of soap still in my hand molding around the shape of my fingers. I can’t jerk off thinking about Red. I can’t. It was violating enough for me to listen to him getting himself off this morning, if I touch myself right now, I’ll be the worst friend in history. Plus, seriously, what the fuck? I didn’t suddenly wake up gay this morning, so what the fuck is going on?

I put my face directly into the stream of steaming hot water, forcing away all thoughts of Red and his hard, throbbing dick while I ignore my own insistent erection and hurry through finishing my shower.

When I turn off the water and step out a few minutes later, it occurs to me for the first time that there’s a major flaw in my plan to go see the lawyer today… I don’t have a way to get there. I consider my options while I dry off and get dressed, and once I’m fully clothed with all inappropriate and confusing thoughts successfully banished—even though my balls are still aching in protest—I pick my phone up off the bed and pull up my sister’s contact information.

It rings a few times before she answers.

“Wow, days and days in the country and you finally get around to calling your favorite sister.”

“It’s been three days and you’re my only sister,” I point out, a grin spreading over my face at the sound of her voice.

“Exactly, your only sister, which means you have zero excuse,” she insists.

“I’m sorry, I’ve been a little busy trying to learn how to run Uncle Milt’s farm and everything.” I run my free hand through my damp hair and sit down on the edge of the bed again.

“Fine, I’ll let it slide this time,” she says. “It’s good to hear your voice, Journey.”

“Yours too, Megs.” A niggle of guilt worms its way into my chest, reminding me that I haven’t called her nearly as often as I should have over the past few years. “Listen, I was wondering if you could do me a small favor actually.”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“I’m kind of stuck on the farm at the moment without a drivable vehicle or anything, so I was hoping you might have some time to come pick me up and take me to the nearest used car lot. I’ll buy you lunch after and we can catch up,” I offer.

“Yeah, I can do that. Give me an hour, okay?”

“Sounds good. Thank you.”

“No problem. It really is good to have you back around. I hope you realize you’re going to be seeing a hell of a lot of me whether you like it or not,” she warns.

“I’m counting on it.”

We end the call and I wander into the kitchen to make another pot of coffee while I wait. I find a note next to the coffee maker that Red must have left before he went to work.

Have a good day. I’ll bring home something to grill for dinner!

That’s it. It’s simple and written in his stilted, undeniably masculine scrawl, but for some reason I catch myself smiling again. Maybe I really am blowing all of this out of proportion. I’ve spent years missing Red and I’m reacting in a weird way now that we’re in the same place again. Hell, I went from hardly seeing him for fifteen years to sharing not only a roof but a bed with him, that’s bound to turn anybody’s head around.

That’s all there is to it. Nothing to overanalyze and obsess about. Nothing at all.

Chapter 8

RED

When I pull into the driveway after work, there are two cars parked in front of the house that I’ve never seen before. I frown as I grab the bag of groceries and climb out of my truck.

As soon as I step inside, the sound of female laughter greets me from somewhere down the hall, and I freeze in my tracks. Does Journey have a date here? Shouldn’t he have put a necktie on the door or something to warn me?

I tighten my grip on my grocery bags and consider turning around and leaving for a little while, maybe texting Journey to let me know when it’s safe to come back. The last thing I need is to hear him in bed with someone.

“Red?” he calls down the hall.

“Uh… yeah?” I answer, one hand still on the doorknob. If he’s talking to me, they must not be actively in the middle of sex at least, but I don’t have the strongest desire to meet this woman fully clothed either.

Journey appears at the end of the hallway, right in the entrance to the kitchen. “Megan is here,” he says, and relief floods my chest.

His sister. Of course it’s his sister. When would he have had time to find a girlfriend, or even a date? He’s been in the country three days, and we’ve spent most of it right here on the farm.

He might eventually though, a little voice in the back of my head warns. I shake it away. I’ll deal with that if it happens.

I toe off my shoes so I won’t track dirt or oil through the house, and I head down the hallway in his direction, holding up the bags as I get close.

“Good thing I bought plenty of food then. I figured we’d pull out the grill and cook some burgers.”

He grimaces. “Okay, let’s not tell Angie what we’re eating though.”

I chuckle. “Best not to fill farm animals in on the sad facts of life.”

Journey nods solemnly. “She should live in blissful ignorance, it’s the kind thing to do.”

I step into the kitchen and set the bags down on the counter, then turn to where Journey’s younger sister Megan is sitting. She has always looked like a slightly smaller, more delicate version of her brother. She stands up and opens her arms for a hug.

“Long time no see,” she says.

“Yeah, it’s been a while,” I agree, squeezing her tightly and then letting her go.

“You look good.” She looks me up and down with a smile, and I squirm under her assessment, looking to Journey for help. Is she hitting on me? She’s known I’m gay for twenty-five years last I checked.

He laughs and pats my shoulder. “Just say ‘thank you.’”

“Thank you,” I repeat, and Megan snorts.

“You haven’t changed a bit. I like it.” She mirrors her brother’s action of patting my shoulder and then sits back down.

“Glad to continually entertain and baffle the Robinson siblings. I’m going to go change and then I’ll fire up the grill.”

Megan’s phone vibrates on the table, and she picks it up and then smiles. “Actually, don’t worry about me. I have to take off.”

Journey gasps. “That’s her, isn’t it? Two minutes after telling me that you weren’t going to keep jumping up every time she texts for a booty call, and here you are practically sprinting out the door to see her.”

She gives her brother the finger and he laughs. Megan calls a goodbye to me when I’m already halfway to the bedroom, and then I hear the front door open and close to signal that she’s gone.

Once I’ve washed up and put on clothes that aren’t covered in oil and grease stains, I return to the kitchen where Journey is unpacking the grocery bags.

“Whose car is that outside? I know one of them was Megan’s…” I ask, pulling out a mixing bowl and some other utensils before slipping on the pair of muddy boots that are by the back door so I can go out and turn on the grill.

“Mine,” he answers. “I called my sister to take me to the used car lot to get it today so I wouldn’t be trapped here.” He follows me outside barefoot, staying on the back porch while I drag the old grill a safe distance from the house, pour in the charcoal and lighter cubes, and light it. “I went to the lawyer’s office too, stopped at the bank, and figured out the password to Uncle Milt’s email, which was more of a curse than a blessing because it meant that I now had access to hundreds of missed emails requesting the alpacas at kids’ parties and stuff. One of the emails was from some dude who wanted to rent just one alpaca to prank his boyfriend, it was weird.”

“His name wasn’t Stone, was it?” I guess, and Journey’s eyebrows go up.

“Yeah, how did you know?”

“Wild guess,” I mutter.

I cover the grill with the lid so it has a chance to heat up, and then head back inside to start on the hamburger patties.

“How about you?” he asks, following me back inside and leaning against the counter while I get to work. “How was your day?”

“Pretty standard.” I shrug. “Replaced some brake pads, did a bunch of oil changes, nothing too groundbreaking. The guys keep going on and on about some bar with a mechanical bull, so we’ll probably get dragged to that sometime soon.”

“We’ll?” He echoes.

“Well, yeah. Unless you don’t want to come.”

“No, I do. A mechanical bull sounds just stupid enough to be fun,” he says. “It’s just cool how after all these years apart you didn’t skip a beat welcoming me home. Like, it’s just a foregone conclusion that I go where you go, just like when we were young.”

“Of course it is.” I mix the hamburger with my hands and furrow my brow, trying to figure out if there’s something deeper than surface level with what he’s saying. “You’re my best friend, that hasn’t changed.”

“I know.” He puts his hand on my shoulder again, leaving it there this time, squeezing my arm. “I like that.”

Journey’s touch lingers while I shape the meat into patties, his hand warm and heavy on my shoulder. It’s not that I mind it there—hell, I’d be happy to outright beg him to touch me more if it were an option—it’s just that I don’t really get it. Is he feeling clingy because of all the sudden changes in his life? Did I do something to make him think that there’s an issue between us? I think back over the last few days and can’t come up with a single thing.

I turn towards the sink to wash my hands and Journey’s hand finally falls, but his fingers trail slowly down the back of my shoulder first, feeling like they leave scorch marks along my skin on their way down before he pulls them back, breaking contact.

I glance over my shoulder at him, tempted to just ask what’s going on with him, but maybe I’m reading too much into it. There’s nothing tangible, just… a feeling. How do I ask about a feeling without making it weird?

Before I have a chance to puzzle it out, the doorknob rattles and Angie nudges the door open to saunter in. Instead of going right for the refrigerator this time, she lumbers into the kitchen and plops herself down on the floor next to the table to lay down.

“Why?” Journey asks with a laugh. “You know, there’s plenty of places outside for you to take a nap.” He walks over and bends down to nudge her. She moos but doesn’t get up.

“I guess we can just leave her?” I eye the cow. It’s not like there’s anything we can do if she doesn’t feel like leaving. She weighs half a ton, so forcing her out isn’t exactly an option.

“Hold on, I have an idea.” He strides over to the refrigerator and pulls out an apple like he did the other night when we needed to get her down to the barn. She picks her head up, extending her long tongue and stretching out her neck. “Come on, girl.” Journey prompts, waving the apple in front of her like you would with a ball for a dog before chucking it out the back door. It thuds onto the grass at the foot of the porch and the cow sighs, as if the indignity of having to fetch her treat like a common canine is too much to bear. But after a few seconds, she gives in and goes after it, swishing her fluffy tail behind her on the way out.

JOURNEY

I slip on a pair of shoes this time before following Red back outside to cook the burgers. Angie lingers around the yard near the house, happily munching on weeds and grass that is past due to be mowed once she finishes eating her apple.

There’s something centering about the scent of hot charcoal and burned meat mixed with the warm smell of a summer evening. I watch Red, quietly focused on flipping the burgers, the late afternoon sun bringing out the subtle freckles on his forearms and the bridge of his nose.

Spending the afternoon with my sister and keeping myself busy with all the things I managed to check off the to-do list eased the swirling confusion I was drowning in this morning, but it’s not completely gone. The thing that I keep coming back to is that no one wakes up at forty suddenly gay. Megan told me she liked girls when she was twelve, and it wasn’t exactly a surprise considering she had left her Ken doll in his box while two of her Barbies shared the dreamhouse together instead. Same with Red. When we were fifteen, he came out to me after a lot of nerves and stuttering, and yeah, I was a little shocked for a day or two, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized the signs had always been there.

But me? I’ve never had the burning urge to get naked with another dude before this. I mean, not before this. I don’t want to get naked with any guys now… or ever.

Red tugs up the bottom of his shirt, using it to wipe a smudge of charcoal off of his cheek, exposing his stomach, his jeans hanging just low enough on his hips for the waistband of his briefs to show. My throat tightens and I jerk my eyes away, then rub both my hands over my face in an attempt to get a grip.

I’ve seen Red a lot more naked than that on multiple occasions. Hell, on his twenty-first birthday he got so wasted that he stripped down bare-assed as soon as we got back to our apartment and proceeded to cook himself pancakes completely nude. It was hilarious and I took pictures, I did not get this weird fucking fluttering in the pit of my stomach. So, what the fuck is wrong with me now?

He finishes up with the burgers, transferring them onto a clean plate and then covering the grill back up to let it burn itself out.

“Hey, why don’t we eat out here?” I suggest.

“Sure.” He carries the plate inside and returns a minute later with two burgers wrapped in napkins, a bag of chips, and two bottles of beer tucked under his arms. He passes me my portion and one of the beers and then sits down next to me on the porch steps, leaning against the railing and looking out at the pastures.

I take a bite of my burger and stare ahead too, taking in the hills in the distance and the alpacas in the fields, the trees a little farther away swaying in the gentle breeze. The sky is slowly turning orange as the sun creeps lower and lower, a few fireflies floating past, flickering their lights. A feeling of nostalgia and peace fills up my chest and wraps itself around me like a blanket.

“I’m trying to think of a place in the world that has made me happier than this,” I muse. “It should be Paris or something, right? This is just a rundown little hobby farm in the middle of fucking nowhere.”

“Mm,” Red hums, nodding as he chews a bite of his food. “There is something about this place. It feels like home, doesn’t it? Even though we’ve only lived here two days.”

“It does.” The realization settles over me. “It really does.”

“No regrets so far then?” he asks.

“Nope. You?”

“Nope,” he echoes.

We settle back into silence while we finish eating, enjoying the calm of the summer evening.

Cornelius struts by and I make that stupid pspspsp sound that always seems to work on cats. He stops in his tracks and turns to study me with a suspicious look in his eye, his nose twitching.

“Hey, little buddy,” Red says softly, picking a small crumb of meat off of the last bite of his burger and holding it out towards the cat.

Cornelius licks his lips and seems to consider the offer while the two of us sit statue still waiting to see if he’ll come closer. The cat takes one cautious step in our direction and then another, pausing between them like he’s waiting to see if we’ll attack. Red tosses the meat to the ground and picks off a few more pieces to sprinkle around our feet as well before shoving the rest of the last bite into his mouth and wiping his hands on his jeans.

The cat eases closer and closer, sniffing the ground when he gets near the offering Red left for him. He keeps his eye on us as he scrounges for each little bit of meat, his posture relaxing a little more with each one. When he’s finished, he cautiously bumps his head against Red’s outstretched leg and then hisses and scurries off towards the barn.

“That was progress, right?” I say hopefully.

“I think so. Should we get the animals in?”

“Yeah, I suppose so,” I agree, standing up and brushing my hands off on my pants as well. “Come on, Ange.” She must be feeling cooperative after her snack because she abandons her grazing to follow me as I start down the path to the barn with Red right beside me.

It takes half an hour or so to get everyone in and all the water troughs filled, and when we’re done, we head back up to the house.

“I’m not quite ready to go in yet,” I tell him when we reach the porch. “You can go if you want though. You probably want to work on your Legos or have some downtime. It’s been days of non-stop…” I gesture around. “Well, this.”

He stops with his hand on the doorknob, seeming to consider his options for a second before joining me in sitting back down. “Nah, I’ll hang out.”

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Sure, what’s up?” Red asks.

“Have you ever…” I run my hand over the back of my neck, staring off at the fields again because it’s easier than looking at him while I try to put my thoughts together into coherent sentences. “Gotten turned on by something unexpected?”

“Like something kinky? To be honest, I’m a pretty vanilla guy.”

“No, like…” I shake my head and drag my tongue over my suddenly parched lips. “You know what? Never mind.” I glance over at Red with a reassuring smile, only to find him with that confused crinkle in his forehead.

“What’s going on, man? You can tell me what’s on your mind, even if it’s weird and kinky.” He gives me a crooked, teasing smile and my stomach flutters.

I lean over and bump my shoulder against his. “I know I can. I don’t know what I’m talking about to be honest, I’m just feeling off today or something. It’s probably a lack of sleep. This getting up at the crack of dawn shit is not the best part of this whole thing.”

He chuckles. “Tell me about it.”

“So, just pretend I didn’t say anything.” I wave my hand like it’s going to magically erase the last two minutes.

“Okay,” he agrees. “If you want to tell me whatever it is though, it’s cool. I can even tell you an embarrassing sex thing about me if it helps.”

I bark out a laugh. “Okay, why don’t you go ahead and tell me, and we’ll see if it puts me in a sharing mood.”

“Yeah? Alright.” Red rubs his hands together and sits forward a little. “When I was twenty, I bought a Fleshjack. I was excited to use it, so I got home and took it out of the box, and just started going to town on it.” My skin heats up as he tells the story. “A minute or so in, and it starts to kind of hurt. That’s when I realize I can’t pull my dick back out of the damn thing.”

A surprised laugh bursts from my lips. “Holy shit, what did you do?”

“Well, first I tried more lube, but that just made my hands slippery, which didn’t help anything. Then, I hopped in a cold shower, hoping that if I could get rid of my erection, the toy would just slip right off.”

“Did it work?”

“Nope.” He shakes his head. “I ended up having to go to the emergency room with a pillow over my lap. It was so embarrassing. The doctor was cute too, so that sucked. I thought they were going to have to amputate my dick or something, but they just gave me a shot that got rid of my erection instead and that took care of it.”

I cackle and Red joins in on my laughter.

“That sounds horrible.”

“It was,” he agrees. “So, yours can’t be any more embarrassing than that.”

I look at him again, trying to imagine his reaction if I were to tell him that I heard him jerking off this morning and it made me confusingly horny. I doubt he would be mad. He might be a little embarrassed but probably nothing worse than that. But what if it makes things weird between us?

No, that’s not even the real reason I can’t say it. I don’t even know what it is. It would be stupid to blow a weird mood out of proportion by confessing it to Red like I’m coming out. There’s nothing to come out about. Today was a blip. I’ll be back to normal tomorrow, and in a few weeks, I’ll be laughing at myself for all of the stress I wasted on it.

“It really is nothing,” I tell him, and he nods.

“Okay, cool.” He lets it go, and I try to do the same.

We stay out on the porch for a couple of hours, until the sun is fully set and the crickets are chirping, the two of us talking about nothing in particular but filling up the silence all the same with random conversation and more shared laughter. When we finally get up and go inside to get some sleep, I have myself fully convinced that whatever weird feelings I had today will pass. I’ll wake up tomorrow feeling like I always do: totally straight and largely uninterested in sex outside of the rare occasion when the mood strikes.

We strip out of our pants with our backs to each other, climbing into bed and then switching off the light. Red shifts under the covers next to me and a fresh sense of awareness skitters along my skin.

Is it possible his friends were right? Maybe there really is something in the water around here turning every man gay.

I snort a laugh at myself.

“What’s funny?” he asks.

“Something stupid,” I assure him, reaching for his hand without thought, my heart giving a surprising leap when my fingers brush against his in the dark. “Night,” I say, hoping he doesn’t hear the hoarseness in my voice as I pull my hand back when my cock starts to tingle.

“Night,” he murmurs back, rolling away with a yawn.

Chapter 9

RED

It’s the following Sunday when Cole, Stone, and the newest Four Bears hire, Griff, pull up to the farm in Cole’s pickup with the Four Bears Construction logo plastered on the side. Journey and I slip on our shoes and head outside to greet them.

Angie seems to have the same idea, trotting out from behind the house, right over to their truck, the fresh flower crown Journey made her last night hanging off of her ear.

Stone gasps, his eyes going wide. “Is this heaven?” he asks, reaching out to pet the cow’s nose. “How is this the fluffiest cow I’ve ever seen and where can I get one?”

“Dare would flip his lid if you came home with a cow,” Cole warns, but Stone waves it off.

“I’d put her in a sweater and pretend like she was one of the goats, he would never notice. Besides, I get the best sex after I annoy him, so it’s a win-win.”

“You must be Stone,” Journey says. “You are… exactly like Red described you.”

Stone smiles. “I’m choosing to take that as a compliment, so thank you.”

Journey looks over to me and I shrug. Yeah, that’s pretty much Stone. He introduces himself to Cole and Griff as well.

“Why is she wearing flowers on her head?” Cole asks, reaching to straighten Angie’s crown.

“They make her feel pretty,” Journey answers.

“Makes sense to me,” Stone says. “Hey, we should get her together with my kids for a playdate.”

“You have children?” Journey asks.

“No, goats.”

“Ah, of course.”

“Is that a thing?” I ask.

“Why not? Socialization is important,” he says solemnly, and I guess it makes sense. What would I know about farm animal playdates?

“Does this mean he’s going to come over here with a truckload of goats at some point?” Journey whispers.

“Yeah, probably.”

“That’s why I’ve never given him my address,” Griff says.

“Sorry to tell you, but it’s on your employment paperwork,” Cole tells him, shaking his head.

“Oh shit.”

Stone pats him on the shoulder and grins. “One truckload of goats, coming right up. They’re actually great little eco-friendly lawnmowers.”

“Fantastic,” Griff mutters.

“Oh my god, are those alpacas?” Stone asks, looking out at the field.

“Work first, Stoney. You can play with all the fluffy animals when we’re done,” Cole says.

“Hell yeah, I’m going to play with fluffy animals when we’re done,” Stone agrees, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s get moving.”

The three of them file inside, leaving Journey and I sipping our coffee on the front porch.

He leans against the railing, shaking his head and still smiling for a second. Things have been weird between us for the past week, but I can’t pinpoint exactly what the problem is. It’s like, for those first few days he was home, Journey was touching me a lot and that was kind of strange, but now he’s going out of his way to not touch me and that’s even weirder somehow.

This morning we were doing farm chores together before the guys got here, and we accidentally grabbed the same spot on a bale of hay we were tossing into the feed stall. Journey acted like he stuck his hand in a pile of manure, jerking away so fast we dropped the bale. And I still don’t have the first clue how to ask him what the hell is going on with him. If this keeps up, I might have to cave and see if the guys at work have any advice, but that’s a last fucking resort considering the amount of teasing I’m sure to get over it.

They’ll probably just say that he’s secretly gay or something equally stupid. I huff into my next sip of coffee, and he raises an eyebrow at me.

“Hm?”

“You’re quiet this morning,” he says.

“I was going to say the same thing to you,” I counter, raising both eyebrows just to one up him.

“I’m just… thinking about some stuff.” He shrugs.

“Same stuff you didn’t want to talk about last week?” I guess, and he nods. “And you still don’t want to talk about it?”

He rubs his chin and shakes his head. “We haven’t even finished our coffee, it’s no time for a deep conversation.”

“Alright,” I say, just like I’ve said every time this week that he’s deflected.

“We should go do something fun tonight. I think I’m just getting a little stir-crazy spending all my time here at the farm,” he suggests.

“Yeah,” I agree. “The guys were talking about that mechanical bull bar tonight. Or we could go do something on our own if you want.”

“The bull thing sounds fun,” he agrees right away. “Sounds like a blast actually, sign me up.”

“Okay, I’ll text them to let them know we’ll be there.”

When we finish our coffee, we get back to farm chores, whiling away the morning getting shit done while Cole and the others assess the state of the house. It’s close to noon by the time they’re finished looking everything over.

“So, what do you think?” I ask, bracing myself to hear that the whole house is one bad storm away from blowing away.

“The foundation is solid and the roof looks great,” Cole says. “Overall, it’s in better shape than it looks. Most of the issues are cosmetic, it’s the mold in the walls that’s the big problem.”

“Yeah, that’s what we figured.” Journey rubs his hand over his chin. “But you can fix it?”

“We can tear the walls out in that bedroom and hallway and replace everything. What we won’t know until we get in there is whether there’s rot in the framework, so let’s cross our fingers on that front.”

Stone pulls a tablet out of his bag and pulls up a calendar on it. “It looks like we can get started in about a week, and I’d expect the labor will take about two to three weeks, assuming that once we’re inside it’s not that worst case scenario.”

“So, another month with just the one bedroom?” Journey fidgets, wiping his hands on his pants and then bouncing his knee.

I frown, trying to figure out what it means. Is he uncomfortable sharing a bed with me? Is that why he’s been quiet and off this week?

“Just about,” Stone says with a nod. “We’ll get it done faster if we can, but Rome wasn’t built on hay.”

“What?” Journey asks.

“You need a solid foundation to do things properly,” Stone explains.

“I think you mean—” Journey starts to correct the idiom, but Cole cuts him off.

“Don’t bother.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “You’ll get used to him.”

“He’s an acquired taste,” Griff adds.

“Hey, I’m delightful.” Stone huffs. “Now, can I ride an alpaca?”

“Why does everyone want to ride them?” I ask. “They’re too small, and I doubt they have the temperament for it.”

“Fair enough. I’ll settle for feeding them treats,” he agrees.

“There’s a bag of chopped up carrots in the fridge.” Journey points him towards the fridge. “Give some to Angie if you see her again too.”

They head out with the baggie of carrots and a promise to email us an estimate for the work later today.

“Listen, a month is a long time. I can sleep on the couch or even start staying at my house again and just swing by in the morning and at night to help out with stuff,” I suggest once we’re alone.

“What? Don’t be stupid. The couch is too small and driving back and forth multiple times every day would be a pain in the ass. Sharing a bed is fine.”

“Are you sure?” I study his face, wishing like hell I was better at this kind of thing. His words sound sincere enough, but that’s not always a guarantee that someone is telling the truth.

I never worried about this shit with Journey before. I always just knew that he meant whatever he said, but now things feel… off and I don’t have the first fucking clue why.

“I’m sure.”

JOURNEY

I’m already feeling more myself as I climb into the passenger side of Red’s truck, both of us dressed for a night out. We had the foresight to bring the animals in early this time because I have every intention of being too drunk to do it later.

He starts his truck and music blares through the speakers immediately while I roll down my window and hang my arm out of it. This is exactly what I need, some time away from the farm to socialize and relax. That’s why I haven’t managed to shake the weird shit from last week. How could I when Red is the only person I’ve seen since then? When I think of it that way, it makes perfect sense that I couldn’t stop noticing the way his muscles were bulging while he hauled hay earlier, or the scent of the cologne he put on tonight.

“Is this another gay bar?” I ask.

“I don’t think so. As much as the guys were joking last time, I can’t imagine there’s actually a need for two gay bars around here.”

I nod. Maybe finding a woman tonight would be a good way to shake off this lingering confusion. For some reason though, the thought makes my skin crawl. And what would I even do? Ditch Red to go to some stranger’s place for a one-night stand? My stomach roils and I give my head a sharp shake to clear the thoughts away. Scratch that idea, I suppose.

I guess I’m sticking with my original plan of getting so wasted I find the reset button on these baffling fucking thoughts.

This bar is a little closer to the farm than the last one was, out in the middle of nowhere with a packed parking lot.

“Looks like this is the place to be tonight,” Red says as we climb out of the truck.

“I guess so.” I spot the familiar cars his friends came in last time as we make our way inside, as well as a couple of four wheelers and a tractor parked near the entrance. I shake my head and grin. Only in farm country.

Loud music hits us as soon as Red pulls open the door. We step inside and spot his friends crowded around a table right up near the mechanical bull at the front of the bar. I nudge Red’s shoulder and point towards them.

He nods, putting a hand on my back so we don’t lose each other as we weave through the crowd. His touch is completely innocent, but I swear I can feel it scorching me right through my shirt, leaving an imprint of his fingers and palm burned into the middle of my back, branding me. My throat tightens and I swallow hard, resisting the urge to shake his hand off to escape the intensity of the feeling.

I stop in my tracks and turn towards him, leaning close so I can talk near his ear. Another whiff of his cologne tickles my nose. It’s spicy and undeniably masculine, the unshakeable scent of motor oil lingering underneath like it always seems to. My stomach flutters and my cock tingles as he leans in to hear me, his hand still against my back.

“I’m going to get drinks.” I point at the bar, and he nods again. “I’ll meet you over there.”

This bar definitely has a more country feel than Wooley’s did, with most people sitting at the bar dressed like they just came from mucking out a stall, which I’m assuming they did. Nothing wrong with it, but I think Wooley’s was actually more my speed. The fact that it’s a gay bar is another thing I’m sticking in the pile of shit I’m refusing to analyze.

When the bartender gets to me, I order a pitcher of beer and a tray of tequila shots. I’m not fucking around tonight. I almost drop the tray a few times on my way over to the table, but I manage to make it with very little alcohol spilled.

I set it down and lean over the tray to suck up the tequila that did slosh over the sides of the shot glasses during the journey.

“Classy,” Auggie says. “Pass one of those over here.”

“Who said I planned to share?”

Red glances at the tray of two dozen shots and back at me. “I’m not driving you to the hospital later.”

I pick up one shot and down it, the alcohol burning on the way down, settling warm in my stomach. “Liar,” I taunt when I set the empty glass back down, before grinning and passing a shot over to Auggie.

“Fine, I would drive you to the hospital, but I’d really prefer not to,” he concedes.

“Alright, I’ll share.” I wave at the tray, inviting the rest of the guys to grab one.

I pass one to Red too and he takes it, tipping his head back and gulping it down, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows it. He sets the glass down hard and wipes the back of his hand over his mouth, my eyes landing on his lips for a fraction of a second. The pit of my stomach burns even hotter now than it did when the tequila settled. A clear sign that I need to drink more and faster if my plan has any hope of working.

“You’re up, Riggs.” Shep stands up from his seat, grabs the back of Riggs’s chair and spins him to face the mechanical bull while I take two more shots in quick succession and then pour myself a beer.

“Excuse you, but I don’t ride a damn thing until I’m good and ready.” His chair scrapes along the wood floor as he turns it back towards the table and grabs another one of the shots off of my tray.

“I’ll go.” Gates hops up. “Now listen everyone, I’m an expert rider, so don’t be intimidated if I last so long that it’s embarrassing for the rest of you.”

Auggie rolls his eyes. “Care to put money on it?”

“Hell yeah,” Steele agrees. “Whoever can last the longest on the bull wins…” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet while everyone else does the same. “Fifty bucks from each of us?”

“I’m in.” Shep tosses a fifty onto the pile, and everyone else follows suit, adding cash one by one.

Tallahassee stacks the bills up neatly once we’ve all anted up, and then stuffs them into an empty beer mug.

“Go get ’em, baby. You’ve got this.” He pinches Gates’s ass playfully.

“It’s in the bag.” He winks at his husband and grins before jogging up onto the padded platform and mounting the bull.

Everyone’s attention is on the first attempt to ride the bull, but for some reason I can’t stop looking over at Tallahassee. Specifically, the way he’s watching Gates, like the man hung the moon and invented oxygen on the same day. It’s not like I’ve never seen people in love before—I live in the world, and my parents had a pretty solid relationship growing up. But the idea of it for myself always felt like more of a nuisance than anything.

The look in Tallahassee's eyes doesn’t seem like he thinks being tied to Gates is a nuisance. My gaze wanders over to where Porter is perched on Steele’s lap, cheering for Gates on the bull, Steele’s chin resting on his shoulder and an arm loosely around his waist.

Is that what these feelings are? Maybe they have nothing to do with Red at all and are just a sudden urge to settle down with someone. I’m not traveling anymore… It could be nice to meet someone special, have someone to wake up next to every morning and share lazy weekends with. Someone to laugh and grow old with.

I turn my head to look at Red and my stomach clenches. I already have that though, don’t I?

A roar of applause and catcalls suddenly burst from everyone at the table as Gates is tossed free of the bull, laughing as he lands on the mat, then standing up to take a bow.

“Twenty-eight whole seconds. Way to intimidate us,” Porter taunts as Gates struts back over to the table.

“Hey, that shit is harder than it looks. Let’s see you beat twenty-eight seconds.”

Porter gulps down what’s left of the beer in his glass and stands up. “Usually a bull rides me, but I’m still pretty sure I can beat twenty-eight seconds.”

“I fucking knew that little nerd was a total power top,” Shep says, and Steele just grins shamelessly.

Porter makes it twenty seconds and gives Gates the finger in response to the taunting he receives when he returns to the table. One by one, everyone takes their turn while I focus pretty hard on my mission to get absolutely plastered.

When Riggs finally takes his turn, he wipes the floor with everyone else who’s gone so far, holding on with just one hand and staying on for a full minute without breaking a sweat. It’s actually kind of mesmerizing to watch the way his hips move, following the motion of the bull’s bucks instead of trying to fight them like everyone else seemed to.

He blows a kiss at Shep, which I think is meant to be a fuck you for all the teasing, but Shep doesn’t seem to get that message, his eyes fixed on the pocket sized, weirdly intimidating man until the bull stops and Riggs dismounts gracefully.

“Eat dicks, losers,” he says as he saunters back to the table with an extra sway in his hips.

“No way I’m going to beat that,” Red says, nudging the mug of money towards Riggs.

“Oh, come on, you have to try,” I urge, pushing on his shoulder but somehow managing to nearly knock myself out of my chair instead. I chuckle and then hiccup as the room spins. Red’s fingers wrap firmly around my bicep, pulling me upright at the last second before I can topple onto the floor. “Shit, is this floor crooked or what?”

I look down at the ground while an echo of laughter ripples around the table.

“Super crooked,” Shep assures me with a grin. “But he’s right, Red, you’ve gotta take a turn.”

“Fine,” Red says, standing up. “But don’t let him drink any more.” He pushes my tray of unfinished shots across the table, out of my reach.

Auggie salutes him and takes two of the shots for himself.

My body is buzzing from the alcohol, my thoughts fuzzy as I watch him make his way up to the platform. As he swings one leg over the bull, a hilarious idea hits me, and I grin. I push my chair back from the table and get to my feet. I don’t have time for the curious looks the guys all give me, I only have a couple of seconds if I’m going to make it in time.

I bump into someone standing near our table, muttering a quick apology before darting up onto the platform just as Red is pressing the button to start the bull. I grab on to the rope hanging down from the ceiling and swing myself onto the bull, landing right in Red’s lap, facing him.

“What are you—” he starts to ask, but before he can get the question out, the bull bucks forward.

I cackle as I’m slammed backwards, Red’s body crashing into mine. The next buck sends us the other direction, nearly unseating me. I scramble to grab on to his shirt as I fly forward, further onto his lap, our chests colliding, my face only an inch from his. My breath catches and I realize that the position we’re in is a bit awkward with my legs straddling his, our dicks…

I glance between us, heat flaring over my skin as it occurs to me that we’re pressed together there too.

The bull spins and lurches as it picks up speed, tossing us back and forth against each other. All I can do is brace myself against him, tightening my grip on his shirt as we collide over and over. The fifth time that I’m thrown into his lap, I’m met with something hard and thick. It bumps against my dick, the feeling of it shooting heat up my spine and making my cock stiffen.

Oh fuck. It’s his cock. My eyes go wide, and my dick gets even harder. We’re jolted the other direction again, our bodies parting for a fraction of a second before momentum flings us together again. He gasps, his hands tightening on my hips, making me realize for the first time that he’s clinging on to me just as hard as I am to him.

My cock jerks against his hardness. Can he feel that? Can he feel through our jeans that I’m so fucking turned on right now that I might end up embarrassing myself? Heat flashes through his eyes and the wild, drunken, crazy thought crosses my mind that I wonder what it would be like to lean in and kiss him. Would he kiss me back?

A buzzer sounds and the bull stops, the sound of whistles and cheering from his friends pull me back to reality. I scramble off Red’s lap and he just stares at me, still sitting atop the bull for several of the longest seconds of my life before he climbs off.

“A minute and a half, dammit,” Riggs complains, walking up to the platform and shoving the wad of cash into my hand. “Although, that kind of seemed like cheating to double up.”

“Nah,” Auggie argues. “If anything, having Journey in the mix only made it harder.”

I give a weak laugh at the innuendo as heat creeps up my cheeks and I try to discreetly adjust my erection to make sure they won’t notice.

“Here, you earned this.” I try to hand the cash over to Red, but he waves it away.

“Keep it.” His tone is gruff and clipped. Is he pissed? It’s hard to tell. Maybe he’s as thrown off as I am that we just inadvertently dry humped each other in front of his friends. Just because he’s gay doesn’t mean he’s ever thought of me that way before. “Hey, I’m sorry,” I say more quietly this time. “It was just a joke.”

“It was funny.” He’s looking anywhere but at me as we sit back down at the table and I stuff the money into my pocket, planning to sneak it into his wallet later if I get the chance.

I reach for another shot and Red doesn’t stop me or even say a word, and neither does anyone else. After the pointed comments the last time we went out, I’m expecting the jokes to start any second now, but aside from the single innuendo Auggie made, no one says anything. The conversation turns to cars, and I tune it out, leaning into the white noise of the bar and my own thoughts instead.

My cock is still hard, every cell in my body overstimulated and jittery, the alcohol doing nothing to dampen it. Was my reaction purely friction? Was Red’s?

My plan to drink away these thoughts clearly blew up in my face. So where does that leave me?

Chapter 10

RED

I step into the bathroom of the bar, every inch of my body wound tight. My bones feel like they’re vibrating, and my skin feels feverish and hot. All from a minute and a half of having Journey on my lap, practically humping each other as that damn bull threw us back and forth.

I stride straight to the sink and crank on the cold water, cupping my hands under the faucet and bending down to splash my face. My dick is still hard as steel, refusing to listen to any amount of logic that none of that was real. Journey is trashed and it was meant as a joke, that’s it. And whatever I think I might have felt while we were inadvertently grinding against each other was nothing more than a product of friction.

I look directly into my reflection in the mirror over the sink, water dripping off of the tip of my nose and clinging to my facial hair. “Journey is straight,” I tell myself as sternly as I can manage before reaching over to grab a handful of paper towels.

The door creaks open and I glance into the mirror again to see Journey stepping into the bathroom. I wad up the damp paper towels and toss them blindly into the trash while ignoring the fresh flash of heat that spikes through me at seeing him.

“You okay?” he asks, pausing just inside the door to stare at me. I nod silently, and he stands stock still, his eyes on me for several long seconds before he finally heads to the urinals.

I linger, washing my hands while I wait for him. “You about ready to go home?” I ask when he’s finished up.

“Yeah, I’d better before I get any more wasted and do something stupid.” I snort a laugh and he cracks a grin. “Something else stupid,” he amends.

“Hey, at least we won.” I shrug, determined to file this whole night into the box of guilty pleasures that I hope my best friend never finds.

“Hell yeah,” he agrees. “Three hundred and fifty bucks for a minute and a half riding a bull? Not a bad night’s work if I do say so myself.”

“Normally I last longer,” I quip, and he throws his head back to laugh loudly, breaking the tension between us.

“I’m sure it’s been a while,” he teases with a wink.

He washes his hands, and we head out of the bathroom together, stopping at the table to let everyone know we’re heading out.

“Hey, text me your address. I’m going to swing by tomorrow to take a look at that tractor for you,” Riggs says. I send him the address and we say goodbye to everyone.

Journey is unsteady on his feet as we make our way out to my pickup, weaving as he walks and stumbling a few times. We step out onto the uneven pavement of the parking lot and I grab on to his arm, looping it over my neck so I can steady him rather than having to scoop him up off of it when he inevitably faceplants and ends up picking stray pieces of gravel out of his pretty face.

He leans into me, taking the help without argument. His skin is warm, and his weight makes my heart beat faster again, my cock returning to full stiffness in a matter of seconds.

“Want to hear something sad?” His voice is even more slurred now, the sheer volume of alcohol he drank in such a short time clearly taking him down quickly.

“Sure,” I say as we reach the truck.

“That was more exciting than almost all of the actual sex I’ve had in my life,” he confesses and then lets out a drunken giggle while my stomach swoops and my cock jerks eagerly.

“I, uh—” I clear my throat, guiding him to lean against the truck bed while I unlock the door. What the fuck am I actually supposed to say to that?

“What’s sex with a dude like?” he asks. “All that sweat and body hair, grunting and…” Journey trails off, a glassy, far-off look in his eyes. I can’t be sure in the dark parking lot, but I could swear he’s blushing too.

My own face burns hot at the question. Is he drunk enough that I can just ignore him, and he’ll have forgotten this whole conversation by the morning?

“Sweat, body hair, and grunting pretty much covers it,” I mutter, guiding him into the passenger side of the truck. He pulls the seatbelt across his body, but then fumbles trying to get it clicked into place, grumbling to himself as he tries a few times and continues to fail.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and pray to the god of turbo engines to grant me some fucking strength as I climb up to reach over him. The heat of his body surrounds me again in an instant as I get his seatbelt clicked closed. His chest rises and falls with each breath he takes, the movement brushing against me as I lean over him, bringing with it too many damn thoughts of what it would be like to be properly wrapped around him, without an inch of space or a layer of clothing between us.

I swallow hard and start to pull back.

“Is it hot though?” he asks before I can lean back out of the truck. “Sex with a guy.”

I pull my eyebrows together, trying to figure out why he’s even stuck on this line of conversation. Because he felt me get hard while we were on the bull? My face heats again. Of course that’s why. I hope to fuck he doesn’t remember any of this tomorrow.

“I’m gay, of course I think it’s hot.”

“Right,” he mumbles.

I step back, wiping my sweating palms on my jeans before closing his door and going around to climb in on my own side.

“How do guys know if they want to be on top or bottom during sex?” Journey asks as soon as I get in.

“Jesus fuck,” I mutter, leaning forward and banging my head on the steering wheel a few times. “Can we talk about anything other than sex?”

“Oh, yeah.” He falls silent. I’m not sure if he’s embarrassed that he was talking so much about dudes fucking or if he can’t come up with a topic of conversation outside of gay sex, either way, we drive home without another word.

Cornelius is lying across the bottom step of the front porch when we get home, curled up and purring. He cracks open his eye when the motion sensitive porch light flicks on, but otherwise stays where he is. I steady Journey again just to make sure he doesn’t trip over the cat or stumble on the stairs. As soon as we’re inside though, I shrug his arm off, desperately in need of a little space before I spontaneously combust or die from the worst case of blue balls known to man.

He starts down the hallway while I linger near the entrance to the living room, the musty furniture still in need of replacement. I really have to find the time to move my furniture over here.

“Are you coming to bed?” Journey asks, stuttering to a halt when he notices I’m not behind him anymore.

“I’m not tired yet. You go, I’m going to stay up and work on my Legos for a while.”

He leans against the wall, looking at me for several seconds with an expression that’s too complicated to tease apart and interpret.

“Okay,” he says after what feels like forever, then he turns and disappears around the corner towards the bedroom.

As soon as he’s gone, I let out a breath and my shoulders sag. I unbutton my jeans and reach inside to readjust my throbbing erection, otherwise ignoring the urge to jerk off while reimagining the events of the night so that Journey and I were alone… and naked.

I groan quietly and lean against the wall, banging my head there just like I did on the steering wheel. I’m bound to knock some sense into myself if I try hard enough, right? I can hear the creaking and rustling of Journey getting ready for bed for the next few minutes, and I stand rooted on my spot. Making sure he gets into bed okay considering how drunk he is? Maybe. Or maybe I’m just waiting for this night to make some sense. Was I imagining Journey’s physical reaction? Should I be reading anything into his sudden drunken obsession with gay sex?

I rub my hands over my face and sigh. I’m not going to figure out answers to any of this right now. Sparing myself the torture of sharing a bed with him tonight and letting Journey sleep it off is all I can do right now.

I finally kick off my shoes and head into the living room, still listening for any sign that he might need a puke bucket or anything else while I carefully carry my Lego castle over to the coffee table along with the little bottle of model glue I use as I build, and I get to work.

*****

There’s light streaming through the window when I startle awake, my neck aching from the unnatural position I fell asleep in, one leg tingling from hanging off the cramped sofa for however many hours I’ve been sleeping.

I blink the haze from my eyes, sitting up with a yawn and trying to figure out what the hell time it is. Journey steps into the living room with a steaming mug in each hand, doing his best impression of a zombie with an exhausted shuffle, bags under his eyes, and a waxy look to his skin.

“I’m never drinking again,” he mutters, handing me one of the mugs and then plopping down on the couch next to me.

I chuckle and take a sip, groaning out loud at the divine taste of coffee hitting my tongue. “Is the rooster sleeping in or what?” I ask, glancing towards the window. “It’s gotta be late.”

“I already got up and fed them.” He yawns, slouching down in his seat and blinking slowly like he might fall back asleep at any second.

“Why didn’t you wake me up to help?”

“I was too busy trying to get through it without hurling to have logical thoughts like that. It’s done now, so you can make it up to me by helping me muck the stalls,” he bargains.

“Fair enough,” I agree. “How uh… how are you feeling?” I ask delicately.

“Like shit.” He drags his fingers through his already sleep-mussed hair, making it even messier.

“No, I know. I meant…” I clear my throat and take another sip of my coffee. Maybe it’s better to let sleeping dogs lie. If he doesn’t remember last night, then bringing it up will only trigger his memory. And if he does, there’s not a hell of a lot to rehash anyway.

“Why did you let me drink so much anyway?” he asks, and I snort.

“Was I supposed to stop you? You were sober when you bought a whole tray of tequila shots for yourself,” I point out.

Journey groans. “Oh god, don’t say that.” He covers his mouth and breathes through his nose. “Never say the T word again.”

“Consider it banned,” I agree, hiding my amusement behind my mug.

We finish our coffee and then head down to the barn to clean out the stalls. The smell of manure doesn’t do a hell of a lot to settle Journey’s stomach, and I wish I could say I took the high road, but that would be a lie. I waved shovels full of cow shit in front of him until he puked in the grass and then left me to finish up on my own after giving me the finger.

Cornelius keeps me company while I toss fresh bedding into the stalls, and he even trots after me back towards the house when we’re done. Of course, he keeps a safe enough distance that I can’t make any attempt to pet him, but I still think we’re getting somewhere.

When I’m about to head inside for a shower, Riggs’s bright red mustang comes rumbling up the driveway, coming to a stop behind my pickup. He gets out and I dust my dirty hands off on my jeans before making my way over to greet him. Angie comes barreling out of the tall grasses with a loud moo at the same time. I swear she’s worse than a puppy, running up to greet and lick anyone who comes to the farm. Maybe we can train her to attack and have our very own guard cow.

“Oh, my fucking god,” Riggs says with obvious glee, opening his arms like he’s actually expecting her to jump on him like a dog. Considering she weighs nearly half a ton, I don’t think it would be quite as adorable as he’s expecting.

“That’s Angie,” I introduce him as she snakes her tongue out in search of treats. “Here.” I reach into my pocket and pull out some of the hay that ended up in there, handing it to Riggs to offer to her.

“She definitely looks big enough for me to ride her. It’s not like I weigh that much.” He pats her head while she munches on the hay.

“We can’t even keep her out of the kitchen, but if you want to try your hand at taming this bull-headed girl, I can’t stop you.” I would try to stop him if he actually pulled out a saddle, but there’s something about Riggs that gives the distinct impression that the harder you try to tell him not to do something, the more he’ll want to.

He coos at her scratching behind both ears and kissing the top of her head. “She’s a free spirit, I get it. Stay wild at heart, baby girl.”

She moos again, which Riggs seems to take as proof of their solidarity before she lumbers off.

“The tractor is down this way. When Jane gave us a tour of the place, she said it just stopped running. I don’t think she even had anyone out to look at it.” I point in the direction of the rusting tractor. Riggs pops open his trunk and pulls out a toolbox that looks like it weighs as much as he does, then follows me.

He whistles when he sees the tractor. “This is a classic.” He pats the solid frame and sets down his tools. “Let’s see what we’re working with.” The hood groans in protest as he opens it and starts poking around. I climb up onto the seat and lean forward over the large steering wheel to watch him work.

“Your uncle must have known what he was doing. A lot of these parts have already been replaced over the years.”

“Journey’s uncle,” I correct. “So, you think it’s fixable?”

“Definitely. I wouldn’t let a beautiful machine like this go to waste.”

I nod vehemently in agreement. “People these days are too quick to toss things into a landfill the second they cause a little trouble.”

“That they are.” He pulls his greasy hands out of the engine and stoops to sift through his toolbox.

I let him work, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel and occasionally glancing towards the house. Every so often, I catch a glimpse of Journey through the window and my gut twists with anxiety and confusion. He’s been so strange since he came home, and then everything that happened last night… It’s like a puzzle I can’t solve because there are too many damn pieces missing.

“How’s he feeling this morning?” Riggs asks.

“Who?” I tear my gaze away from the house.

He looks up from what he’s doing and smirks at me. “Santa Claus.” I frown and he chuckles, shaking his head. “Journey. How is Journey feeling this morning?”

“Oh.” I run my hand over the stubble on my jaw, my eyes going immediately towards the house again without my permission. “Hungover.”

“That’s a given.”

I brace for Riggs to bring up the bull ride or find another subtle way to make a joke about how close Journey and I are, but he doesn’t say anything else. I shift in the seat, half hoping he will say something just so I can ask for someone on the outside to analyze whatever the fuck is going on here.

Fuck it, I’m asking anyway.

“Straight guys fuck around like that, right? The whole mechanical bull thing…”

“I don’t have the first fucking clue what straight guys do,” he says.

“I thought I did.” I sigh.

“Have you considered that he’s not straight?”

I narrow my eyes, my blood pressure rising instantly as my pulse thunders in my ears and my body heats with irritation. “Why can’t everyone just fucking drop it? Journey is straight. If he weren’t, he would have found the time to mention it to me at some point in the last thirty-some years of our friendship.”

“You’re assuming he knew,” he points out. “And I’m not saying he’s a flaming gay like you or me, but lots of people realize they’re bisexual later in life.” He shrugs one shoulder, and the words dry up in my throat.

“You think he could be bi?” I immediately tamp down the flutter of hope that comes to life in the pit of my stomach. Even if Journey does have an unexpected late in life bisexual awakening, it doesn’t mean he would look at me as anything other than a friend.

Fuck, watching him fall in love with some guy might actually be worse than watching him fall for a woman. I clench my teeth and jiggle my leg, refusing to let myself picture him cuddling and kissing some faceless man who’s not good enough for Journey even if he’s fucking fictional.

“I honestly have no idea. There was major undeniable heat between you on that bull last night though. I think even the straight-as-an-arrow farmers sitting at the bar got a little hot and bothered watching the two of you.”

I huff and shake my head. “So what do I do? I can’t just go in there and ask him if he woke up with a particular craving for dick recently.”

Riggs cackles. “No, I wouldn’t. I don’t know, man, I’m fucking hopeless when it comes to feelings and relationships and shit. I’m going to die alone surrounded by ferrets. If I were in Journey’s shoes though, I’d want space to work it out. Someone asking me difficult questions would just piss me off.”

“Just give him some space?”

“If and when he’s ready to talk about it, I’m sure he will.”

I bob my head, considering what he’s saying. He’s right, I would fucking hate it if I were trying to figure something like that out and someone badgered me about it.

“Okay, yeah. Thanks, I appreciate the advice.”

“What are semi-friendly coworkers for?” he says, pulling his hands out and wiping them on his jeans again, leaving black streaks that are unlikely to ever wash out. “Alright, start her up, let’s see if that did the trick.”

I turn the key that’s still in the ignition and the tractor rumbles to life, purring like brand new. “You’re a magician.”

“Nah, you’ve just gotta know how to talk nice to them.” He closes the hood and I turn it back off.

“Thanks again. You want to come up to the house for breakfast or lunch? I don’t even know what time it is.”

“No problem, and thanks, but I’ve got a bunch of shit I need to do today. I’ll catch you at the garage tomorrow though.”

I hop off of the tractor, stuffing the key into my pocket, and walk Riggs back to his car, waving as he backs out of the driveway.

I shove my hands into my pockets and lean against the porch railing for a few minutes. Give Journey space to work through whatever this is and hope he talks to me when he’s ready.

I can do that.

JOURNEY

I brace my hands against the kitchen counter, my face hot and my dick painfully hard as I try and fail to shake the barrage of images that flip through my mind on a loop like a filthy slideshow. Red’s face inches from mine, his hot breath fanning over my lips, the stiff, hard outline of his cock dragging against mine as our hips move and thrust, pushing me closer and closer to the kind of body quaking, head spinning orgasm that’s only ever existed in my fantasies. The thoughts are part hazy, drunken memory and part embarrassing wet dream.

This morning, I woke up gasping and humping my pillow like a horny teenager, with my sweat soaked shirt clinging to my skin and my dick pulsing a hot, sticky orgasm inside of my boxer briefs. I shiver at the memory, and I wish I could say it’s in horror.

I reach down to adjust my erection and let out a slow breath through my nose. I didn’t think about sex this much when I was going through puberty, for fuck’s sake. The sound of the front door opening and closing forces me to push away from the counter and grab a paper towel to mop the sweat off my face while desperately willing my dick to fucking chill already.

“Tractor’s fixed,” Red announces as he strides into the kitchen, going straight for the cupboard next to me and pulling out a glass to fill with water from the sink.

“That’s great. It’ll make it a hell of a lot easier to get chores done around here.”

“Right,” he says, setting down his empty glass after downing the water in a few gulps. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Great. Don’t I seem fine?” I run both hands through my hair and smile at him in a way that I’m sure is more manic murder clown than convincingly “great.”

Red frowns, studying me silently for several seconds. “I meant the hangover.”

“Oh.” I let my shoulders sag. “Yeah, actually I still feel like shit. Puking helped though.”

He wrinkles his nose. “You should go back to bed, sleep it off.”

Bed sounds incredible, but with the weird place my head is today, if I go back to bed, I’m bound to spend the whole day quietly jerking off, thinking about my best friend. My face flushes white hot at the thought and my breath catches.

“Whoa.” Red steps forward and puts a hand on my forehead. “Do you feel dizzy? You should sit down.”

I sway into his touch for just a minute before coming to my senses and batting his hand away. “I’m fine. There’s too much to do for me to go back to bed.”

“There’s not that much to do. I took care of the morning chores, and I can handle anything else that comes up today,” he offers, still looking at me with concern etched into his features, standing close with his arms slightly outstretched like he’s preparing to catch me at any second if I do faint. A fluttering feeling fills the pit of my stomach and the unnerving urge to lean in and press my lips against his washes over me.

Would he taste the way he smells? Like sweat and motor oil? That should sound disgusting, so why is the thought of it making this stupid fluttering feeling even worse? I lick my lips and his eyes follow the movement. It’s almost imperceptible the way he glances down and then away quickly as if he’s afraid he’s going to get caught watching me too closely.

“The alpacas are late being sheared… shorn?” I blurt, desperate for a distraction before my heart can manage to beat straight out of my chest. “The binder says it should have been done in the spring, but with Uncle Milt being sick, it never happened. If we don’t do it soon, they won’t have time for their coats to grow back thick enough for winter.”

Red’s forehead crinkles and then smooths as he catches up to the change of topic. “Okay, yeah, we should do that. Did the binder give any hints about how to do it?”

I shake my head. “We could look up some videos. It’s just shaving them, right? How hard can it be?”

“Right.” He nods, taking his phone out and then pulling a chair away from the table to sit down.

I join him at the table, inching my chair close to his so I can see the video he finds. I fold my arms on the table and lean in to share the small screen, his arm an inch away from mine and somehow still raising goosebumps on my skin from his proximity. He hits the play button and I force my attention towards the screen instead of the slow, steady sound of Red’s breaths and the heat that’s radiating off of him in a weirdly inviting way.

The woman in the video is blonde and chipper, explaining the process while a well-behaved alpaca stands beside her, letting her use him as a prop to demonstrate.

“It doesn’t seem like it hurts them or anything,” I say, watching the relaxed expression on the animal’s face.

“It’s basically a haircut,” Red agrees. “By the way, what do we do with the fleece when we’re done?”

“The binder lists the number of a guy who buys it. He turns it into sweaters and stuff, I guess,” I answer, my eyes still glued to the screen as she prompts the alpaca to lie down and then easily rolls him onto his back to shave his underside. “Alright, this should be a piece of cake. We’ll take an hour, run through each one, bag up the fleece, and boom, we’re done.”

“Easy.” He bobs his head, ending the video and putting his phone back into his pocket.

It takes us a few minutes to get everything ready. We find the electric shears hanging in the kitchen pantry, along with a box of heavy duty garbage bags, and then I call the number in the binder, explaining to the man on the other end that I took over the farm from Uncle Milt. After some condolences and small talk, the man, Ned, tells me to swing by anytime with the fleece to sell and then gives me his address.

“Let’s do this.” I clap my hands and then rub them together, leading Red out through the kitchen door and down to the barn.

“Should we bring them in one at a time and do it in the aisle?” he suggests.

“That should work. Hold on though, are we supposed to give them a bath first or anything? The video didn’t say. You think Ned just buys the fleece with grass and twigs all stuck in there?”

“Hm, good point. I guess a bath first makes sense. But how do we dry them after? We don’t want to give him wet fleece.” Red strokes his chin, considering the problem. After a minute, he snaps his fingers. “Maybe we need a blow dryer? I don’t have a blow dryer. Do you?” he asks.

I arch an eyebrow at my best friend. “Do I look like I have a blow dryer?” I wave at my short hair. I glance around, my eyes landing on a leaf blower hanging with some of the other tools at the far end of the barn. “Bingo.” I hurry over and lift it off its wall hook.

Red unravels the hose and brings the nozzle end over to the designated spot, then plucks one of the leads off of the wall next to Angie’s stall and goes to get the first alpaca. He leads the black and white one in a minute later, the animal’s ears back and a distinctly suspicious look in his eyes.

“It’s fine, buddy,” I assure him. “Is this one Todd?”

“Tim,” Red corrects. “Or Ted?”

“Fuck if I know.” I shrug. “Tim it is.” I pat his neck and his ears flick up and then back again.

Red ties the lead to a nearby post and then picks up the hose, gently pulling back on the spray handle until a shower of water starts to rain from it. Tim rears back, showing off his bottom teeth and making a significantly more annoyed sound this time.

“Whoa, you’re fine,” Red says soothingly, but the alpaca is not buying it, stomping his feet as the water comes closer and then bucking when he actually starts to get wet. He tosses his head from side to side, trying to break free from the tie, and when that doesn’t work, he opts for spitting instead.

“Oh shit,” I dodge the projectile while Red starts to laugh.

Tim kicks out his back legs, one hoof coming dangerously close to nailing Red in the balls. He jumps back just in time, cursing as he dodges the attempted blow.

“Maybe a bath isn’t the best idea.” He sets the hose down and holds his hands up to show Tim that he’s no longer armed with the water weapon. “What if we wash and dry the fleece in the laundry when we’re done?”

“It’s better than getting spat on and kicked in the balls. Alright, no bath, just a nice haircut,” I assure the alpaca, shrugging the leaf blower off of my shoulder and setting it down before picking up the shears.

I turn them on far away from him so he can get used to the sound, his ears still flat against his head as he stares daggers at me.

“Maybe we should have had him watch that video so he could see how happy and relaxed that other alpaca was,” I mutter, and Red snorts.

“I’m not sure he would have trusted such blatant propaganda. The woman in the video probably sedated her alpaca beforehand.”

Tim snorts and rumbles as I get closer, pulling his head back and threatening more spit.

“Hold on to his head so he can’t bite me or anything while I do this,” I tell Red.

“Why do I always get the worst job?” he complains.

I hold out the shears to him. “Be my guest.”

He waves them away, carefully moving around to the front of the alpaca. Red manages to get Tim into a gentle headlock without getting spat on or bitten. Even with all of these distractions, I still manage to notice the way his bicep bulges as he holds the head safely away from me.

The shearing itself is as easy as it looked once Tim realizes we’re not trying to murder him. I shave him in long strips just like the video showed, separating his fleece into different colored piles on the floor. Rather than attempt to roll him over, I get down on my knees, watching his legs for any sign that he’s winding up for a kick, and I shave his underside that way.

One by one we bring the alpacas in, Red and I taking turns manning the head while the other wields the clippers. Needless to say, it takes a hell of a lot longer than an hour to do them all.

By the time we’re finished, we’re both drenched in sweat, our stomachs rumbling.

“Piece of cake,” Red mocks with a grin, swinging one of the large bags of fleece over his shoulder.

“I stand corrected,” I concede, holding up my hands in surrender.

“Yeah, yeah.” Red picks up another bag and swings it towards me. I catch it with a laugh, surprised at how light the bulging bags actually are.

We gather them all up and make our way back up to the house to try Red’s laundry idea. Wrestling alpacas was a good distraction, but now that we’re done, my thoughts ricochet right back to where they were this morning. It’s like thoughts of getting naked with my best friend are magnetic. They’re inescapable.

So, what? Am I just supposed to wait them out? What if they never go away? Can I live the next fifty years in this house with Red, constantly picturing him sweaty and bare underneath me, thinking over and over about what it would feel like to kiss him?

A lump forms in my throat as I follow him on autopilot down the rickety wooden steps into the musty smelling basement laundry, my thoughts swirling. When we reach the bottom, he opens up the washing machine and empties one bag into it, then turns it on. We set the rest down beside the machine, so we can do them one at a time.

My heart hammers so hard that I can barely hear anything over the whooshing rush of my pulse pounding in my ears, more of the same horny, hazy images playing through my mind while Red is completely oblivious, unloading clean clothes from the dryer into a laundry basket to bring upstairs. He leans into the machine to reach the clothes in the back, his ass up, drawing my attention to the way his jeans strain over his round cheeks.

He stands back up and I find myself walking towards him without any conscious decision to do so. Maybe there’s something to that magnet analogy after all. Or maybe my body knows what my brain is much more slowly starting to realize… That the only way I’m going to shake this off is to follow through. I won’t need to spend fifty years wondering what it will feel like to kiss Red if I kiss him right now.

He turns around, looking surprised to find me so close. Just like earlier in the kitchen, I catch a momentary flicker of his gaze towards my mouth, and something about it, about knowing that maybe Red has wondered once or twice about kissing me too… It’s like a match tossed onto dry kindling.

“Are you—” he starts to ask but doesn’t finish getting the words out before I thread my fingers through his hair and slam my mouth into his.

Red’s lips are full and soft, the salty flavor of his sweat hitting my tongue immediately. The rough scratch of his facial hair against my cheeks makes it impossible to pretend this is anything other than what it is. I’m kissing a man. I’m kissing Red.

He’s perfectly still, the rise and fall of his chest with each breath is the only sign that he hasn’t died of complete shock on the spot. His lips are motionless and his arms hang limply at his sides while I hold my mouth against his for several of the longest seconds of my life before I realize that Red isn’t doing anything. He isn’t pushing me away, but he’s not kissing me back either.

Fuck.

I rear back as fast as I can, already stuttering out an apology before I’ve even finished untangling my fingers from his hair. “Shit, fuck, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what—”

Red stares at me with his lips parted, slightly damp from mine, his eyes clouded with confusion, that little wrinkle in his forehead just like it always is when he’s working to catch up with something that’s thrown him off. But before I can get my rambling sentence out, he grabs the front of my shirt and hauls me back.

I gasp when our mouths meet again. His lips part this time to deepen the kiss, moving against mine in a slow, exploratory way that heats my skin instantly and tugs at the pit of my stomach, stroking my cock to life. Red’s tongue teases along my bottom lip like he’s asking permission for more, polite and demanding at the same time, coaxing mine out to tangle and stroke with his, trading between his mouth and mine.

The foggy, alcohol-soaked memory of the two of us on the bull last night resurfaces in my mind, the push-pull of the mechanical bucking as out of control as this moment feels, like I could be thrown off at any moment and there’s nothing I can do to hold on.

My breath comes out in shaky pants between deep, hungry kisses while Red’s muffled moans vibrate around my tongue. He backs me up against the washing machine, rocking back and forth noisily. The thick, hard outline of his cock presses against mine and my balls tighten dizzyingly fast, my erection jerking with the threat of spilling at any moment.

I draw in another sharp breath, all of the clouded, lust-addled parts of my brain coming back online at once with the very real awareness that Red’s tongue is in my mouth and I really fucking like it.

I put my hands against his chest, not sure if I’m planning to pull him closer or push him away until I actually do it. I barely shove him—maybe there’s part of me hoping he won’t notice at all, and we’ll be able to just keep kissing. But he does. Red stops instantly, a wild, caged look in his eyes as he wrenches back from the kiss and takes a big step back.

The sounds of our ragged breaths and the rushing and rattling of the washing machine fill the moment of otherwise stunned silence between us, Red and I stare at each other with our mouths open, neither of us doing a damn thing to hide the obvious bulges in our jeans.

“I have to go,” I mutter, pushing off of the washing machine and racing up the stairs, stumbling more than once on shaky knees as I careen out of the basement and then out of the house, not even taking another breath until I’m in my car, pulling down the driveway without a backward glance.

Chapter 11

JOURNEY

I don’t have a conscious thought about where I’m going. To be honest, I don’t have a conscious thought about anything, driving in a daze, completely on autopilot until gravel crunches under my tires and I realize I’m pulling into the parking lot of Wooley’s.

It’s only mid-afternoon, so the place is practically empty. I swing into one of the open spots and consider just backing right out and going somewhere else. Why my near catatonic brain brought me to a gay bar is anyone’s guess. But fuck it. It’s not like I have anywhere else to go. I’ve been away so long I’m practically a stranger in the town I grew up in. The only friend I have is Red, and I just had my tongue down his throat, so that’s no refuge. I could go to Meg’s place, but then I would have to tell her what happened, and no way am I doing that before I figure it out myself.

I guess a gay bar I’ve been to exactly once where it’s unlikely anyone will know me is as good a place as any right about now. I turn off the car and get out, stuffing my keys into my pocket and heading towards the door.

As soon as I step inside, the smell of alcohol makes my stomach turn. There are only a few customers inside, one sitting at the bar and two others playing pool in the corner. The same long-haired bartender from the other night is behind the bar, wiping glasses and mouthing along with the song that’s playing through the speakers. Sawyer, if I remember right.

He looks up as I approach the bar, and grins. “Hey, straight guy.”

A weak laugh gets stuck in my throat. Straight guys totally nearly cream their jeans while licking their best friend’s tonsils and grinding cocks, right?

“Hey, married guy,” I reply, sliding onto a stool at the bar and folding my arms on the smooth, clean bar top.

“Beer?” he guesses, and bile rises in my throat at the thought of even a single drop of alcohol entering my system after what I did to myself last night.

“Do you have any ginger ale?”

“Coming right up.” He ducks under the counter and pulls out a can of ginger ale, then pours it into a glass with ice for me and passes it across the bar. Then he fills up a small basket with mixed nuts and slides those in my direction as well.

“Thanks.” I pick up a few nuts and toss them into my mouth. My stomach growls, reminding me that I haven’t really eaten anything today.

“Are you hoping I’ll do my best impression of Sam Malone and ask you about your troubles, or should I leave you to contemplate life on your own over your glass of ginger ale?” he asks, and I chuckle.

Do I want to spill my guts to this perfect stranger just because he’s standing behind the bar? I have to admit, there is a certain appeal to it. Maybe it’s a cliché for a reason.

“Did you always know you were gay?” I ask, taking a sip from my drink and letting the ginger and carbonation settle my tender stomach.

“I used to hold weddings for my G.I. Joes, so yeah, pretty much,” he answers, and my heart sinks.

“That’s the thing, right? People know when they’re young. You’re born with your sexuality, so of course you would know.” I think I’m talking more to myself than to him, staring at the tiny bubbles clinging to the inside of my glass and convincing myself that whatever it was I felt when Red kissed me back, it can’t mean what I think it does.

“Most people,” he agrees. “But not all.”

I look up from my glass to find him leaning on the bar, his arms folded and his long blond hair hanging around his shoulders as he studies me with a more somber look than he had when I sat down.

“Okay, so some people figure it out in college,” I concede. I remember plenty of people I went to university with experimenting with their sexuality, sometimes deciding afterwards that they’re bisexual or gay, sometimes writing it off as the college experience.

“Some people figure it out later too.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal to be sitting in a gay bar at forty years old having an identity crisis after possibly blowing up a lifelong friendship over a curiosity I just couldn’t shake.

“How? How can I have gone forty years without looking at a man that way and now all of a sudden I can’t stop? It’s not like I’m some raging homophobe terrified of my own sexuality, ignoring and repressing it my whole damn life. Hell, I’ve barely even had a sexuality, and that was working just fine.” I put my hands over my face, immediately regretting blurting so much personal information out to a complete stranger.

“Listen, here’s the thing no one talks about all that much,” Sawyer says, coming around the bar and taking the seat next to me. “Almost nothing in life is black or white. Most things are a spectrum, and that includes sexuality. Some people fall to one extreme or the other: gay or straight, asexual or allosexual. But there are also a hell of a lot of people who fall somewhere in the middle or maybe closer to one end or the other, and sometimes that means it’s not as easy to figure out or put a label on. And sometimes things happen that shift our spectrum just a little.”

I lower my hands and look at him, trying to sift through what he’s trying to say. I know bisexuality exists, as well as a handful or more other labels outside of simply gay and straight, but I guess I always figured that if you’re bisexual, you would know. You would have crushes on all types of people throughout your youth, wouldn’t you?

I grab a couple more nuts, putting them into my mouth one by one and chewing slowly, more for something to do with my hands while I puzzle it all out. When I was young, I didn’t really think that much about anyone romantically. I thought maybe I was a late bloomer. By my early adulthood, I decided to see what all the fuss was about, and I dated and fooled around with a couple of women. It was nice so I figured I was straight. Sex wasn’t as thrilling as everyone made it out to be, but it was pleasant enough, so I just figured the rest of it was a matter of marketing. Everyone said sex was the be-all and end-all, and most people bought into it as far as I could tell.

If I had randomly picked a man to fool around with, would it have had the same results? Based on my reaction to kissing Red today, it seems like the answer might be yes. So, why didn’t it ever occur to me to try?

Sawyer is silent while I work through it all in my head. I don’t come to any conclusion, but there’s a certain peace that settles over me as I pick each thread apart and examine it. Maybe it’s like he said, I’m closer to the asexual side of the spectrum, and I’ve been bisexual all along, I just didn’t know it because I basically flipped a coin, picked women, and never bothered to think about it any further after that.

And maybe I don’t need to decide on a label right now, I just need to accept that there’s nothing wrong with exploring in my forties, even if most other people do it sooner.

“I kissed my best friend,” I tell him.

“Did he kiss you back?” he asks, smiling and leaning in like we’re a couple of best friends gossiping.

My lips tingle at the memory of Red’s muffled moans against my mouth. Goosebumps prickle along my skin and my heart beats faster just thinking about it. I grin and nod. “Yeah, he kissed me back.”

“Then what happened?”

“Then, I freaked out and came here for reasons I cannot comprehend,” I admit with a rusty laugh.

“You needed time to think. There’s nothing wrong with that.” He pats my shoulder and stands up from his stool. “I’m guessing he’s at home panicking right about now though. So, maybe finish up your drink, get your thoughts together, and go talk to him.”

I nod. He’s right, I’m sure Red is at home pacing back and forth, convincing himself that he forced himself on me or something equally ridiculous. I leave my nearly full drink and stand up, reaching for my back pocket.

“Shit,” I mutter. “I left in such a hurry I don’t have my wallet.”

Sawyer waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. Consider it a welcome to this messy, extended family we have around here.”

“Thanks. And thanks for the words of wisdom, I owe you one.”

“Don’t mention it.” He makes a shooing motion. “Now go put that poor man out of his misery. Good luck.”

I hurry out of the bar and get back into my car. I don’t have the first clue what I’m going to say to Red when I get home, but Sawyer is right, I can’t leave him hanging all night.

RED

My cock stayed painfully hard long after Journey sprinted up the stairs and fled the house as if his life depended on it. The rattle of the front door slamming closed behind him had me sagging against the rocking washing machine, and I spent the next half hour or so replaying every second of the kiss over and over in my mind, trying to figure out how it had happened and where exactly I went wrong.

I’m skeptical of the plan to wash the fleece when I open the washing machine after the cycle ends to find it all soggy and in clumps, but we’ve come this far, so I switch it to the dryer and hope for the best. And then I pace up and down the stairs, pinballing between peeking out the front window and hoping to see Journey pulling back in at any second, and the basement because watching the time tick lower on the dryer at least makes me feel productive.

Journey kissed me, the first time anyway. That part I’m sure of. I stood up and turned in his direction, and the expression on his face was something complicated I couldn’t sort out. I was about to ask him if he was okay, but then his lips were on mine. Just like that, my brain short circuited and my entire body froze. My straight best friend was kissing me, and I couldn’t begin to figure out why.

Maybe I should have left it at that. The kiss could have been some joke I didn’t understand or maybe a complex partial seizure or, fuck, I don’t know…

When he ended it, I should have let it go, let him finish his stumbling apology and laughed it off. I don’t know what possessed me to kiss him again except for the fact that I hadn’t really kissed him the first time. I’d just stood there like an idiot for a few seconds, and if that was going to be my one chance to feel Journey’s lips against mine, I couldn’t leave it like that.

I lick my lips, bracing my hands against the hot metal of the dryer and trying to imprint the taste of his mouth on my memory forever. Wherever he went, I’m positive that he’ll come back eventually and tell me that the whole thing was a mistake or a joke that got out of hand. He’ll say that we shouldn’t make a big deal out of it, that we should forget about it. And I’ll agree. I’ll shrug, tell him it’s already forgotten, and then I’ll go back to pretending I’m not hopelessly in love with him.

The dryer buzzes and I open it to check how the fleece fared. A tuft of it wafts out as soon as I open the door, clinging to my nose and making me sneeze. It’s all soft and fluffy, and none of it caught fire, so I guess it worked. I pack the clean fleece into a fresh bag and start another load.

Just as I’m turning the machine on, the sound of the front door opening and closing sets my heart racing again. I want to take the stairs two at a time, run straight up there and find out how Journey is feeling, but I force myself to play it cool. I putter around in the basement for a few more minutes, counting slowly in my head until I reach a thousand, and then I finally let myself go upstairs.

He’s in the kitchen when I get there, unpacking a few bags of groceries that seem to be ingredients for dinner. I stop just inside the kitchen, and he glances over his shoulder at me. His expression is blank and unreadable. His eyes move over me for much longer than normal before he reaches my face, and a small smile tilts the corners of his lips.

“Hey, I hope chicken is okay for dinner,” Journey says.

“Yeah.” It feels like I should say something more. Maybe I should apologize for the kiss. But he started it, and if I’m being honest, I’ve never been less sorry for anything in my life. Instead of saying anything, I just cross the room and turn on the sink to wash my hands so I can help him with dinner.

“My blisters are starting to heal. Pretty soon I’ll have rugged callouses like you do,” he says, turning his hand over to show me the rough skin on his palm.

I chuckle. “Don’t get cocky, I’ve been working on mine for twenty-plus years.”

“I’ve gotta start somewhere,” he reasons with a smile.

The uncomfortable tension in my chest eases. Maybe Journey won’t want to talk about it at all, maybe we’ll go straight to pretending like it never happened. I can live with that.

I tell him about the clean fleece looking good while we move around each other in the kitchen, throwing together a simple chicken pot pie casserole just like his mom always made when we were growing up. Once we put the pan into the oven to bake, he turns around and leans against the counter, bracing his hands behind him on the ledge of it.

“About that kiss…” Journey darts his tongue out to wet his lips and my eyes are drawn immediately to the motion, my heart tumbling around inside my chest at the mention of the kiss.

“It’s fine,” I rush to assure him before he can start trying to let me down gently or whatever else he plans to say to minimize what happened.

His eyebrows crease together, and he frowns. “What do you mean?”

“If it didn’t mean anything,” I clarify. “You were dehydrated, and it was probably just a joke.” I throw out a few excuses for him, hoping to hurry this part along as painlessly and as quickly as possible.

“It wasn’t a joke,” he says. “And I am probably dehydrated, and I’m definitely hung over, but none of that had anything to do with why I kissed you.”

I swallow hard, clenching my hands to keep them from trembling. “Whatever it was, it’s fine.” My voice sounds gruff to my own ears as I make one last attempt to brush the whole thing off.

“I don’t know what it was,” Journey admits, and I nod. That’s a gentler way of telling me it meant nothing—I get it. “Honestly, I’m fucking confused because it really felt like something.”

Just like when his lips touched mine for the first time earlier, my brain grinds to a halt like a garbage disposal with a fork jammed in it, and my body freezes. Journey is staring down at his shoes, quiet for several seconds while my pulse thunders in my ears. It meant something? What’s ‘something’? And how do I ask without coming across as pushy or overeager? Would it be too much to kiss him again just to see if we can upgrade it from ‘something’ to whatever comes after that?

When I don’t say anything, he looks up, his eyes darting over my face. He licks his lips again, and I’m starting to wonder if he’s doing it to torture me. “To me, anyway,” he hedges. “It felt like it might have meant something. Sorry if it was weird for you to have me throwing myself at you like that.”

“No,” I croak out, and then clear my throat. “It wasn’t weird.”

He waits, still looking at me like he’s expecting me to say something else, but I don’t know what.

“I think…” He runs a hand over his chin and takes a slow breath. “I think I need some time to sort through all of it though. My head is a mess.”

“Yeah,” I agree, even though I’m not sure what I’m agreeing to. To giving him time, I guess?

“We’re fine though, right? I didn’t fuck up our friendship by attacking you with my mouth?”

I snort a laugh. “You can’t fuck it up. Work through this and if you want to talk about it after or whatever, then I’m here.”

“Or whatever?” he mocks with a grin.

“Forgetting about the whole thing, kissing again… whatever.” There, that sounds casual, right?

“Okay,” Journey says.

“Okay,” I echo.

Chapter 12

JOURNEY

I frown at the number in red at the bottom of the spreadsheet, scrolling back through the numbers I entered, hoping that I missed a zero somewhere. Nope, it’s all correct, and it’s not pretty. The feed distributor who brought hay recently said that prices are up thanks to fuel costs and general inflation, but even accounting for that, I don’t have a fucking clue how Uncle Milt has kept this place running all these years.

I glance around the shabby kitchen, the faint sound of Cole taking a sledgehammer to the walls in the back bedroom reaching my ears. I guess it’s easy to see where he let things slip when money got tight.

Jane had said that the alpacas have been lucrative enough to cover costs, but the fleece didn’t bring in nearly as much as I was hoping. Even if I were to start booking them for parties again, I’d have to have them doing two a day to cover all these costs.

I sigh and lean forward, bracing my elbows on the table and rubbing my eyes, easing some of the strain from staring at the computer screen all morning trying to make these numbers make sense.

There has to be income potential somewhere that I’m overlooking. It’s not like I need to get rich off this place. I’ve socked away a decent nest egg over the years thanks to my blog, and I have no issue with living a modest life here on the farm, but with the balance sheet the way it is right now, I’ll be drained dry and selling off the animals one by one to cover the bills within a few years.

I close my laptop and stand up from the table. There’s an answer here somewhere, I just need to find it. Of course, the other option is to cut my losses, sell it all now and hop on the next plane to anywhere-but-here. Everything inside of me immediately rebels at that idea. I made a commitment to this place, and I’m not ready to give up so easily.

The memory of the other night in the basement flashes through my mind, the vibration of Red’s moans on my lips, the hard outline of his erection against mine… My skin heats and my heart beats faster. It’s been nearly a week and neither of us have brought it up again. Things almost feel normal between us… Almost.

I don’t think I’m ready to run away from whatever that might be either, even if I’m still confused as fuck.

The heavy sound of Cole’s footsteps moves down the hallway towards the kitchen. He appears in the doorway a minute later, lifting the mask from his mouth and pulling his shirt up to wipe the sweat off of his face.

I glance at his exposed belly, just to test myself. He’s fit without being ripped, just a little roundness to his belly and a trail of golden hair leading from his belly button, disappearing below his waistline. He’s attractive, but there’s no reaction inside of me. My gut doesn’t heat, my skin doesn’t flush, and my cock isn’t the least bit interested. I force myself to imagine pressing my lips to his. The thought is neutral, the same way it might feel to imagine shaking hands with a stranger.

“I’m making progress,” he assures me with a friendly smile, jostling me out of my musing. He crosses the kitchen and turns on the tap to fill his water bottle.

“There’s no big hurry,” I assure him.

“No? I figured you and Red would both be anxious to have your own beds again.”

“Oh.” I huff out a laugh. It’s only been a few weeks, but I’ve gotten so used to sharing the bed with my best friend that I nearly forgot that getting him into his own room was the whole point of the renovation. “It hasn’t been too bad, actually.”

Cole gulps down some of his water and then nods. “Good, because I’m about to take a look at the inside of the wall to find out just how bad the damage is.”

“Great. I think I’m going to head out to the barn for a while, so you can come find me down there if you need to.”

“Sounds good.” He takes another gulp of water and then replaces the filtered mask over his mouth before heading back to work.

I pick my phone up off the table and slip my shoes on. I already finished the morning chores, so there’s no reason for me to go down to the barn aside from just wanting a break from the noise and a little fresh air.

Cornelius scampers out of the grass as I make my way down the path. He stays a few paces behind me the whole way, pretending not to follow me. When I stop just inside the barn, he brushes up against my leg and then hisses at me to make sure I don’t get the wrong idea about his attention.

“It’s a complete coincidence that we’re in the same place,” I say to placate him, and he rumbles a growl in his throat before sitting down next to me and dragging his tongue over his front paw to groom himself.

I keep walking through the barn, going out the back towards the outdoor coop and the alpaca fields. Angie decided to hang out with the alpacas today, so she’s out grazing with them, her fluffy white tail flicking lazily back and forth.

I lean over the fence and pull my phone out. It’s been a while since I’ve even bothered to check my blog. I’m sure I’ll start getting emails from sponsors any day now pulling their ads now that the page is inactive. Not that there isn’t years’ worth of content, but fuck knows when it comes to online content, if you aren’t updating it with fresh, it might as well be dead.

There are a handful of comments on the post I made about the farm. A few of them are supportive, wishing me luck on the new adventure and requesting updates, and the rest are just bitching that I won’t be posting about any new travels for the foreseeable future.

Without conscious thought, I click to start a new post. An update about the farm can’t hurt, and maybe if I can generate enough interest in it, my blog can remain a source of income even from right here. It would certainly help a hell of a lot with the bills for this place.

I snap a few pictures of the alpacas in the field and a couple of Angie. I even manage to get one of Cornelius watching me from a hiding spot inside the barn before he ducks away. I add them to the post and then start typing.

Hey Fellow Travelers,

I know it’s been a few weeks since I’ve posted anything but I’m still focusing on the brand-new adventure of alpaca farming. It’s been hectic and exhausting, and I’ve thought about throwing in the towel more than a few times, but I’ve been lucky enough to have my best friend right by my side the entire time. If it weren’t for him, I think I would have called it quits long before now. Hell, I’m not even sure I would have bothered to come home to claim this place at all if I didn’t know Red would be here waiting for me.

Have you ever had a friend like that? Someone you knew you could count on through anything, who would have your back no matter how difficult a situation was? When we were young, I was the one always looking out for him, protecting him from bullies. Now it feels like the tables have turned. I don’t know what I would do without Red.

It’s not just that he’s always here for me either. He gets me like no one else ever has. Being around him just makes me happy, you know? When I was away all those years, I could be having the worst day and then he would call, his face would fill my screen, and everything would somehow be right in the world again.

I kissed him the other night and that felt right too. It scared the hell out of me, but it felt right. The last thing I expected was to have some kind of sexual awakening at forty, but maybe life is just weird like that sometimes. Maybe the time was never right before now. I’m not even sure if the time is right now, but even though Red and I live together and I see him day in and day out, I still light up when I see him. That has to mean something, doesn’t it?

I stop typing and stare at the unintentional emotional upchuck looking back at me from my phone screen. It was meant to be an update about the farm and here I am pouring my heart out about Red and the kiss. I have to admit, it was cathartic, and clearly I needed to get it out, but I can’t post this.

I hover my thumb over the ‘delete’ button, but I hesitate to actually push it. It’s not like anyone I know reads my posts, and maybe someone out there is dealing with something similar, struggling with their sexuality later in life. They could read this and feel a little less alone. That thought makes me feel a little less alone too.

Fuck it.

I set the post to live.

RED

The garage is bustling, but my mind is a thousand miles away, back at the farm with Journey just like it has been for the past five days since that kiss. The guys are shouting teasing insults at each other, Denali is nosing at my pocket in search of treats, and music is blaring loudly over the whir and clank of tools, but my thoughts are more distracting than all of that.

Journey hasn’t said another word about it since the night the kiss happened, and I’ve followed suit. He needs time to work it out, and I’m happy to respect that. But I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been wondering obsessively about where he’s at with everything. Is he going to write the whole thing off or could this turn into something? If he decides he’s not completely straight, will he be interested in something more with me or did he only kiss me because I was safe and convenient to experiment with? There are so many damn questions and no promise of any answers.

“Hey, you put a dent in my hood.” A customer’s voice cuts through the noise of the garage. I tilt my head slightly to the side so I can see what’s happening.

A blonde woman with a look on her face like she smelled something bad is standing with her arms crossed, pointing at the car that Shep is working on. The man is not exactly known for customer service with a smile, so this could get interesting fast.

“That was there when you brought it in,” he says evenly. The music quiets and the whirring of the impact wrench in Riggs’s hand stops, none of us even trying to pretend we aren’t listening in.

“No, it wasn’t,” she argues. “Fix it now. And don’t even try to upcharge me for it or I’ll make sure everyone knows what a bunch of scam artists work at this so-called mechanic shop.”

Auggie snorts quietly from under the hood of the car he’s working on, and I’m pretty sure I hear Tallahassee mutter the word “Karen” under his breath.

“No problem, ma’am,” Shep says with an artificial sweetness in his voice.

I watch curiously as he strides over to his locker where his clean shoes and other items he doesn’t want to get dirty are stored. He whistles an upbeat tune as he opens it up. Riggs sputters a loud laugh, and my eyes go wide as Shep leans back out of his locker holding an enormous dildo. It’s easily as long as his forearm and twice as thick. The woman gasps as he approaches the car with his tool in hand, sticking the suction end right over the dent and then firmly grasping the shaft of the giant cock, giving it a hard yank until the dent pops back into place.

“There you go, ma’am. If you ever find yourself with another dent, this should come in handy.” He tugs the dildo free from the hood and slaps it into her hand.

She shrieks and drops it. The cock thuds as it hits the floor and then bounces along the concrete before rolling to a stop right at her feet. She snatches her keys from Shep’s hand and jumps into her car, speeding off seconds later, no doubt in a hurry to get home and start posting on social media about how perverted the Big Bull Mechanics are to her pearl-clutching friends.

“Shep.” Steele’s voice cuts through the raucous laughter we’re sharing in the wake of her departure.

Shep picks up the dildo and casually flips it in the air, catching it with the same hand and then grinning at our boss. “Hey, what’s up?”

“I can’t believe I have to say this, but you can’t throw dildos at customers,” Steele says, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I didn’t throw it,” he argues. “I handed it to her nicely. She should have thanked me, this thing cost nearly a hundred bucks.” He flips it again, but this time Auggie reaches out lightning fast to grab it out of the air before Shep can.

Auggie slaps it against Shep’s cheek, and then a playful scuffle ensues over the toy.

“Why do you even keep a dildo in your locker?” Tallahassee asks.

Shep shrugs. “Fixing dents, obviously.”

Riggs hops down from the semitruck he’s working on and rolls his eyes. “Sure, why use dent pullers or stud welders when a giant dildo is so handy.”

“I’m saying,” Shep agrees with a nod.

“Don’t do it again, please. I’m begging you to just try to be nicer to the customers,” Steele says in a pleading tone.

“I’m doing my best, boss, but there are just too many entitled assholes who come in here and test my last damn nerve.”

“You know what we need,” Auggie says, snapping his fingers. “Someone to sit inside and take payments, keep the customers out of our asses, play nice with them.”

“Yeah, why don’t we have anyone doing customer service around here?” Shep asks.

Steele runs his fingers through his beard and then sighs. “I can give that some thought. It would certainly free up a lot of my time and cut down on complaints about unprofessional behavior.”

“I’m behaving professionally,” Shep mutters.

“Not so much, man, but we like it.” Auggie pats his shoulder.

“Alright, let me look into it. In the meantime, there’s a blanket ban on giving any customers sex toys,” Steele declares before going back into his office and closing the door.

“Why does that make me want to hand out sex toys even worse now?” Auggie asks, and everyone, including me, cackles again.

Everyone slowly returns to work and Riggs sidles up next to me. “Out of curiosity, any news on the Journey situation?” he asks quietly. “And before you ask, I only care because I’m between decent TV shows right now and the love lives of everyone around here are mildly more interesting than watching paint dry.”

“We…uh…” I glance around to make sure no one else is listening in, dropping my voice to a whisper just to be safe. “We kissed.”

A grin spreads over Riggs’s face, but he quickly pulls it back, fixing his expression into a bored scowl again. “Nice.”

“Yeah, but now I’m just kind of waiting to see if anything else is going to happen. He said he needed time to process it.”

“Well, I’m rooting for you… or whatever. I don’t care,” he says sternly before turning and walking away.

I scratch my head and watch him climb back up onto the truck. He’s a strange dude, but I guess that just means he fits in perfectly around here. If Steele does hire someone for customer service, let’s just hope they have a good sense of humor and a mountain of patience.

The rest of the day passes quickly, and by the early evening I’m walking through the door at home, kicking off my dirty shoes and unzipping my jumpsuit a few inches to cool off. Something smells delicious, and there’s music coming from the kitchen.

I head down the hallway and pause inside the kitchen door, watching Journey stir something in a pot while singing along with the music that’s playing from his phone. As if he can feel my eyes on him, he turns his head immediately and smiles at me.

“Welcome home. Dinner’s almost ready.”

Something about his words hit me right in the chest. Home. How many fantasies have I had over the years about coming home to Journey every night, building a life with him and growing old together? Too many to count. My throat tightens and my heart suddenly feels too big to be contained inside my chest.

Whatever Journey decides, it doesn’t matter. Yes, I’d sell my left nut to kiss him again, but if this is all I can have, I’ll happily take it. All I want is to grow old with him, one way or the other.

“What?” he asks, his smile changing as he studies my expression.

I shake my head. “Nothing, just thinking about how nice this is.”

“What’s that?” he asks again, setting the spoon down on the counter and turning his whole body in my direction.

“This.” I gesture between us, stepping a few more feet into the kitchen so we’re only a foot apart now. “Coming home and having you here, sharing… all of this.”

“It is, isn’t it?” he agrees, inching closer still.

The air between us starts to feel charged—electric and heavier than normal. I keep my eyes on Journey as he stares right at me with unreadable thoughts flickering rapidly over his face. His gaze drops to my mouth and my heart beats impossibly harder, goosebumps of anticipation rising all over my skin. I hold my breath, focusing all my strength on keeping still, as if he’s a wild animal I don’t want to spook.

His hand darts out and he grabs onto the front of my jumpsuit, his fingers curling around the spot where it’s hanging open. His knuckles drag against my bare skin as he pulls and I stumble forward, straight into his waiting lips.

I’m ready for it this time, bracing one hand on the back of his neck and following his lead. We find an easy rhythm, our lips moving against each other in a kiss that’s a hell of a lot more chaste than the first time, but still manages to set my insides on fire in all the best ways. We both tease, flicking our tongues over each other’s lips without deepening the kiss. The curve of a smile on his mouth adds a lightness to the moment that was missing last time, coaxing me to grin into the kiss as well. Our noses bump and our lips collide over and over as we trade ragged breaths and shaky laughter like neither of us can believe this is actually happening… again.

Journey puts his hand against my chest and breaks the kiss eventually and I search his face desperately for clues on how to react. Is this just part of working through it?

“I think I like you, Red. As more than a friend, I mean,” he says with a tremor in his voice. He huffs out a laugh and closes his eyes. “Why does that sound so damn juvenile?”

My stomach somersaults and my pulse thunders in my ears. Journey likes me? Journey likes me as more than a friend. If I thought I could do it without him noticing, I would reach down and pinch myself to check that this isn’t a dream.

“It’s not juvenile,” I manage to say around the lump in my throat. “I like you too. If I’m being honest, I have for a long time.”

“You have? Why didn’t you ever say anything?” I give him a look, and he laughs. “Okay, fair enough.”

“So, what does this mean?”

He lets out a long breath, mindlessly playing with the zipper on my jumpsuit and still standing so close that I can feel the heat of every exhale. “It means that I want to see where this goes. If you want to, of course.”

“Yes,” I answer without hesitation.

“You know I know fuck all about being with a man. I’ll probably be terrible in bed, and we should take things slow. Also, if this blows up in our faces it’s going to be a fucking nightmare considering we live together. It’s probably a horrible idea if we’re being rational about it.” I’m not sure if he’s trying to convince himself or me, but none of those arguments land with me.

“I don’t give a fuck,” I say simply, and he exhales another sound of amusement through his nose.

“I guess I don’t give a fuck either,” he echoes. “So, let’s see what happens.”

Chapter 13

JOURNEY

The timer on the stove beeps, reminding me that I have dinner on. I stare at Red another few seconds, my heart still hammering violently in my chest at the realization that I just told my best friend that I want to see where things go.

I didn’t plan to say it, and I definitely didn’t plan to kiss him again as soon as he walked through the door, but I have a feeling I need to stop trying to convince myself that I have even an ounce of control over what’s happening between us. It’s like there’s something inside of me driving this whole thing and I couldn’t stop it if I tried, so I might as well enjoy the ride.

“Do you need to get that?” Red asks, jerking his head towards the stove, and I nod.

“It’s turkey noodle soup,” I tell him as I finally turn back to turn off the burner and give the simmering soup one last stir with a large spoon.

“Couldn’t bring yourself to eat chicken now that you know some personally?” he guesses, and even with my back towards him I can hear the smile in his voice. I grin in response, spooning some of the broth into my mouth to make sure the seasoning is right.

“Something like that. I guess I’ll either need to become a vegetarian or get used to it eventually though.” I add just a dash more salt and then pick up the ladle and bowls I laid out on the counter earlier.

“Hey, carrots live rich, full lives too,” Red teases, and I snort.

“Fine, only lab-grown food for us from here on out,” I concede, and he sidles up beside me, nodding firmly.

“Absolutely.”

I ladle him out a full bowl and then pass it to him before starting on my own. Red sets his bowl down on the table and then returns to the sink to wash and dry his hands. I swear I can feel every molecule of space his body takes up inches away from mine as he moves in slow, steady motions. The hairs on my arms rise with goosebumps and I glance over at him once, twice, three times in the space of only a couple of seconds.

Is it normal to be this hyper aware of someone after just two kisses? Fine, two kisses and a solid week of the most intense, sexually charged fantasies of my entire life. I track his steps out of the corner of my eye as he returns to the table, pulls out his chair, and takes a seat, trying to decide if I want to summon all of my energy to act as normal as possible or if I’d rather say, “fuck it” and just kiss him again. It’s a toss-up if I’m being honest, but the way Red digs into his soup like a prisoner on his last meal, it’s clear that attacking his face with my face again is going to have to wait until later.

I pull the rolls out of the oven where they were staying warm and carry them over to the table along with my own bowl of soup and sit down across from him. His jumpsuit is still hanging open, his tattooed chest with a sprinkling of light-colored hair on display. My gaze lingers. Freckles I’ve never seen on his chest catch my interest and tempt me with the thought of unzipping him further just to find out what else I might not have noticed about his body until now.

The pit of my stomach heats and my cock swells slowly, trapped behind my zipper. Red looks up, our eyes meeting, and my heart jumps into my throat. I jerk my gaze away, feeling my cheeks warm with embarrassment at being caught staring. He said this whole thing isn’t juvenile, but it sure as hell feels that way. I don’t think I felt this giddy and uncomfortable around anyone even when I was a teenager. Back then, I was just eager to get my first kiss over with so I could find out what all the fuss was about. Even after that clumsy first make-out session with Suzie Millins behind the cafeteria, I still didn’t quite get it.

It’s embarrassing to admit, even to myself, but I don’t think I actually understood any of the hype about mashing mouths with another person until a week ago. Now all I can think about is doing it again… with Red.

“What did Cole say?” he asks, jerking me out of the mess of my thoughts.

“Hm?” I raise my eyebrows and grunt through a mouthful of soup.

“About the bedroom,” Red clarifies. “He was over today to start on it, wasn’t he?”

“Oh, right.” I swallow and nod. “It’s fucked.”

He groans. “Like fucked fucked?”

“They have to tear it down to the studs and even replace some of the interior beams that have rotted through. It’s going to take a few weeks at least, so you’re stuck sharing a bed with me a little longer.” It’s not until the last sentence is out of my mouth that I realize how it sounds. I was going for lighthearted, but with the feeling of our latest kiss still tingling on my lips it takes on a whole different context.

His friends teased us about sharing a bed when we moved in here, but it was easy enough to shrug off and ignore the implications. Obviously Red and I weren’t sleeping together, but now…

I swallow another spoonful of soup, my leg bouncing nervously under the table as I steal another glance at him. Sleeping together means something completely different now. Is Red going to expect something to happen right away?

I bite back a humorless laugh at myself. We’re grown-ass adults and we’re far from virgins, of course he’s going to expect things to progress quickly. He’s had plenty of one-night stands in his life and so have I—exclusively, in fact. But it feels a hell of a lot more terrifying to imagine rushing right into things with Red. And I don’t think it’s only because of what he has in his pants.

“It’s fine,” he says, and I frown.

“What is?”

“Sharing a bed. I don’t mind if it lasts another month or so,” he explains.

“Oh, right.” I nod.

“Unless you’d rather I sleep on the couch?” He cocks his head, studying my face with his forehead furrowed.

“You have to stop offering to sleep on the couch. I’m never going to agree to that.” I roll my eyes and Red smirks at me.

Fuck, he has a nice smile.

A flurry of nervous excitement and a deep tug of lust dance in the pit of my stomach as images of the two of us naked together under the sheets flash through my mind. I’m not going to overthink it. I told Red I wanted to see where things lead, and that’s exactly what I want to do. We’re forty-year-old men for fuck’s sake, I’m not going to panic at the thought of sex.

With a new resolve to roll with whatever happens, I force myself to stop staring at Red and imagining him naked, and we both finish our dinner with a relaxed conversation about our days. He tells me about Shep’s antics with a customer, and I fill him in on the financials I ran this morning. In spite of all of the confusion and newness of certain aspects of our relationship, this part is nice. It’s comfortable. I may need a fucking map to find my way to who I am these days, but Red is still Red. He promises me we’ll figure things out with the farm, and I believe him because it’s Red and he’s never lied to me before. If he says it’ll be fine, then it’ll be fine. Simple as that.

When we’re finished eating, he goes to change out of his work clothes while I tidy up the kitchen, and without any discussion about it, we both end up out on the front porch just like the night a couple of weeks ago. Was it really that recently? It feels like an entire fucking lifetime ago at this point.

I ease down onto the top step and Red takes the spot right next to me. We still have a little time before we need to go down to the barn to get the animals in for the night, and there’s something so peaceful about this lull after dinner but before anything else needs worrying about for an hour or so.

The late afternoon sun beats down warm on my skin and I close my eyes to soak it up.

“Last time we sat out here, when there was stuff on your mind you didn’t want to talk about…” Red bumps his knee against mine. “Was it this stuff?” I open my eyes and he gestures between us.

“Yup,” I confess with a simple, one word answer.

“Do you want to talk about any of it?”

I tilt my head to catch a little more of the sun against my face, letting my eyes flutter closed again. Do I want to spew the thoughts that have been chasing themselves around in my head for weeks now all over him? The never-ending fantasies and more doubt than I can possibly sort through? The moments I’ve convinced myself that I’m one hundred percent straight only to be hit with another urge to shove my tongue down his throat so strong it makes my knees buckle? The hours spent sifting through all the information Google has to offer about bisexuality, asexuality, and nearly every other damn sexuality people have slapped a label on in the last few decades?

“I think I’ve spent just about as much mental energy on figuring it out as I possibly can. All I want to do now is leap off the cliff and find out what happens,” I admit.

“Does that make me the parachute or the ground underneath?” he asks, and I shrug.

“The guy jumping off with me?”

“I can get behind that,” he agrees, setting his hand down on the weathered wood between us. Without overthinking it, because that’s the promise I made myself, I reach over and cover it with mine. The casual gesture sends a jolt of electricity straight to the pit of my stomach, and a slow smile creeps over Red’s lips.

RED

We sit on the porch until the sun starts to dip behind the trees, and then we head down to the barn to get the animals in. It doesn’t take long now that we’ve found a routine with them, but a few of the alpacas do decide to act like little shits just for the hell of it.

We head back up to the house and the closer we get to it, the more acutely aware I am of what it means to share a bed with Journey now… or more accurately, the fact that I don’t know what it means. What is he expecting? Can I just come right out and ask him? I shake off that notion immediately, not wanting to put any pressure on him. If I ask what he’s expecting, he might assume that I’m expecting something… ugh, I feel like I’m on some shitty teen drama.

“Are you tired?” Journey asks, pulling open the backdoor and pausing just long enough to glance over his shoulder at me.

“Beat,” I answer, the weight of the day sitting heavily on my shoulders, along with the promise of another morning that starts before the sunrise only a handful of hours away.

I close the door behind me and follow him through the house to the bedroom, every creaking floorboard setting my nerves on edge as I spin my mental wheels wondering how to act and what to do. I never thought I’d yearn for the simplicity of an M4M hookup where everything is laid out in black and white over text before I’ve even seen the guy’s face.

I shuffle over to my side of the room and Journey turns his back to me to strip his jeans off just like he’s done every night since we moved in together. I follow suit, unzipping my jumpsuit and pushing it down to pool around my feet. It’s been hard enough to control my thoughts and my eyes sharing a bed with a man I’ve spent over half my life fantasizing about, but now that I know that he feels the same way—even just a fraction of the same way—it’s impossible.

I peek over my shoulder to see his dark boxer briefs clinging to his well-shaped ass, his thick, hairy thighs beckoning me to run my fingers over them before stripping his underwear off and licking a wet stripe along his shaft from root to tip. My mouth waters and my cock pulses eagerly. Journey tosses his shirt onto the floor to join his pants and then turns back towards the bed.

I whip my head around, not sure if he caught me staring or not, or whether it would be a bad thing if he did. I tug my shirt off and let it flutter to the ground as well, then reach to turn off the light before climbing into bed.

There’s enough moonlight to keep the room from being pitch dark, but the dimness manages to make the moment feel less unsteady, like maybe if I say or do something stupid, at least there won’t be a spotlight on it. The bed groans as I lie down and shift around to get comfortable, leaving a good few inches of space between Journey and me so he won’t think I’m coming on too strong. Fuck, but what if he thinks I’m not coming on strongly enough? Maybe he wants me to take the reins and make a move? He was the one to initiate both kisses so far, so maybe it’s my turn? And why the hell don’t they make handbooks for shit like this? So, Your Longtime Straight Crush Kissed You: Now What? It would be an instant bestseller, mark my words.

Journey inches closer, so I take a risk and do the same, slowly and carefully erasing the inches between us until I can feel the heat of his skin under the covers, the tickle of his leg hair just barely touching mine, the dip of the bed where we’re concentrating all of our weight in the middle.

I turn my head in his direction, finding him even closer than I expected with his face less than an inch from mine, sharing my pillow.

“Hi,” he whispers.

“Hi,” I echo, smiling at how absurd this moment feels. “I have no fucking clue what I’m meant to do right now.”

Journey barks out a laugh. “I’m pretty sure that’s supposed to be my line.”

“Sorry.”

“Just kiss me.”

He doesn’t have to ask twice. I close my eyes and catch his lips with mine.

It’s chaste at first, like the kiss in the kitchen when I got home earlier, nothing more than my mouth pressed against his. My heart hammers wildly as I struggle to control my breathing, hoping Journey doesn’t realize how breathless the innocent kiss is already making me. He puts one hand tentatively on my bare chest, the touch so light I’m not sure I would even feel it if I weren’t so aware of him.

I move my lips slowly over his, testing the feeling of it, still unconvinced that this whole night hasn’t just been one long dream I’ll wake up from any minute with a massive erection and a gut full of guilt. He drags his tongue lightly over the seam of my lips. I part them to let him in, deepening the kiss as our hot, wet tongues start to tangle and slide against each other. I wrap one arm around him and haul him closer, so our chests and thighs are touching. I drag my fingers through his hair and the kiss gets harder, rougher, a frantic edge creeping in.

Journey’s hands roam over my body, tentative at first like he’s not sure where he’s allowed to touch me. If my mouth weren’t so occupied with his, I would tell him he can touch me any damn place he likes. His fingers ghost over my collarbone, along my biceps, and across my back, growing more confident with every inch of skin he explores. For a fraction of a second, I wonder if he’s comparing me to all of the petite, curvy women he’s touched in the past, but I shake the thought away quickly. Whoever he’s been with in the past, they aren’t here now. This moment is about the two of us, not the ghosts of hookups past.

I tug his bottom lip between my teeth, and Journey gasps before I find his tongue with mine again, licking and stroking, coaxing muffled sounds from his throat to vibrate against my mouth. His hands travel lower until he’s teasing the waistband of my underwear, just above the curve of my ass, dragging a finger along the edge like he’s trying to work up the courage to do more.

The hard swell of his cock presses against mine and the heat of it through the cotton of our underwear is enough to make my balls ache and my gut tighten. Journey rocks his hips in tentative motions that I’m not even sure he’s aware of, gasping every so often and then kissing me harder. The air in the bedroom feels hot and stifling, coaxing beads of sweat to form on the back of my neck, rolling down my skin as our kiss goes on and on.

He thrusts a little faster until precum is slicking the head of my cock, sticking to my underwear, and I’m trembling with the effort it takes to keep myself from climbing on top of him and grinding until we’re both a mess of hot, sticky ropes of cum and dripping with sweat.

“Red,” he mutters my name between kisses.

“Hm?” I bunch the fabric covering his ass in one hand, resisting the urge to tug them all the way down.

“I’m not…” He swallows loudly and then moans, shuddering as he humps his hard cock against mine again. “Fuck… it’s…”

I release the twisted cotton of his briefs and grab on to his ass cheek with my full hand to force him to still against me. Dragging my nose along the edge of his jaw, I make a soothing noise and work to slow my breathing down in the hope that he’ll instinctively match it. His chest is heaving, but it works. Journey gulps in a few deep breaths and then they slow down.

“Sorry,” he murmurs as I press a soft kiss right against the edge of his jaw.

“For what?”

“We’re adults, I shouldn’t be so nervous about this. I promised myself I wouldn’t overthink it, that I’d let things happen naturally.” He curls and uncurls his fingers against my back, squirming slightly against me like he can’t decide if he wants to get away or not.

I loosen my grip on his ass and scoot back half an inch to give him a little breathing room. “I don’t give a fuck how old we are, none of this has to be rushed.”

Journey huffs out a sound that’s almost a laugh but without any humor. “Come on, you could pull out your phone right now and probably have a half a dozen men in a twenty-mile radius ready to drive over here and get off with you.”

“So?” I frown, trying to make the connection between this discussion and the number of horny, available men within driving distance.

“So, what the fuck are we doing?”

I scrunch my eyebrows together, getting more lost in this conversation by the second. “We were making out a little.”

His next exhale sounds distinctly more amused than the last. “Yeah, I got that part. I just mean… I feel like a fucking tease or something, grinding on you and then…”

“I hate to use your own logic against you, but we’re fucking forty. I have a lifetime of experience with both sexual frustration and jerking off, both of which are a better alternative than you rushing into shit you aren’t ready for.”

Journey sighs. “Yeah, okay. Sorry.”

I make a frustrated noise in the back of my throat. “If you apologize again, I’m going to give you a titty twister,” I threaten, and he sputters a real laugh this time.

“A titty twister? What are we, twelve?”

“Just shut up and come over here.” I shake my head and grin, using one hand to adjust my erection while I shift into a better position for cuddling. I open my arms and wait, ignoring the skeptical look he gives me before he scoots closer again and rests his head on my shoulder.

His body is stiff for a minute and he holds himself carefully. Then he lets out a sigh and relaxes into me. “Okay, this is nice,” Journey murmurs against my skin.

“Mmhmm.” I hum in agreement, running my hand slowly up and down his spine until all the tension has vanished and he’s boneless in my arms.

“Have you really liked me for a long time?” he asks.

“Yeah. I promise it wasn’t creepy though.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t know.”

I kiss the top of his head. “It was a secret. You weren’t supposed to know.”

“But we’re best friends. We’re not supposed to have any secrets.”

“No more,” I assure him.

Journey holds up one hand with his pinky outstretched. “Swear?”

I hook my pinky around his, the same way we always did when we were kids. “Swear.”

Chapter 14

JOURNEY

Waking up with a sheen of sticky sweat on my skin and a heavy arm wrapped tightly around me has become familiar over the past week. A smile stretches across my mouth before my eyes are even open, the warm flutter of Red’s breath against my neck sending hot shivers down my spine. My cock is hard and oversensitive, straining the soft material of my boxer briefs thanks to a week of self-imposed sexual frustration and a dream that’s already just a foggy memory, but that I’m positive included Red and some incredibly filthy scenarios.

I’ve always thought I don’t have much of an imagination when it comes to sexual fantasies. In the past I might have thought about how a mouth would feel around my cock while jerking off, but the things my mind has conjured when it comes to Red… My cock jerks and my balls throb. Well, let’s just say it’s obvious I was lacking proper motivation to fantasize for most of my life.

Last night, we kissed and humped each other through our underwear until I was seconds from exploding, while Red whispered the most obscene things in my ear about how he wanted to lick me deep inside. Another heated tremor dances along my spine and my breath catches at the memory. In a million years I wouldn’t have thought the idea of being rimmed would turn me on, but I’m pretty sure he could make me want to try just about anything.

I wiggle in bed until his thick, hard arousal presses against my ass cheek, scorching hot even through his underwear. My breath sticks in my throat again and my hole tingles. We’ve spent seven days making out like horny teenagers every chance we’ve gotten, but I’ve been too chicken shit to let things go any further. Red hasn’t complained so far, but he’s suffering the same way I am with a constantly hard dick.

He grunts in his sleep and thrusts against my ass. My hole tingles again and my cock jerks, spilling slick, sticky droplets of precum that cling to my shaft. Red presses his lips against the back of my neck and then nuzzles his nose in the same spot.

“What time is it?” he rumbles in a gravelly, sleepy voice.

“Early as fuck,” I whisper back, because it feels wrong to speak at full volume before the sun is up.

“Mm,” he grunts again, tightening his arm around me and kissing the shell of my ear this time.

I close my eyes, feeling the heat of his lips on every inch of my skin he lazily drags them over, waiting for some part of this to feel weird. That’s what’s really been holding me back from going further than kissing—I keep waiting for something inside of me to snap and for everything to go back to normal. Maybe dreading is a better word, bracing for the moment when this strange, newfound libido of mine dries up and I look at Red as nothing more than the best friend I’ve loved in a strictly platonic way for most of my life.

I crane my neck to look over my shoulder at him. His eyes are half open, still fighting sleep, his hair sticking up in all directions, pillow lines visible on his cheek even in the hazy morning light. My heart flutters and a warm feeling spreads through my stomach and straight up into my chest. Nope, the feeling isn’t gone yet.

“What?” he asks, cocking his head at the way I’m smiling at him.

“You’re cute when you wake up.”

He huffs, and I chuckle. Red leans closer, but I jerk back like I have every morning. “Morning breath, dude.”

He sighs and unwraps his arm from around me, using his hand to cover my mouth. I grin against his rough, calloused palm as he leans close again and kisses the back of his hand, right over my lips but with the buffer for our horrendous morning stank.

“I’m going to start keeping mouthwash on the nightstand,” Red threatens. “Or you can get over this whole thing and let me kiss you, bad breath and all.”

“Never,” I vow, shaking my head with a solemn expression. “It’s a hard line.”

“Fine, I’ll just avoid your mouth then,” he compromises, coaxing me to roll to face him and then dipping down to kiss and nibble along the column of my throat.

In this position, his hard cock is pressed right against mine. I never thought much about the shape of a cock before. They seem pretty straightforward—long and cylindrical, not much to contemplate. But apparently when I activated this hidden gay side of my brain, I started operating on an entirely different level. Maybe the shape itself is simple, but the details are brilliant. The thick head of his erection catches against the ridge of mine, right on the sensitive underside, making my cock jerk and throb. He scrapes his teeth teasingly against my Adam’s apple and thrusts our cocks together again, dragging his length over mine with a steady pressure that has my eyes rolling back and my toes tingling.

I run my hand down his bare back, feeling the ripple of his muscles with every breath and movement. When I reach his ass, I slide my hand under the waistband of his underwear so I can feel his warm skin against my fingers and grab a handful, kneading my fingers into his cheek to coax him to thrust faster and harder. Our chests collide as we both breathe faster.

Fuck worrying about what might happen next week or next year. Maybe whatever has changed inside of me is here to stay, and even if it’s not, is it really so wrong to grind against my best friend until we cover each other in cum? If it is, I don’t think I want to be right.

“Red,” I rasp his name, and he sucks a little harder on the skin of my throat. “More.”

He groans and hooks his fingers in the waistband of my briefs, tugging them down slowly at first, giving me a chance to tell him to stop. Fuck that. I think if he were to stop right now, I might fucking scream. He pulls them lower, lower, lower, until the only thing left between us is his underwear, and even that won’t be for long.

I throw one leg over his waist and rut against him even more wildly, our growls and moans nearly drowned out by the creaking of the old bed frame.

A loud crash from outside the bedroom breaks through the bubble of desperation and lust, slowing our thrusts for a fraction of a second.

“What was that?” Red asks.

“Who cares?” I ask breathlessly. If it’s a burglar, I’m happy to let them take every damn thing we have in the house if it means keeping Red in bed with me right now.

He chuckles and moves in to start kissing my throat again, but before his lips even touch my skin, Angie’s loud moo ricochets down the hallway. I groan, and he laughs again.

“I think she got tired of waiting for breakfast,” he guesses, kissing me one last time in a way that’s an obvious promise that we’ll pick this back up later. Red unhitches my leg from around himself and slides out of bed while I make more immature sounds of frustration and annoyance, my balls aching in protest.

“Whose idea was it to get a fucking farm anyway?” I grumble, flinging back the covers and yanking my underwear back up over my erection. Red gives me a pointed look with one eyebrow arched. “Yeah, well, you didn’t try to talk me out of it.”

“You’re funny when you’re sexually frustrated,” he says, bending down to pull his jeans from yesterday back on.

“Hilarious,” I mutter, doing the same.

Once we’re dressed, I stomp out of the bedroom and straight into the kitchen to shoo the cock-blocking cow outside. She’s unimpressed, standing in front of the open refrigerator, leisurely chewing an apple, only tilting her ears in my direction when I wave my hands and tell her to go.

“I think we’re letting her have too many treats.” Red pats her rump and makes a clicking sound with his tongue that gets her to finally move. “She’s looking a little plump, isn’t she?”

“She’s a cow.” I shrug.

“Cows can’t get fat?” he asks, herding her all the way to the door and then stopping to pull his boots on once she’s ambling back outside.

“That’s way too deep of a question to ask when I’m dying of blue balls and haven’t had any coffee yet,” I complain.

He grins and slaps my ass the same way he did to Angie as I bend over to tug my own boots on. “Suck it up, Buttercup. If you can get through the morning chores without complaining, I have something fun planned for my day off.”

I sigh one last time and then resolve to improve my attitude. I’ve gone months without worrying about my dick in the past, a few hours this morning won’t kill me.

Red trots down the back steps, stopping to scratch behind Angie’s ears and then give her a kiss on her big pink nose. My insides do a funny somersault at the adorable display.

Not touching Red for a few more hours probably won’t kill me, I amend mentally before pulling the door closed behind me and following him down to the barn.

RED

“This is your fun idea for your day off?” Journey asks me skeptically, leaning into the driver side window of his uncle’s pickup while I slide in on the passenger side.

“You need to learn to handle a stick,” I say with a shrug.

“That’s what I was trying to do this morning.” He smirks.

I snort and point at the empty seat. “Get your ass in here. I’ll feel better when you’re able to drive this thing.”

He opens the door and climbs in. “Why? I have my car now.”

“You can’t own a farm and not know how to drive a pickup truck,” I reason.

“But you’ll always be here.”

“Of course, I will. But I still want you to learn. It’s not hard.”

“Alright, fine. But we’re going to do something actually fun after this.”

“Like what?”

“Fucking anything. I haven’t seen the outside world in too many days. Maybe we can go to that bar and play pool again?” he suggests.

“Alright,” I agree. “But you have to drive us there in the truck.”

“You’re so damn stubborn,” Journey complains, but there’s a smile on his lips and a lightness in his tone that keeps the words from sounding like an insult.

I grin back. “I would apologize, but we both know I’m not sorry.”

He chuckles and then buckles his seatbelt, rubbing his hands together and looking over the dashboard and then over at the gearshift. “Okay, so teach me how to handle a stick.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” I tease.

I point out the clutch and go over the basics with him, then tell him to go ahead and start the engine. The only way to truly learn is to dive in headfirst and figure it out as you go. He starts off alright, easing the truck slowly down the driveway.

“Alright, there, that’s where you want to shift.” I point at the rpm meter, and Journey slams his foot down too hard on the clutch, jerking the shifter roughly into the next gear. The truck sputters and jerks. “Whoa! You’ve gotta be gentle.”

I put my hand over his where it’s resting on the gear stick to demonstrate a more relaxed grip that the truck will appreciate a hell of a lot more.

“Gentle, got it.” He nods, easing up his grip a little. He misses the next shift and the engine sputters again and dies. “Fuck,” Journey mutters.

“It’s fine. Try it again,” I instruct. He grabs the knob tightly again, and I put my hand back over his, doing my best to stay focused on teaching him how to drive stick and not how warm and nice his skin feels, or how much I wish we hadn’t been interrupted this morning.

My cock has been half hard ever since, stiffening every time I so much as look at Journey. He glances over at me with heat simmering in his eyes, easing up on the clutch again and restarting the engine.

It takes a few tries, but eventually he’s starting to get the hang of it, so I tell him to pull out of the driveway and give it a shot on the actual road.

“See? It’s not so hard.” I move my hand from on top of his, over to his thigh.

Journey sputters a laugh. “No pun intended? Because it definitely is pretty damn hard.”

“What?” I chuckle, looking over at him.

Journey drops his gaze to where my hand is resting on his leg and then gives me a pointed look. “If you want me to focus, you’re going to have to stop touching me like that,” he says, and I glance at his lap, noticing the straining bulge of his erection.

My mouth goes dry and my body heats all over in an instant. Even though we’ve spent countless hours over the past week groping and grinding and kissing each other fucking breathless, it’s still somehow shocking to see proof that the man I’ve spent most of my life secretly fantasizing about is attracted to me too. I guess I keep expecting him to change his mind, or maybe realize these feelings were just a fleeting way to cope with such major life changes.

“You want me to keep my hands to myself?” I ask, my hand still resting on his thigh. I use my index finger to mindlessly trace a bare patch of skin that’s peeking through a worn hole in his jeans.

“No,” Journey answers, shifting in his seat and clutching the steering wheel tighter in both hands. “Or…fuck, maybe yes just so I don’t end up getting us into a car wreck or trashing the transmission.”

I glance at the open road ahead of us. “Pull off there.” I point with my free hand at a dirt road up ahead, barely visible through the trees lining the road.

Journey furrows his forehead in concentration as he downshifts to slow down and then pulls off the main road. The truck jostles us both around as he creeps down the dirt path that can barely be considered a road at all before clumsily slamming on the brakes and putting it into park.

“Please tell me the driving lesson is over?” He unbuckles his seatbelt and angles his body towards me.

“Nope. But you’re right, it’s dangerous for you to drive so distracted.” I slide my hand further up his thigh until my knuckles brush against the bulge between his legs.

Journey’s breath hitches and he spreads his thighs farther apart. “You’re right, I’m too rough on the stick. Care to give me an expert demonstration of proper handling?”

The line is so fucking cheesy I know I should laugh, but there’s not a thing funny about the way he rocks against my hand like he’s too damn horny to have even an ounce of self-control.

I drag my fingers along the straining denim until I reach the button at the top, pausing with my thumb on it, my heart thundering as lust and nerves battle in the pit of my stomach. Maybe we already obliterated every line that used to exist between us the first time we kissed, but I can’t help feeling like this is the real turning point. Once you’ve made your best friend come, there’s no going back from that, is there?

What happens if Journey decides he isn’t all in? Will I survive that kind of heartbreak? Will our friendship?

“You can put together a damn engine, but you can’t figure out how the button on my jeans works?” he teases, his voice strained and his eyes boring into mine with an intensity that makes me think he knows exactly what the stakes are right now.

“Just giving you a chance to decide this is just too fucking weird,” I admit.

“It’s definitely fucking weird,” he says, his lips twitching with a half-smile. “But I want it anyway.”

He leans across the seat and slams his lips into mine in a rough, hungry kiss. It only takes a quick tug to pop the button on his jeans open, the hot, soft skin of his cock brushing against my fingers as soon as I do. He apparently didn’t put on underwear after his shower this morning. I groan and yank the zipper down carefully to expose more of his thick, hard erection, the veins pulsing with every rapid beat of his heart and the head slick with precum that’s leaking from his slit.

Journey’s muffled moan vibrates around my tongue when I wrap my hand around his shaft for the first time. His cock jerks excitedly against my fingers, swelling and throbbing in my palm like he’s never been touched in his life. Maybe that’s how it feels for him.

Our tongues slide against each other as I stroke him slowly up and down, engulfing the damp head of his cock with my whole palm on each upstroke. His hips twitch and he starts to fuck into the tight channel of my fist, a little faster with every thrust. Journey’s breath is coming in trembling puffs between deep kisses.

“Can I do it too?” he murmurs against my lips.

I chuckle against his mouth. “You can do any-fucking-thing to me.”

He smiles back, sliding across the bench seat until he’s practically in my lap. He reaches for the button on my jeans, fumbling with shaky fingers to get them open while I continue to stroke him, sucking and nibbling on his lips until he finally pops the button and reaches inside.

The tips of his fingers brush against the head of my cock and he jerks back like he touched a live wire, his erection jumping in my hand as he exhales an unsteady breath against my lips.

“Jesus,” he mutters, dragging his index finger tentatively along the head of my cock again like he’s petting a wild animal that he’s not quite certain won’t maul him.

“It doesn’t bite,” I joke.

“Weird, mine does,” he quips back, both of us laughing into the next kiss, the sound obscured by our tongues knotting again.

He gives up on the shy approach and shoves his hand deeper into my pants, wrapping it around the base of my shaft with a confidence that I can only tell is fake because he’s still trembling just a little.

Journey follows my lead, matching the pace and firmness of my strokes, our kisses stilted and a little clumsy while he works to multitask before finding the right rhythm.

“Come here,” I grunt, using my free hand to shove his jeans further down his thighs before doing the same with my own. We keep touching each other, our rhythm thrown off by my side project, but both of us seemingly unwilling to stop.

Whoever decided that trucks needed bench seats is a god among men as far as I’m concerned. It only takes a little maneuvering for me to crawl on top of Journey in the cramped space. We’ve spent a lot of time recently kissing and grinding in bed, but when my bare cock brushes against his for the first time, his eyes go wide and a low, shuddering moan bursts from his lips. The sound vibrates through me and settles in my balls. I want to dedicate the rest of my life to finding every possible way to make him moan just like that.

He grips my cock a little harder, angling it to rub my head against his. My nerve endings spark and my erection throbs from root to tip. I look between us and he does the same, watching the way he makes our slits kiss, then part with a long, shiny string of precum still clinging between us.

“Oh fuck, that’s so hot,” Journey pants, thrusting with helpless little jerks like he doesn’t have the first clue how to harness the potential of this position. Which I suppose is true. Lucky for him, I don’t have that problem.

I brush his hand away and wrap mine around both of our erections at once. He makes a strangled sound in his throat and arches up against me, thrusting faster inside the tight tunnel of my grip, his cock pressed to mine. I match his thrusts, catching his mouth in another kiss at the same time.

Journey can barely follow the coaxing of my tongue or the rhythm of my lips, instead panting and gasping into my mouth as he squirms and writhes under me, more and more precum trickling from him to make both of our cocks slicker. His cock gets stiffer and his clumsy, desperate thrusts come faster and faster as he twists his fingers in the fabric of my shirt.

I grunt and groan into every rut, sucking his tongue, biting his lips, breathing heavily in the humid confines of the truck cab. From the outside I’m sure the windows are fogged and the truck is rocking on its wheels, leaving no question about what’s going on inside.

“Please, Red. Please. Oh fuck, oh…” he chants against my mouth and then arches up against me again, his words dying on a wild howl.

His cock starts to pulse against mine. Thick, sticky ropes of his release coat my head, trickling down my shaft to get stuck in my pubic hair and cling to my balls. I fuck faster into my fist, following him quickly over the edge with a deep moan that rattles the windows, my cum joining his in making us both a mess.

We grind and thrust against each other until our orgasms have faded and our cocks are starting to soften. I want to collapse on top of him and spend a few minutes catching my breath and trading lazy kisses, but the inside of a truck isn’t exactly the most spacious spot for post sex cuddling.

I ease back onto my knees, my thighs quaking from the most body shaking orgasm of my life. Journey looks dazed, his skin flushed and his expression hazy as he stares up at the ceiling of the truck for several seconds before grabbing the steering wheel to pull himself back into a sitting position.

I check the glove compartment, hoping for something to clean up with. Luckily, there’s a wad of unused fast-food napkins inside. I take a few and hand the rest to Journey so we can do our best to mop up before pulling our pants back into place.

He tosses his cum-soaked napkins onto the floor when he’s done, and I do the same. We trade a look, and he starts to laugh. I’m not sure what’s funny, but I can’t help but chuckle right along with him, both of us drenched in sweat, still breathing heavily inside the humid truck with the windows too fogged to see out of.

“So, gay sex fucking rocks,” he says when he finally gets himself under control.

“Just wait, it only gets better.”

He shakes his head and buckles his seatbelt. “I can’t believe you’ve been holding out on me for all these years. I could have been doing that all along?”

My smile fades. “Would you have?” I clear my throat. “Like, been with a lot of guys instead of with women?”

He clears the fog off the windshield with his hand, then uses the crank to lower his window and let some fresh air in. “I don’t know. Probably not a lot,” he says with a shrug. “I think that…”

“What?”

He glances over at me and shakes his head again, darting his eyes away quickly and putting the truck back into first gear so he can get us turned around. “I’m glad it’s you.”

Butterflies explode in my stomach. “Me too.”

The smile he gives me this time is different—softer maybe. “Alright, you promised me some drinks and a round of pool,” he declares, pulling back out onto the road and turning in the direction of town this time.

Chapter 15

JOURNEY

The smell of sex lingers in the stuffy, humid cab of the truck, and my heart refuses to calm down to a normal rhythm as I make the thirty-minute drive to town. I just rubbed dicks with my best friend, and it was hands-down the best sex of my entire life. My knees feel like Jell-O even though I’m sitting, and my balls won’t stop tingling.

I glance at Red out of the corner of my eye every few minutes, trying to unscramble my brain to say something to him, but not managing to come up with anything other than “ungh.” Have I been fooling myself my entire life thinking I was into women? Or is there another reason that sex has felt lackluster until Red? Does it matter either way?

I lick my dry lips and then huff out another involuntary laugh. It’s not that anything is funny, it’s that I’ve never had such a light feeling in my chest before. It’s like there’s been a lead weight inside of me my whole life and I never noticed it was there until it disappeared.

“Did that orgasm break your brain?” Red asks with a hint of teasing in his voice. There’s just enough concern underneath the humor that I’m sure he’s actually worried that I’m about to lose my grip on reality.

“A little,” I admit, easing to a stop at the lights just on the edge of town and remembering to put the car into neutral. I run a hand over my face once we’re stationary and then turn to give him a reassuring half-smile. “In a good way, I swear.”

His eyes roam carefully over my face, his lips curved into a ghost of a frown. I lean over and catch his bottom lip between my teeth gently to wipe the worry from his expression. When I lean back, the light is green, and Red looks a tiny bit less concerned that I’m about to leap out of the truck and go running into the woods just to escape all the scary gay shit that just happened.

I manage to make it to the parking lot of Wooley’s without any more trouble. I guess driving stick isn’t as hard as I thought it would be. Pun very much intended. I swing into a spot and kill the engine, pocketing the keys and then running my hands through my hair.

Red fidgets in his seat, unbuckling and checking all his buttons and zippers again.

“Are you okay?” I check, noticing the tight lines around his eyes. “I’m pretty sure as the dude who touched someone else’s dick for the first time, I’m the only one in this car who’s allowed to look so freaked out.”

He lets out a rusty chuckle. “I’m not freaked out.” I give him a skeptical look. “Alright, I’m a little freaked out. I guess I was kind of convincing myself that you were just going through a weird phase and that you’d change your mind before things got real. I was ready with all kinds of reassurance that we would still be best friends, and nothing would change, just waiting for you to tell me this thing was over. But it’s feeling pretty fucking real right now and it doesn’t seem like you’re running. Now I don’t know what the fuck to do with myself.”

“Truth? I kind of thought I would change my mind too,” I admit, blowing out a breath.

Red nods solemnly, like he’s expecting that to be my opening line to a speech that ends with “I’m not gay, let’s stay friends.” The thought of breaking things off nearly chokes me, my entire body rebelling at the idea all at once. I desperately reach across the space between us and put my hand on his where it’s resting on the bench seat. He glances down at it and then flips his hand over, threading his fingers through mine.

“Fourteen. That’s how old I was when I realized I had feelings for you that I wasn’t supposed to have,” he confesses. “I had this stupid fantasy that I would come out to you, and you would tell me you had a crush on me too.”

Red’s head is ducked, hiding most of his face, but something about the hunch of his shoulders and the shyness rolling off of him reminds me of the quiet, awkward kid I used to protect from all the bullies. Of course, that was before we hit high school and he started spending any free time that he wasn’t in the auto lab in the gym, getting big enough that no one was stupid enough to fuck with him anymore. But I still wanted to protect him, all the same.

I scoot closer and squeeze his hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t know.”

“Do you think it would have changed things if I’d had the guts to tell you how I felt back then?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. But even if it had, we might not be here right now. What if you had told me back then and activated this gay sleeper agent or whatever the fuck it is inside of me, and then we let high school dating drama eventually break us up? Or what if I took off to travel the world and that’s what ended things? I don’t think I was the right person for you until right now.”

“You’ve always been the right person for me,” Red argues, finally meeting my eyes again. There’s something intense in his gaze that pierces through me, feeling too big but just right at the same time.

Maybe it’s not about gay or straight. Things feel so much better with Red because I’ve loved him in one way or another since we were kids making up stupid games on the playground together. He’s not some one-night stand whose name I won’t remember by the morning. This is the real thing, and that’s just as terrifying as it is exciting.

I clear my throat and the heaviness of the moment fades. “Am I the right person to kick your ass at a game of pool?” I tease, and he snorts.

“Yeah fucking right. I’m going to spank your ass and make you cry,” he taunts back, reaching for the door handle and jumping out of the truck, leaving me scrambling to follow.

“I didn’t know you were up for anything kinky.” I waggle my eyebrows, catching up to him and swinging an arm over his shoulders as we cross the parking lot towards the bar.

“Oh yeah, I was just easing you in. I’ll have you in a gimp suit calling me sir in no time.”

“You know me, I’ll try anything once,” I deadpan, reaching for the handle to pull the door open when we reach it.

Wooley’s is fairly empty considering it’s the middle of the day. There’s a small group of guys crowded around the pool table all the way in the back, and a couple of people at the bar. The music playing through the speakers is low and there’s a relaxed feel that was missing when the place was more crowded the last time.

“You want a drink?” Red asks.

“Just some water. I’ll get it, you go grab us that open pool table.”

“Alright, get me a water too and see if Sawyer will give us some nuts that haven’t been pawed through by drunks with filthy hands.”

“You got it.” I pat his shoulder and then split from him to head up to the bar while he gets us cues and claims a table.

Sawyer sets a drink in front of one of the men at the end of the bar and then turns in my direction. A grin lights up his face when he notices me waiting a few feet away.

“Hey, not-that-straight-guy.”

“Hey, married guy,” I tease.

“You look like you’re in better shape than the last time you were in here,” he says.

I glance over my shoulder instinctively, my eyes landing on Red, racking up the balls on the nearest pool table. When I tear my attention away and look back at Sawyer, he’s smiling even wider, a knowing look dancing in his eyes.

“Yeah, things are good,” I answer vaguely, still not sure I’m past being able to jinx this whole thing.

“I’m glad. If you give shit advice as a bartender, they actually punish you with a public flogging.” He flings a dry rag over his shoulder, making me wonder how hard he’s been practicing all these Sam Malone vibes. “What are you drinking?”

“Just a couple of waters, and a fresh bowl of nuts if you have any.”

“Coming right up.”

I slide onto the empty stool in front of me to wait, absently drumming my fingers on the bar and returning my gaze to Red, chalking our cues with a crinkle in his forehead as if it’s a task that requires the utmost focus. A warm feeling fills my chest and a fresh smile tugs at my lips. How the fuck did I wait this long to feel this way?

The scrape of the stool next to me being pulled out draws my attention. I turn my head to see one of the guys who was seated further down the bar just a minute ago now claiming the spot next to me. Out of curiosity, I study him for a few seconds the same way I did with Cole in the kitchen a couple of weeks ago. He’s objectively good looking, with a square jaw covered in light blond stubble and tattoos covering both of his thickly muscled arms. If I were unattached, far away from Red like I’ve been for years, and this man came on to me, it wouldn’t be repulsive to go home with him.

My throat tightens with the realization that washes over me. That’s the most it’s ever been with anyone. Every woman I’ve gone to bed with has been just fine, but that’s about it. Guilt gnaws at my gut and I wonder how realistic it would be to trace my steps through Europe over the past fifteen years, tracking down and apologizing to the handful of women I treated that way. Probably not very.

The man glances over at me and flashes me a toothy smile, slowly dragging his eyes over me. Shit, I’m still staring at him. I’m positive that staring at someone in a gay bar has the same connotation as staring at someone in a straight bar. I give him a tight, polite smile and crane my neck to see how Sawyer is coming along with those waters. He’s holding two bottles in his hand along with a bag of mixed nuts, but he’s at the end of the bar flirting his ass off with some jacked dude carrying a hard hat under one arm and wearing a polo that says Four Bears Construction on it.

“I haven’t seen you around here before,” the man next to me says in a low, sultry voice.

The vibration of his deep baritone makes my heart beat just a fraction quicker and I bite back a laugh that it took me forty years to recognize that reaction for what it is. Maybe what Sawyer said the last time I was here was right. I didn’t realize I was into men because my sexual attraction point is set lower than most people’s, which made it easy to ignore.

“My boyfriend is more of a regular,” I answer. I didn’t think about the words before letting them fall out of my mouth, but as soon as they’re hanging in the air between us, I feel almost giddy. I just called Red my boyfriend and it felt fucking good.

The man nods. “Lucky man.” He gives me another appreciative once-over.

“I’ll tell him that.” I grin and wink, taking the water bottles that Sawyer finally brings over. I thank him, taking the nuts once he pours them into a bowl as well, and making my way to Red with a small bounce in my step.

He’s looking past me as I approach, narrowing his eyes in the direction of the bar.

“Was that guy bothering you?”

I chuckle, remembering this exact conversation with the tables turned not that long ago when I watched someone hit on Red. In hindsight, maybe part of me knew even then that I wanted him all to myself, I just didn’t understand the depth of it at the time.

“Not much. I told him I was here with my boyfriend, and he backed off.”

Red’s eyes snap to me. “Your boyfriend?”

I shrug and hand him one of the bottles of water. “Too soon for the label?”

“No,” he answers quickly, his tongue darting out to wet his lips and his fingers snagging one of my belt loops to tug me closer. “No,” he says again, crashing our lips together.

We both grin into the kiss, the shape of his smile fitting perfectly against mine. “Enough stalling, it’s time for me to make you my bitch at this game.”

“In your dreams,” he taunts back, releasing me so we can both grab our cues.

We bet ten dollars on the game and neither of us play fair. One game turns into three or four…maybe more than that. Honestly, I’m not really keeping track, too focused on teasingly pinching his ass every time he bends over to line up a shot or yelling penis at the top of my lungs to fuck him up. It’s all very mature. Of course, he doesn’t take it lying down, sneaking up behind me and whispering filthy things in my ear just to fluster me. By the end, we’ve traded the same ten dollars back and forth a couple of times and we’ve outlasted the sun. The bar is packed when we slip out, leaving the chatter and music behind in favor of chirping crickets outside.

Red drives us home and I roll down the passenger window, leaning into the feeling of the warm breeze as we fly down the dark country roads back to the farm.

“I’m going to grab a shower before bed,” he says once we’re home and we’ve put all the animals to bed and made sure their feed and water troughs are full.

“Alright, I’ll meet you in the bedroom in a few minutes.” I toe off my shoes and wander into the living room to unwind while he takes a shower.

I pull out my phone and bring up my blog page, fully expecting another lackluster response to my last post. Maybe it’s time I give the blog up altogether, or start from scratch with a new topic and a new target audience. I consider the idea as I wait for the slow internet connection to kick in and finish loading the page.

My eyes go wide when the screen finally updates, and I’m met with hundreds and hundreds of notifications for likes, shares, and comments on my post about Red. I stifle a disbelieving laugh and click on the comment section to see what people are saying.

Sounds like you’re in love with him.

This reminds me SO much of me. I can’t believe how long it took me to see what was right in front of me. Ten years married to my best friend as of last month!

I’m sorry but I’m sobbing right now. I thought I was a total freak not realizing my full sexuality until my late thirties. Thank you for this!

Oh my god, PLEASE update us! This is so wholesome!!

Living for the turn into totally queer territory on this blog, more please!

It goes on and on like that. There are a few homophobic assholes, of course, whose comments I promptly delete, but the majority are overwhelmingly positive.

Maybe I shouldn’t delete this blog page after all. Or maybe a fresh start would still be good. I waffle over the idea while I click on the option to create a new post.

Hey travelers,

I wasn’t expecting the huge response to my last post. Honestly, it was complete word vomit and a lot of stuff I needed to get off my chest. For those wondering, things are… progressing with Red and that’s all I’m going to say for now. I’m hopeful and I’m happier than I’ve been in my life. I’m on the fence about starting a new blog all about my new life figuring out living on a farm and discovering myself. I’ll let you all know what I decide. In the meantime, thanks for all the support, it means a lot!

I attach a picture I took of Red and me covered in dirt and sweat after morning chores a few days ago, and set the post to live. The sound of the shower running cuts off, so I slip my phone into my pocket and head down the hallway into the bedroom so I won’t miss the view of Red coming out of the steamy bathroom, soaking wet, in nothing but a towel.

Priorities.

RED

I’m not sure what time it is when I wake up with Journey draped over me. The rooster hasn’t started crowing yet, so it must be stupidly early. I drag my fingers gently through his hair, listening to his steady sleeping breaths and soaking up the warmth of his bare skin against mine with his leg flung over my thighs and his head resting on my shoulder.

He called me his boyfriend.

I smile at the thought, my heart dancing in my chest. I’m afraid to hope that this is as real as it feels, but I can’t help myself. I’m hopeful, I’m really fucking hopeful. Journey snores softly, his eyelids fluttering with whatever dream he’s having. Is it selfish to hope it’s about me?

I press a kiss to his forehead and then carefully slide out from under him, making sure not to wake him in the process. He murmurs wordlessly in his sleep, reaching for my pillow and pulling it to his chest to fill the space I left. In his unconscious state, he ducks his head and presses his face into the pillow. My heart goes wild again. I want to shake him awake and tell him I’m crazy in love with him. But I should probably let him sleep… and also maybe not rush things since he’s still getting used to his new sexuality and the last thing he needs is for this relationship to go at breakneck speed.

I creep into the bathroom, avoiding the boards that squeak the loudest. I take a piss and brush my teeth, then I get dressed back in the bedroom as quietly as I can. He’s still fast asleep when I sneak out of the room.

The time flashes at me when I start my truck. Just after four in the morning, which means I have about forty minutes to get back here before the rooster or the sun wakes him.

I put on my high beams and keep a close eye out for deer as I floor it down the straight, quiet road that leads back to town. Journey’s favorite locally owned donut place is just flipping their sign to Open when I pull into the spot right out front. I hurry inside and order a variety half-dozen and a couple of coffees. On my way back out to my truck, I notice that the empty shop that was right next to the donut place has been taken over by a florist. The lights are on inside, and before I think about it, I find myself heading in.

“Be there in two shakes of a lamb’s tail,” a male voice calls from somewhere unseen in response to the bell over the door jingling to announce my presence.

I sweep my eyes over the small, crowded shop, every surface covered by some kind of plant or flower. The smell of dirt and the sweet scent of dozens of different types of flowers is almost overwhelming. This might be a silly idea. I’m not even sure Journey likes flowers. I’ve never gotten flowers for anyone I’ve dated before.

Journey isn’t just anyone though.

I slowly weave around the shelves and tables filled with plants, making my way towards the counter near the back, just in front of a wall lined with coolers full of colorful arrangements. The counter is cluttered with paper, ribbon, and snipped bits of flower stems.

A curtain behind the counter flutters and a petite man with white-blond hair and bright green eyes steps out. He’s wearing a pair of tight jeans, a white t-shirt, and a green apron over the top of everything with the name of the store—Little Shop of Flowers—printed across the front. His name tag says “Lewis.” He turns his back to me immediately and shakes his ass quickly back and forth.

I arch an eyebrow when he turns around.

“Two shakes of a lamb’s tail…” he says, shaking his butt again.

“You don’t have a tail,” I point out.

“And I’m not a lamb either,” he says sweetly. “Let’s call that joke a swing and a miss. I’ll try something else after I’ve had coffee.” He waves his hand dismissively. “What can I help you with, sweetie?”

“Uh…” I glance behind him at the arrangements again. I should have had a plan before I bothered to wander in here. There’s nothing worse than having no fucking clue what you want when you’re standing at the register.

“Alright, let’s start simple. Do you need flowers for a special occasion like a birthday or a funeral, are you in the doghouse with your special lad or lady, or are you just looking to brighten up a room for a few days?”

“None of the above,” I answer. “I thought it would be nice to surprise my boyfriend with flowers this morning. The whole thing is very new,” I confess.

Lewis nods approvingly. “Alright, something romantic then.”

“Not roses.” I wrinkle my nose at the idea of giving Journey something so predictable.

“How about sunflowers?” he suggests, turning and pulling a bouquet out of the case. The flowers aren’t just bright yellow, there’s a range from almost white, all the way to red-orange and half a dozen shades in between. “Roses are nice, but I’ve always loved sunflowers personally. They represent adoration, loyalty, and longevity.”

“Perfect. I’ll take them.”

Lewis nods again, setting the bouquet down on the counter, wrapping it in one more layer of paper and then tying a ribbon around the middle. I pay and then carefully balance the flowers on top of the coffee and donuts I bought next door and make my way back out to my pickup.

The sun is just starting to brighten the horizon by the time I pull back into the driveway. Cornelius is lying on the front porch, thumping his tail. He doesn’t run when I approach, and I’m pretty sure I even hear him purring for a few seconds before he glares at me for daring to pass by him on my way into the house.

“Red?” Journey calls my name as soon as I step through the door, peeking his head around the corner from the kitchen. His hair is messy and he has a disoriented, half-asleep look on his face.

“Yeah, sorry, I ran out really quick. I was hoping I’d make it back before you woke up.” I leave my shoes on since we’re going to head down to the barn in just a minute, clomping down the hallway into the kitchen.

His eyes land on the flowers first. Heat creeps into my cheeks and I have the urge to hide my face like a shy kid giving his crush a dandelion on the playground. I clear my throat and set everything down on the table before picking up the flowers on their own and thrusting them clumsily in his direction.

“Here, they’re uh… for longevity.”

He takes them and brings them to his nose, inhaling deeply and stroking his index finger over one of the deeper orange petals. “They’re beautiful. No one has ever given me flowers before.”

He smiles, staring at the bouquet of flowers like they’re a precious treasure, and I make the decision there and then to bring him flowers once a week for the rest of our lives. Hell, I’ll cover him in flowers if it’ll put that look on his face.

Journey looks back at me and cocks his head. “What’s that look for?”

I blink and clear my throat a second time. “Just glad you like the flowers, that’s all.”

He sets them gently on the table and takes a step closer, wrapping his arms around my neck and resting his forehead against mine. I put my arms around his waist and neither of us says anything, we stand just like that, breathing each other in for a minute until Sanders’s crow finally echoes loudly through the otherwise silent morning.

I smile and press a quick kiss to Journey’s lips. I could definitely get used to this—all of it. Screw protecting my heart, I’m jumping headfirst into a dangerous amount of hope.

Chapter 16

JOURNEY

The hammering, drilling, and general chatter coming from the second bedroom has become a familiar white noise after over a week of constant, daily work going on. Cole and typically one or two other guys show up every morning right around the time Red leaves for work. I keep coffee and water on hand for them, and when Stone is on the crew, I make sure to leave out a baggie of chopped carrots for him to feed the alpacas when they all break for lunch. It’s a pretty good system and the company is nice, but I don’t mourn the loss of noise when they’re finally finished.

Sitting at the kitchen table with my laptop open, I’ve continued to play around with the idea of starting a whole new blog. I’ve even started designing a new site for it and drafted emails reaching out to some of my sponsors pitching them the new idea to see if they’ll transfer their ads over to the new platform. What I haven’t done is worked up the guts to pull the trigger on the whole thing.

I close my new blog page and fuck around with a few different things, eventually finding myself on the website of the guy we sold the alpaca fleece to. Apparently, he buys it and then he and his wife use the fleece to make blankets, sweaters, gloves… basically, if you can make it out of sheep’s wool, you can make it from alpaca.

“Alpaca stuff is crazy popular,” Cole says, as he passes behind me to get some water.

I turn halfway around in my chair to look at him. “It is?”

“Oh yeah.” He nods vigorously, pausing to guzzle down half a bottle of water in a few gulps and then wiping his forearm over his mouth. “My husband, Ren, does the whole farmers’ market thing and there was this guy who had the booth next to him for years. He had a line down the block every single weekend and he always sold out of all of his stuff. He retired after last year, moved to Colorado to live near his kids I think, and Ren still gets customers asking if the alpaca guy will be back.”

“Wow.” I look back at the screen. I wonder how hard it would be to learn how to make some of this stuff myself. It could be fun, actually.

“I’m surprised you guys have so many,” Cole goes on, leaning against the counter and jerking his head in the general direction of the fields. “Alpacas are expensive. Most farms only keep a handful of them.”

I chuckle and run my hand through my hair. “Well that certainly makes my balance sheet make a hell of a lot more sense,” I admit. “It was just like Uncle Milt to go overboard. Actually, he probably figured that he was saving them by buying as many as he could. That would be just like Milton.”

He grins. “Sounds like a dude with a heart of gold.”

“He was,” I say fondly. “I wonder what he would think of how I’ve been handling all of this now that he’s gone. I’m not sure I’m living up to his standard of care for all the furry beasts now in my possession. He would get a kick out of Red and I being a thing, that’s for sure. He always liked Red, said he kept me grounded.” I’m not sure why I’m telling Cole all of this. Hell, I haven’t even come out to my sister or anyone else yet, but apparently my contractor is the lucky winner.

“I’m sure your uncle is proud of all of it. He sounds like the kind of man who would’ve just wanted you to be happy, so I wouldn’t stress too much about it.”

I nod, feeling the truth of his words. “Yeah, that’s all he wanted for anyone.”

“Red seems like a good guy too.”

My smile widens and my stomach dances. “He’s the best.”

“Good. Hey, if you want to ask Ren about the farmers’ market stuff at all, here’s his card. It has his email and all of his social links.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a business card shaped like a beehive.

I flip it over and my eyes go wide. “You’re married to the bee guy on TikTok?”

Cole groans. “Those damn thirst trap videos.”

“You don’t like them?” I guess.

“Nah, I like them just fine. He’s so smug about his views though. The guys and I made a shared account and we’ve done a bunch of thirst traps in our hard hats and stuff, and we never get even a third of the views he manages to pull.” He shakes his head, and I laugh.

“Those are some true marital problems,” I joke, and he nods vehemently.

“We may need a divorce if twenty-year-olds on TikTok don’t start stroking my ego soon.”

“They appreciate good content,” Stone argues, sauntering into the kitchen.

Cole rolls his eyes. “Those likes weren’t for you, they were for baby goats in adorable sweaters.”

Stone shrugs. “Tomato, potato.”

“That’s not…” Cole pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Never mind.”

They get back to work eventually, and I spend a couple of hours lost down a rabbit hole learning about alpaca yarn and all the steps involved in actually using the fleece. After that, I grab a book and head out to the pasture in search of Angie. All that talk about my uncle reminded me that I’ve been slacking big time with her.

I find her standing under the shade of a large tree, happily grazing.

“Hey, girl.” I pat her hip and she flicks her tail towards me. She really does look like she’s been getting too many treats, her stomach noticeably bigger than it was when we moved here. I’ll need to figure out exactly how much she should be eating so I can keep her healthy. “I thought you might be interested in a classic. I know you liked Animal Farm, but I thought something a little more epic would be good too. What do you say, want to hear about Hobbits, Elves, and crazy-ass mind control rings?” I wave the book at her, and she stares at me for a few seconds, still slowly chewing before she bends her front legs and eases herself down into the soft grass. I join her, taking a seat and leaning against her large body. I clear my throat and flip to the first page.

RED

A light, almost giddy feeling fills my chest as I pull up at home after a long day at the garage. The thought occurred to me around lunchtime that if Journey and I are using the b-word, a proper first date is pretty damn necessary. I spent the next hour or so with my stomach in anxious knots trying to come up with the perfect date idea.

As far as I know, Journey has never dated at all. He’s had short flings and a handful of one-night stands, but never anything more serious than that. I can’t say I’ve done a hell of a lot better. So, what the fuck do two men in their forties who have never bothered to date in their lives do when they finally settle down and get serious?

Then, it came to me. It was all I could do not to race home right then. Unfortunately, I still had a long-ass line of cars to deal with. This date idea doesn’t really work until the sun sets anyway, so I suppose the distraction of a dozen oil changes in the meantime wasn’t the worst thing.

I hop out of my truck. The chickens are wandering around at the foot of the porch like they belong there, searching for food in the trampled flower beds. Angie must have opened their coop. Cornelius watches them with his one good eye, tracking their movements and occasionally chattering.

“Chickens are friends, not food,” I warn him as I pass, and he rumbles low in his throat at me.

I step inside and slip off my dirty work shoes right inside the door. I find Journey in the living room. As soon as he sees me, he smiles and tilts his face up, offering me his mouth. My heart flutters wildly. Will I ever get used to that? I sure as fuck hope not. I want to be eighty, walking into a room and still getting butterflies when I see him.

I lean down, bracing one hand on the arm of the couch, and press a kiss to his lips. Journey grabs the back of my neck and smiles against my mouth, nipping at my bottom lip and then teasing it with his tongue until I open up to let him in.

My cock responds instantly, and I rumble a moan around his tongue, tangling and sliding against mine.

“You smell good,” he murmurs when our lips part.

I snort a laugh. “I smell like sweat and motor oil.”

“You smell like you.”

I groan and yank him in for another kiss, tempted to put off the date for another night and just drag him straight to bed instead.

I break the kiss and force myself to stand back up before I do start stripping him down right here in the living room. I’m sure he wouldn’t protest, but he deserves a date. He deserves fucking everything.

“I’m going to take a shower and then we’re going on a date tonight.”

“We are?” His eyes light up. “Where are we going?”

“Not far.” I grin.

“You’re not going to tell me?”

“It’s a surprise. Give me an hour and then meet me out front.” I give him one more quick kiss and then hurry to jump in the shower.

It takes me the full hour to get everything set, plus a phone call to Shep to walk me through some of the technical setup that’s over my damn head. Everything should be as straightforward as engines are, that’s all I’m saying. When it’s all ready, I jog up the steps to the front door and knock.

I hear Journey’s footsteps on the other side of the door immediately. He pulls it open, and I lean against the doorframe with the most charming smile I can manage. He arches an eyebrow at me, amusement written all over his face.

“You know you live here, right?” he asks.

“I’m picking you up for our date,” I explain. “Oh, hold on.” I hold one finger up and trot back down the steps. Angie really hasn’t been showing the flower beds any mercy, but I manage to pick out a handful of small purple flowers that have survived her so far. Maybe I’ll replant the gardens and put up a fence around them for next year. I return to the door with the slightly bent flowers in my outstretched fist, offering them to Journey.

“Thank you.” He brings them to his nose just like he did with the much nicer bouquet I bought for him last week.

I hold out my hand and he takes it, letting the door swing closed behind him as I lead him down the steps and right over to my pickup. He cranes his neck to peek into the truck bed, where the chickens have taken my five-minute distraction as an opportunity to make themselves comfortable among the blankets and pillows I filled it with.

“We should put them back in the coop,” he says.

“Don’t worry, we’re not going far,” I assure him again, opening his door and gesturing for him to get in.

I keep an eye on the rearview mirror, watching for any of the chickens to make an escape. I keep to about five miles an hour as I coast down the dirt path down to the barn, and I’m sure any jumpers would be just fine, but I’d rather not find out. I pull around the side of the barn and turn the truck so the bed is closest to it, then kill the engine again.

“This is our date?” Journey asks, arching an eyebrow at me.

“Have a little faith.”

I climb out and open the tailgate, gathering up each of the chickens and tucking them under my arms one by one with a level of comfort and expertise that I never thought I would have. They cluck in protest but otherwise stay still and let me clear them out of their new nest. It only takes a minute to take them to the indoor coop. Sanders is hanging out, pecking at the ground in search of feed.

“Not a stellar job keeping your girls in line, my man.” I shake my head and he flaps his wings at me. I put them all in the indoor coop and close it up for the night. When I return to Journey, he’s picking some loose feathers out of the bedding.

“Get in,” I tell him while I open the driver’s door one more time so I can finish setting up. Journey eyes me curiously as I put the digital projector on the roof of the truck and turn it on. The sun is setting but it’s not quite dark enough yet to get a good picture. I glance up at the sky, turning from pink to dark blue with every passing minute. We won’t have long to wait.

I hop down and round the back of the truck to climb in next to him. I pull back one of the blankets to reveal a bag full of candy, cans of soda, and another bag of pre-popped popcorn, and then I crawl up to get comfortable next to him.

“Alright, this is a pretty kickass date,” he concedes when I hand him a bag of Twizzlers.

“We probably have about fifteen or twenty minutes before it’s dark enough though.”

A slow, devious smile spreads over his lips. “Hmm, I wonder what we could do to pass the time.”

I wrap my arms around him and pull him close, feeling the press of his half-hard cock against mine immediately. I dip my face into the crook of his neck, placing a hot, open-mouthed kiss right over his throbbing pulse point. He groans, tangling his fingers in my hair and grinding against me.

“I don’t know how you did it, but it feels like you cast some kind of spell over me,” he says, already breathless as he slides his free hand down my chest and then tugs my shirt up to drag his fingers over my belly. He circles my belly button and then strokes his index finger up and down my happy trail, making my cock swell and ache for him to move lower.

“I never cared about sex before. An occasional orgasm was like a mildly inconvenient bodily function, but you switched on some sex-crazed, horny, insatiable part of me I didn’t even know existed. I can’t stop thinking about you. I walk around all day half hard, just waiting for you to come home so I can touch you and get you naked to grind against your dick. I keep thinking I’ll wake up one day and I’ll be back to the way I used to be.”

I nibble along his throat, stopping to suck on his Adam’s apple and then working my way up to his jaw, tugging his shirt up slowly in the process. “Do you want to be back to the way you used to be?”

“No.” He shakes his head rapidly. “I just want this… I want you.” Journey presses himself harder against me, slamming his mouth into mine. We both groan, the sound vibrating between us.

He fumbles with the button on my jeans, tugging it open with much more confidence than he did the first time. I guess a week of practice has made all the difference. I run my hands over the now familiar planes of his stomach and chest, teasing his pebbled nipples with my thumbs when I reach them and drinking in the gasp he feeds me.

“You’ll have me. Sex or no sex, you’ll still have me for as long as you want me,” I promise him, resting my forehead against his and dragging in a ragged breath as he shoves my pants and briefs down a few inches to wrap his fingers around my stiff cock.

He stills for a second, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that makes it even harder to breathe. “I…” Journey clears his throat and squeezes my cock, drawing another gasp from my lips. “I want to suck you.”

I nod, bumping his nose with mine, my eyelids fluttering closed as he strokes me slowly, the relaxed familiarity of his rhythm more of a turn on than I expected it to be. If it’s like this after only a couple of weeks together, what will sex be like after we’ve spent years memorizing each other’s bodies? The thought warms me to my core, and I pulse out a sticky string of precum onto his palm.

That’s what I want. I want to know him so well I could make him moan with a single touch. I want every inch of his body to be more familiar than my own.

He puts his free hand on my chest and gives me a little shove, forcing me onto my back and climbing on top of me in a single motion, his other hand still working my cock in slow, steady strokes that are making my balls heavy and my skin prickle with heat. His hips jerk, pressing his denim-covered bulge against me as he straddles me, gazing down at me with that filthy smile still twisted on his lips.

“If I do it wrong, tell me. Okay?” Journey pushes my shirt up and slides down so he can press a kiss to the center of my chest.

“No teeth. Aside from that, it’s hard to fuck up,” I assure him, my voice full of gravel and my stomach dancing with fluttering heat.

“You say that now,” he mutters, shaking his head and kissing a little lower. “Fuck, I’m obsessed with your body.” Journey groans and mouths the next spot with a hungrier, wetter kiss than the last.

“My body is obsessed with you,” I counter with a rough chuckle, thrusting into his grasp and tangling my fists in the blankets surrounding us.

I remember the first time I went down on a guy. I was so nervous I nearly vomited, so fucking worried I wouldn’t be any good at it, that he would be too rough, that I’d gag too much and it would be a turn off… The list went on and on. I don’t know if Journey is stressed about any of the same things, but I can all but guarantee that I’m going to finish embarrassingly fast. I’ve spent too many years fantasizing about his mouth on me to have any hope that I’ll be able to last.

His mouth moves lower and lower, the sloppy, hungry kisses making my toes curl as they get closer and closer to my throbbing cock. Journey shimmies further down, settling himself between my spread legs and using his free hand to pull my pants a few inches lower, exposing the rest of my cock.

I can’t look anywhere but him as his strokes slow to a torturous rhythm, the head of my cock nearly purple with arousal and glistening in the dim light with the precum that’s pooled there. Journey is staring at it, using his thumb to caress each bulging vein before dragging his hand towards the head again and starting the process all over.

“Your cock is beautiful,” he says. “Is that a weird thing to say?”

I huff with horny amusement, my erection jerking in his grip, getting harder by the second from all of his attention.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” he murmurs, lowering his face closer until I can feel each hot, damp exhale of his breath against my aching cock. “There’s a strange feeling of power in playing with a cock and watching it respond. I’ve never been that crazy about porn, but I have to admit, it’s good for ideas from time to time, and I saw this one where a guy takes a soft cock in his mouth and sucks it until it hardens. I want to do that sometime. I want to feel you get hard inside my mouth.”

“Jesus,” I groan, thrusting involuntarily and bumping the head of my cock against his parted lips. My eyes roll and I twist my fingers harder in the sheets. “You can do anything you want to me.”

“That’s a lot of power to give a man,” he warns, ghosting his lips over the head of my cock again like he’s testing to see how he feels about it. When he pulls back, his lips are glistening with my precum. He darts his tongue out to taste it and another shuddering moan rolls through my body. His cheeks turn a light shade of red and his eyelids droop. Is he turned on by the taste of me?

Journey opens his mouth wider and moves towards my cock again in what feels like slow motion. My chest heaves with every breath, my body quaking with impatience and lust. My balls tighten, pulling closer to my body with the threat of exploding as soon as his mouth touches me again.

“Wait,” I rasp. “I’m… fuck, I want it too much.”

“That’s so fucking hot.” He doesn’t wait, he takes my cock all the way into his mouth, gagging immediately from his overenthusiasm. The constriction of his throat muscles around my cock as he gags nearly sends me over the edge. My thighs tremble with the effort to hold myself still and my cock jerks against his hot, wet tongue.

Journey pulls back, gasping for breath, and tries again. He goes slower this time, taking just the head of my cock at first, sucking and laving his tongue over it. He hums and the vibrations travel down the length of my cock, making me grunt and groan. One of my hands finds its way into his hair, tangling roughly without forcing or holding him, no matter how much my body is screaming for it.

He bobs his head, taking me deeper slowly, so fucking slowly. I writhe and pant, feeling every inch of the hot, wet suction of his mouth. My eyes want to drift closed, but I can’t stop watching him—the way his nostrils flare as he drags in each breath, the wild, lust-drunk look in his eyes, the slight tremor in his body as he takes more and more of my cock into his mouth.

When I hit the back of his throat, Journey gags again, but it’s less violent this time, like he was bracing for it.

“You don’t have to take it so deep. Here.” I release my hold on his hair and reach down the wrap my fist around the base of my cock. “Do it like that.”

He pulls back, slurping along my cock until he only has my head and then taking me in quickly again, my hand making a buffer so he can’t go too deep this time. With a little more confidence he starts working faster, bracing his hands on my thighs and bobbing his head up and down, fast and then a little slower, jerky and then smooth, trying to find a rhythm. Even sloppy and unpracticed, I’m right back on the edge within a minute, breathing heavily and groaning his name in a shaky voice.

“I’m close,” I warn, working my hand up and down with the same clumsy rhythm as his mouth, my hips twitching and my balls tightening again.

“I want it,” he groans, lapping at the head of my cock and then returning to sucking me, moaning and making breathy noises around my length. Each one tightens his tongue and softens his throat in a way that coaxes more precum from me until my muscles all start to tense and tremble, my cock swelling against his tongue.

I move my hand faster, falling completely out of rhythm with his mouth as I chase the feeling building rapidly inside of me. Journey sucks harder, making desperate sounds and looking up at me with wild eyes as he digs his fingers hard into my thighs. A deep, trembling shout bursts from my throat and my cock starts to pulse, painting the back of his throat with rope after rope of my cum. He pulls back a little, catching some of it on his tongue instead. He moans and his eyelids flutter like my cum is the best fucking thing he’s tasted in his life.

He laps at the head of my cock eagerly, sucking and licking every last drop of my orgasm from me. When I sag breathlessly and my cock starts to soften, he pulls off and then licks his lips like a fiend, desperate for just one more taste. I groan again and reach for him, snagging the front of his shirt and dragging him to me.

I sweep my tongue between his lips, tasting the salty sweetness of my release on him and feeling the hard bulge of his cock pressed against my thigh.

“Take your pants off and come up here,” I grunt.

Journey groans and does what I say, shoving his jeans off and then clambering up my body to straddle my face. His hard, dripping cock bounces against my lips and my own spent cock twitches helplessly.

I don’t waste any time teasing him. The way he’s breathing in stilted pants and thrusting his hips in uncontrollable jerks, he’s out of patience already.

I wrap my lips around him, digging my fingers into his ass cheeks and taking him deep into my throat.

“Oh fuck,” he shouts, his body convulsing.

I bob my head a few times and then use my hands to encourage him to thrust. I want him to fuck my throat until I can’t breathe. It takes him a second to get the hint. The first thrust is cautious, like he’s afraid to go too rough and hurt me. I grunt and grip him harder, snaking my tongue along the length of his cock and then taking him all the way into the back of my throat to demonstrate my lack of gag reflex.

“Oh,” he gasps, and I rumble a laugh through my full mouth.

Journey thrusts again, a little harder and faster this time, and I give an encouraging groan. His breathing gets heavier and more uneven, his thrusts picking up speed as he lets go of his control and gives in to the feeling of my mouth wrapped around him, chasing the promise of a soul rocking orgasm. He braces his hands against the back window of the truck, his hips snapping with furious, wild, desperate thrusts now, filling my throat with his cock over and over with barely enough time to breathe in between. Drool dribbles down my chin and tears prick at the corners of my eyes, and I grunt for him to give me more. I want him to use me, I want to be the source of every pleasure he’s ever imagined and ones he hasn’t.

“Red, oh fuck, Red,” he wails, slamming his cock into my throat over and over, faster and faster until he lets out a strangled cry and floods my mouth with his release. I gulp it down as quickly as he can feed it to me, sucking and licking the same way he did, coaxing every last drop from him until his cock softens and he hisses from overstimulation.

I let go of my grip on him, and Journey flops onto the truck bed next to me.

“You always have to one-up me, don’t you?” he complains breathlessly, and I chuckle.

“Blowjobs aren’t a competition.” Even though it’s not cold, I grab one of the blankets and drape it over his bare lower half.

“Not when you’re that much better than I am they’re not,” he counters. “I guess I’ll just need lots and lots of practice.”

“If that will make you feel better, I’ll happily make the sacrifice.”

He laughs and wiggles closer to me, resting his head on my shoulder while we take a minute to catch our breath. Since it’s dark enough now, I grab the remote and use it to start the movie. I picked one of his favorites, The Dark Knight, because it’s awesome and also because it’s stupidly long, which is perfect for hours of cuddling together under the stars.

He tears into his bag of Twizzlers and I use one hand to dig into the popcorn, the other still trapped under Journey where I intend to leave it as long as he wants it.

Somewhere around the first encounter between Batman and The Joker, Cornelius hops up into the truck bed and lies at our feet, purring loudly enough to be heard over the action. About twenty minutes after that, Angie ambles over and tries to find a way into the truck with us, then gives up and lies down next to it.

“We have such a strange little family here,” Journey says with humor in his voice.

My heart leaps at his use of the word family. That’s all I ever wanted with him. I kiss the side of his head and grin. “That we do. I like it though.”

“Me too.”

Chapter 17

JOURNEY

“Explain this concept to me again.” Red has told me twice already, but I swear I have to be missing something because I just don’t get it.

He sticks the nozzle of the hose into the bed of Uncle Milt’s—my—truck, which he spent the morning lining with tarps. “It’s a ‘bring your own pool’ party.”

“I think that’s where I’m getting stuck.” I shake my head. “Why are we throwing a pool party when we don’t have a pool?”

“It’s just stupid and fun. It’ll make more sense when you see it in action,” he assures me.

I shrug. I guess it’ll have to because right now I’m still trying to figure out what he’s doing to the truck and where the fun is in a bunch of grown men bringing plastic kiddie pools over to our house.

Even if the idea is the weirdest shit I’ve ever heard, I can’t deny that I’m excited to have people over. It feels like such a small thing, but spending my entire adult life on the move, I feel like I’ve missed a fundamental rite of passage. I’ve never hosted a party or even just had some friends over to grill and drink beer together.

Red is the best friend a guy could ever have, but now that he’s my boyfriend too, I should probably branch out and make at least a couple other friends. That way when he inevitably pisses me off, I have someone to complain to other than Angie. Don’t get me wrong, she’s great, but I don’t think she has a lot of relationship experience. I suppose Red’s friends are as good a place to start as any.

He pulls the grill around the front of the house, and I fill a cooler with ice and drinks. Angie gets curious about all the commotion and comes to find out what we’re up to, and just for fun I finagle the snorkel I was going to wear as a joke over her ears so that the attached goggles rest on top of her fuzzy head. She doesn’t look amused, but it’s much funnier on her than it would be on me.

“Perfect, now you’re ready for the party too.” I scratch her neck and she gives one of those silly high-pitched moos that still make me laugh even after a couple months to get used to them.

The guys start to pull up in their own cars and trucks, lining the driveway, making sure to leave plenty of space in front of the house for everyone to set up their pool.

Apparently, they all took the invite as a bring your own pets party as well because Auggie shows up with a rather round black and white potbelly pig wearing a sparkly purple harness with the name “Hamlet” embroidered on it. Steele and Porter climb out of Steele’s car with a pair of huskies in tow who they introduce as Denali and Bunny.

Denali trots up to Angie with her tail held high, sniffing the air as she approaches the cow. Angie moos and Denali’s ears go back as she jumps about a foot in the air before yelping loudly and sprinting back to hide behind her humans for protection.

“It’s a good thing I never expected you to be a guard dog,” Steele says, shaking his head and reaching down to pat her head. Bunny, seeing his sister’s reaction, sticks close to Porter and eyes the giant, fluffy beast beside me with suspicion.

Tallahassee and Gates pull up on a pair of motorcycles next.

“Why do I never get the memo about pets being invited?” Gates complains immediately. “That’s it, from now on we’re bringing Nigel with us everywhere we go.”

Tallahassee sighs and kisses his husband but doesn’t argue.

Riggs pulls up last in a rumbling Mustang, and Shep climbs out of the passenger seat. Apparently this is an interesting development, because several eyebrows are raised. Clearly, I have some catching up to do if I want to understand all the juicy developments in workplace drama going on.

“Pissed off twink steal your car keys again?” Auggie asks with a smirk, directing his question at Shep.

The ridiculously muscled man puts a hand over his chest and makes a face like he’s been wounded. “Ouch, man. I’m more than a vessel for enraging fiery little pocket tops.”

“We know,” Tallahassee says with a solemn nod. “You also have sex with them.”

“His tires got slashed.” Riggs gives up the gossip without any prompting, sounding bored by the whole thing. He goes around to the rear of his car and pops the trunk open.

“That’s what we call a cautionary tale, Hammy,” Auggie says in an overly sweet tone, bending down to scratch his pig’s snout. “When you fuck with crazy dudes, they fuck with you back.”

“Say what you will, but the crazy ones are the best in bed.” Shep shrugs unapologetically.

Riggs snorts and rolls his eyes, coming back around the car and shoving a folded-up pool roughly against Shep’s chest, and then a second one. “I drove, you set up my pool.” He says it with so much authority that even though he’s not talking to me, I almost feel like I’m supposed to jump to attention and do something for him too.

Shep’s mouth opens and closes like a fish floundering on land, while Riggs spins around and struts over to the cooler, kicking the lid open and helping himself to a beer.

Gates stifles laughter while everyone else tries to avoid Riggs’s eyeline like they’re afraid they’ll be given jobs of their own. Even Steele looks a little afraid of the tiny man with the terrifying vibes.

Shep gets to work, using an electric pump to blow up both pools. Auggie opens up the back of his SUV and awkwardly tugs a giant black tub out of the backseat, while Steele pulls a stack of three blue plastic pools out of his own car, and Tallahassee and Gates extract blow-up pools from their backpacks. I can see what Red meant about it being fun once I see the pools everyone chose. Riggs’s is a standard sparkly blue, but Gates’s pool is shaped like a unicorn, Tallahassee’s is a whale that shoots water out of its tail when a hose is attached, and Shep has a red racecar.

“You don’t have a pool?” Porter asks us. I look over at Red, realizing that we overlooked an important step in preparing this pool party. But he doesn’t look concerned. He smiles and tugs his shirt over his head, leaving him wearing just the pair of swim trunks he put on this morning. He puts one foot on the back tire of the pickup truck and then hauls himself over the side into the bed, splashing into the water with a yelp.

“Fuck, that’s cold,” he complains. “Come on, get in.” He waves for me to join him.

“No way. You can warm it up first.” I take a step back, shaking my head with a grin. Red swings an arm and sends a wave of freezing water at me too fast for me to dodge it. “You ass,” I gasp when it hits me right in the face.

I tear my shirt off and vault myself over the side of the truck and into the water right next to him, both of us laughing as I try and fail to dunk him and then settle for splashing water right in his face instead.

All the pools are filled one by one with the same cold water from our hose, and every single person yelps and complains as they dive into their own.

“We need something to warm the water up,” Gates says. “Do you guys have a blowtorch anywhere?”

“No,” Red says flatly.

“Just pee in it, it’ll warm up fast,” Auggie suggests with a smirk, and Gates looks like he’s considering the idea for half a second.

“You’ll get used to it in a minute,” Tallahassee assures him.

I’m not sure any of us actually get used to the water, but we all stop complaining eventually. Everyone laughs and splashes each other from their own pools, enjoying a few drinks. Eventually, Red climbs out of our pool and starts the grill.

The dogs and Hamlet share the extra pool Steele and Porter brought, seeming perfectly happy to roll around and wrestle together in the icy water. The huskies yip and howl and the pig joins in with shrill squeals of his own.

“So, are we all just ignoring the elephant in the room or what?” Shep asks, taking a sip from his beer and then scooping some water out of his pool to wet his buzzed hair.

“Don’t make me hurt you, dude,” Red warns flatly.

“Whoa. I just want to know if we’re still pretending not to see the obvious chemistry between you two or not.” Shep holds up his free hand and his beer in a gesture of surrender.

Red’s jaw ticks and I can tell he’s about to go all protective to defend me from being forced to come out of the closet before I’m ready. My heart swells. He really would punch Shep if he refused to drop it, I think. Maybe violence shouldn’t be so damn romantic, but I’m only human and it absolutely is.

I clumsily haul myself out of the makeshift pool, dripping water in my wake as I cross the lawn to where Red is standing in front of the grill. He turns his head to look at me with curiosity in his eyes and I grin. As soon as I reach him, I take his face between my hands and lay a smacking kiss on his lips. A round of wolf whistles and cheers goes up all around us, and I smile against his lips.

“Called it,” Auggie crows.

“We all fucking called it,” Shep argues.

I break the kiss to see Auggie giving Shep the finger.

“Congrats. Cheers to another successful convert to the gay agenda.” Gates raises his beer, and everyone follows suit.

“All hail the gay agenda,” Auggie adds, and they all take a drink in agreement.

“He’s not gay,” Red grumbles, but no one pays any attention. I reach down to thread my fingers through his, giving his hand a squeeze.

RED

Everyone clambers out of their pools when the food is ready, including the dogs, rushing over to find out if I made extra burgers for them. Angie immediately helps herself to Shep’s empty pool, stepping in and then lying down. The sides deflate and water rushes out into the grass immediately, but she seems pretty pleased with herself.

Journey sticks close to me while food is passed out and everyone finds somewhere to sit, some on the hoods of their cars, others on the steps. I guess folding chairs should have been on the party list. Next time.

He touches and kisses me casually every so often, each one sending little sparks along my skin. I wasn’t sure how open he would want to be in front of the guys today and I had no plans to rush him out of the closet just to satisfy their curiosity. I can’t deny it makes this thing between us feel all the more real to have it out in the open though.

I make him a burger and hand the plate to him, then get my own. We both take a seat on the bottom step of the porch. Auggie sits right above me, tapping away on his phone and smiling in a way I haven’t seen before.

“Who is he?” Tallahassee asks, nudging Auggie’s shoulder.

“Hm?” He looks up from his phone, setting it facedown immediately. “Who?”

“Whoever has you smiling like a lovesick idiot,” Gates clarifies.

Auggie scoffs. “I’m not in love, I just met the guy.”

“So, there is a guy?” Shep asks. “Do tell. Is he cute?”

“Nope, I’m not going to jinx this. It’s not even really a thing yet, it’s just—” He cuts himself off and then shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”

“Boo,” Shep complains. “Everyone is dropping like flies around here, one committed relationship after another. Before long I’ll be the only slutty single dude left in the shop.”

Riggs makes a disgruntled noise, seated on the hood of his car next to Shep. “No way. I’ll race you to last single because that shit”—he waves his hand in our direction—“is for the birds.”

Shep smirks and offers his hand to Riggs. “May the least committed man win.”

“You’re on.” He seals the deal with a handshake and a determined sort of nod.

I lean just a little harder into Journey, and he puts a hand on my knee, using the other to devour his burger. It’s such a simple gesture but sometimes those are the best ones. Those two don’t know what they’re missing, but that’s for them to figure out, and something tells me they will eventually.

The afternoon passes with more laughter and good-natured teasing. We give the guys a short tour of the farm that ends with everyone taking a turn on the tractor and a silly set of races to outrun it on foot. Journey and Porter spend time talking about the animals and Journey’s travels before he moved back here.

When the sun starts to set later in the evening, we see the guys off and then go down to the barn to put the animals in for the night. Then Journey and I grab the last two beers out of the cooler and settle ourselves on the porch, an evening tradition I’ve come to look forward to.

“So, I’ve been thinking…” he says, sitting on the top step, leaning against the railing with his leg outstretched to touch mine. “I want to see if I can learn to make yarn with the alpaca fleece and knit sweaters and blankets and stuff with it.”

I nod. “That sounds cool. What do you need for that?” My hand twitches immediately towards my pocket to reach for my phone to start researching all the details of his plan. But then I remember that I left my phone inside so it wouldn’t get wet today.

“A spinning wheel to make the yarn, and a hell of a lot of practice.” He rubs his hand over his chin. “It’s stupid though, right? I’ve never done anything like that before, so I’ll probably suck at it. Who knows how long it could take me to get good enough to make stuff worth selling.”

I shrug. “Who cares? Do you want to do it?”

“Yeah, it seems fun. I’ve been texting with Ren about the farmers’ market and what it’s like to run this kind of business and it seems pretty chill. It would be nice to feel like there’s a reason to keep all these expensive animals too.”

“Then take all the time you need to learn it,” I encourage him, reaching over to squeeze his knee. “But if you just need a reason to keep the animals, don’t worry about that. We’re doing this and it’s not about making a profit. This life is nice all on its own, isn’t it?” I gesture at the farm, taking a deep breath of the fresh air and then gazing up at the unobstructed view of all the stars overhead.

“It is,” he agrees. “I want to try it though.”

“Okay. Then let me know what I can do to help.”

Journey sits up and scoots closer to me until he’s leaning on me instead of the railing. “What did I do to get lucky enough to have someone like you in my life?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… I think I could tell you I want to learn to be a fire dancer and you’d rush out to buy me the torches. You’re here for whatever I want to do, you always have my back.”

I shrug, turning my head to press a kiss to his temple. “We made a pact we always would. Besides, that’s what you do when you love someone.”

Journey’s breath hitches and I play my words back in my own head, realizing how casually I just confessed the feelings I’ve spent half my life hiding. He looks over at me, his eyes searching mine silently for several long seconds while my heart hammers against my sternum. Was it too soon?

“I love you too,” he finally replies just as casually, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. It certainly feels like we’ve been moving towards this moment since the day we met. Like it was inevitable somehow.

I grab the front of his t-shirt and tug him in for a slow, sweet kiss.

“Let’s go in. I want to go to bed,” Journey murmurs against my lips, sliding a hand up my thigh under my damp swim trunks.

“Tired?” I ask.

“Nope.” He grins and nips at my bottom lip.

Chapter 18

JOURNEY

Red wraps his arms around me from behind and ducks his head to press a biting kiss to the back of my neck, making me stumble on my way into the house. I laugh and spin around to meet his next kiss, our mouths crashing together roughly.

We clumsily kick our shoes off, tripping over them but refusing to break our kiss, our tongues tangling and our hands groping at each other’s clothes. My heart flails in my chest and butterflies explode inside my belly as I grab the front of his shirt and tug him down the hallway towards the bedroom, blindly bumping into walls and doorways along the way.

Red sucks my bottom lip between his teeth, his hands slipping under my shirt to ghost over my back. I shiver at the feeling of his warm, familiar, calloused hands against my skin, my cock already swelling and aching to have him naked and to spend the night making each other come over and over. I want him to wake up with his throat raw in the morning from moaning my name too many times.

I drag my fingers through his hair and kiss him back harder, pouring all of the desperation that’s rising inside my chest into the knot of our tongues and the rhythm of our lips against each other. I moan into his mouth and he rumbles back with a hungry sound. When the backs of my knees hit the bed, I put a hand against Red’s chest to slow him down.

“Let’s take a shower together,” I murmur between kisses, grabbing the hem of his shirt and tugging it up, breaking our connection just long enough to slip it over his head.

He does the same, grabbing the bottom of my shirt roughly in his fist and yanking it off like it’s taking every ounce of his willpower to be patient. Why is that so fucking hot? Maybe because Red has always been calm and in control. In all the years that I’ve known him, nothing ever seems to rattle him. There’s a certain sense of power in feeling like I’m the only thing that can push him right to the edge.

Our swim trunks are the next to go, just the slightest bit damp still, both shoved down and kicked away without fanfare. Red grabs my ass cheek, kneading it hard enough to make me gasp around his tongue. Our hard cocks bump and brush against each other, stiff and thick and eager. With one hand gripping the back of Red’s neck firmly, I tug him into the bathroom.

He shoves me up against the sink and I inhale sharply, the cold porcelain a jarring contrast to my overheated skin.

“Sorry,” he says with a grin, pulling away and turning to slide the shower door open. He cranks the water on while I drag in a few deep breaths, trying to calm my galloping pulse.

When Red turns back in my direction, I look him up and down slowly, taking in every inch of his bare body, from the patch of freckles on the top of his left foot to the burn scar on his calf from riding a motorcycle in shorts when we were eighteen. The thick, muscular swell of his thighs covered in hair darker than the hair on his head, his hard cock swinging heavily, the birthmark above his belly button, the dusky pink shade of his nipples… Every single inch that I’ve spent a lifetime memorizing without ever realizing it.

I swallow hard, breathing heavily all over again as I fight the urge to throw myself at him and beg him to fuck me right here on the bathroom floor. My pulse spikes again with a mixture of lust and nerves. I lick my lips and settle my gaze on his face to find him staring back at me with a look of awed hunger that makes my entire body burn even hotter.

It hits me all at once that Red told me he loved me, and I said it back. I’ve spent my entire life sure I never wanted to settle down with anyone, but I think deep down I just always knew that no one else would ever measure up to him. Even before I knew I could love him this way, I still held him so far above everyone else it was never a fair competition.

The bathroom starts to fill with steam, the air getting thicker and heavier around us, and I realize I have no idea how long we’ve been staring at each other.

I grin and put a hand to the middle of his chest, feeling the hard thump of his heart against my palm as I push him gently towards the shower. He smiles back, stepping inside and then grabbing my wrist to drag me after him.

Hot water pelts my skin as he pulls me under the spray and drags me close for another kiss. The steam and slickness of our skin adds a whole new sensation to the way our bodies feel grinding together.

Red breaks the kiss and reaches around me to grab the bar of soap off the ledge. I stay pressed against him, licking droplets of water off of his skin, getting drunk on the muted flavor of him that each one carries while he lathers the soap up between his hands.

“I heard you jerking off in here right after we moved in,” I confess, stroking my fingers teasingly over the head of his cock, feeling it twitch and jump, desperate for more. There’s something so fucking addictive in the way his cock reacts to my touch.

He huffs out a laugh. “Sorry?” Red starts to run his soapy hands over my body, starting with my chest, massaging the muscles as he works over each one slowly. “I thought I was being quiet.”

“Don’t be sorry. It made me so fucking horny I was practically humping the other side of the door.”

Red groans at my admission, his hips twitching to drag his cock against mine. “I was thinking about you. Actually, I can’t think of a time I’ve gotten off without thinking of you. You’ve invaded every dirty thought I’ve had since I figured out what my dick was for.”

A moan sticks in my throat and I kiss him again, shoving my tongue roughly into his mouth and pushing him up against the wall so I can thrust my cock hard against his. “That’s so fucking hot,” I murmur, gripping his wet hair and biting his lip as our erections slide together, soaking wet from the water pouring over us.

“You don’t think I’m a creepy perv?” he asks, gripping my ass cheeks hard again, kneading them in both hands in a way that tugs at my hole and makes my cock even harder and my chest heave with ragged breaths.

“No. I’m too fucking greedy for every part of you. Maybe it’s selfish, but I love that you’ve never thought about anyone else.”

“Never,” he swears, kissing along my jaw and sliding the bar of soap between my ass cheeks.

I gasp at the slippery feeling of the hard bar gliding over my hole. I jerk my hips and Red makes a deep sound in his throat, pressing the soap a little harder against me before letting it slip out of his hand, landing on the shower floor with a thud. He replaces it with his fingers, stroking them over my entrance in small circles.

“What does it feel like to get fucked?” I ask, leaning into him, my eyelids fluttering and my body trembling at the sensation. “I mean…” I swallow and groan softly, squirming under his touch. “Have you? Or do you only do it the other way?”

“I’m vers. It means I do both.”

I nod, licking my lips again in an attempt to quench my dry mouth. “What do you like better?”

“Hmm.” He kisses along my throat as he seems to contemplate the question. “It’s hard to pick a favorite, they’re different. Getting fucked is like… full and electric. It satisfies something deep and hungry inside of me.” Red presses a little harder against my hole. Even with the water running between my ass cheeks it feels too dry, but that doesn’t stop the burning, fluttering feeling in the pit of my stomach, urging me to beg him to fill me up. “And topping is primal, it scratches that itch to dominate and take, to chase pleasure while being in control of someone else’s pleasure at the same time.”

I shiver in spite of my whole body feeling on the verge of bursting into flames.

“Fuck,” I pant. “I want that. I want it all, I want everything all at once.”

He chuckles and kisses my earlobe. “We have all the time in the world to fuck each other in every way we can think of. Why don’t we get into bed and just see where things go tonight,” he suggests, and I nod.

With trembling legs, I stoop down to pick up the lost soap, using it to wash him in a hurry while my cock throbs impatiently, dripping with precum that’s washed away over and over by the hot cascade of water. When I’m finished, I reach over and shut off the water. The rush of cooler air that greets us immediately sends goosebumps skittering all over my skin, tightening my nipples and making every inch of my body feel oversensitive and on alert.

Red opens the shower door and grabs a pair of towels off the rack. He slings one over his shoulder and then uses the other to dry me off, ignoring me when I try to take it from him and do it myself. I chuckle at the raised eyebrow he gives me. I snatch the towel off his shoulder and hastily dry his hair and skin too.

We leave the towels in a heap on the bathroom floor, steam billowing out after us to warm the bedroom as we tumble naked and still half damp into bed, our mouths connected and our limbs tangled.

“Please tell me you’re more prepared than I am. We need lube and stuff, right?” I ask between tongue-heavy kisses, pawing at his body and thrusting up to grind our cocks together while he blankets me with his weight.

“I have what we need.” He rolls off me and pulls open the top drawer of his nightstand.

“Do we have to…” I glance at the condom he produces after he tosses a bottle of lube onto the bed between us.

Red hesitates. “I was negative at my last physical and I haven’t been with anyone since.”

“Same.” I nod. He tosses the condom back into the drawer and slides it closed. I pick up the bottle of lube and pour some onto my fingers. “Come here,” I rasp.

We meet in the middle of the bed again, both lying on our sides facing each other. I kiss him gently and tentatively slide my slicked fingers between his cheeks. His crease is warm and still wet from the shower, his heated pucker fluttering under my touch as soon as I brush my fingers over it.

He grunts against my lips, and I mimic the way he was touching me in the shower, rubbing around his rim in soft circles. Like with his cock, there’s a certain thrill in feeling his body respond to me. After a few seconds, his hole relaxes. I press two fingers a little harder to his entrance until they start to sink inside.

My cock jumps eagerly and my breath catches in my chest, my eyes rolling and my toes curling at the impossibly tight grip of his inner ring of muscles as they squeeze my fingertips. It’s so different from what I’m used to, and I’m already sure it’s going to be a brand-new addiction.

“Do me too,” I plead in a trembling voice, moving my fingers in and out just a little deeper each time while rocking against him, chest to chest, mouth to mouth, and cock to cock.

Red gropes for the lube. I hear the click of the cap and the wet squelch of him filling his hand the same way I did. He only uses one finger at first, starting over with the same gentle stroking he did with the soap—petting my hole, teasing and coaxing it, waking up nerve endings I never even knew existed.

I fuck my fingers in and out of his hole, swallowing the gasps and moans he feeds me while gently playing with my rim until the empty feeling inside of me is so unbearable I’m ready to scream. When he finally eases one finger inside, I hiss at the unexpected sting.

“Give it a second,” he says, holding still and nuzzling his nose against mine. “Breathe and try to relax, it’ll feel better soon.”

I nod, doing as he suggests and taking a couple of deep breaths. I focus my attention on the heat of his hole instead, the easy slide of my fingers in and out and how it’ll feel around my cock. I groan and his finger slips an inch deeper, the sharp, unpleasant feeling replaced by a warm, full one.

“Better?” he checks, and I nod, moaning again as he slowly slips a little deeper until he’s in up to his last knuckle.

He works it in and out, and I match his rhythm with my own thrusts. Soon one finger isn’t enough and I’m begging for more, humping against him and fucking three fingers in and out of the tight grip of his ass.

He adds a second one and the sting returns, but only for a second. He thrusts them in and out and we fall into another deep kiss, our tongues sliding together, our hard shafts rolling and moving against each other, slick with precum, both of us humping and panting. I can’t decide what I want more, his fingers deeper or friction on my needy, throbbing cock, so I squirm and rut helplessly, trying to have both.

“Fuck me, Journey. I want you inside of me so badly,” he groans.

My cock jerks and I hump against him a little faster. “Yeah,” I gasp, bobbling my head and kissing him harder.

I ease my fingers out of him and he does the same. My hole gapes with emptiness, desperate to be filled again. I swing a leg over Red’s hips and roll him onto his back, straddling him. I brace my hands on either side of his head and gaze down at him, mesmerized by the wrecked look already on his face—his brow damp with sweat, his lips swollen, his irises obscured by his pupils.

I pick up the lube again, filling my hand with even more than before and then wrapping it around both of our cocks at once.

Red moans and arches up, his hands twisting in the sheets. I slick both our cocks at once, stroking us with slow, tight motions the way I’ve learned drives him absolutely wild. Broken sounds fall from his lips, half begging and half incoherent.

My balls tighten and heat licks at the pit of my stomach. I wrench my hand away before I take it too far and finish too soon. I climb off of him and we manage to rearrange our heavy limbs into the right position, with Red’s thighs spread around me while I kneel between them.

I can feel his eyes on me as I hold the base of my cock and ease forward to press it against his ready hole. He’s slick and soft enough that I slip inside easily. I grip his thighs, my head falling back on a deep, wild moan as my body convulses immediately from the tight clench of his muscles around my cock and the pleasured way his eyes roll back and a deep blush immediately rushes over his skin.

“Journey,” he growls my name, his voice full of gravel. “More.”

I dig my fingers harder into his thighs, holding my breath in an effort to push back the orgasm that’s threatening to hit me like a tidal wave before I’m even all the way inside of him. A whimper dances on my lips as I fill him deeper and deeper until I’m buried as far as I can go, every inch of my cock wrapped in the constricting heat of him.

“Fuck,” I groan, swiveling my hips and grinding inside him.

Red arches up again, his cock jerking against his belly and his lips parting with fast puffs of breath. “It’s so good. I want you inside me all the time, I want to live with your cock buried in my ass.”

I shudder and moan, pulling out and filling him again. This may be a hole I’m not used to, but this part is something I know how to do, for a change. I force his hips a little higher, watching his face as I fuck in and out, until I hit the spot that makes his eyes fly open with a desperate look in them.

“Oh god.” He reaches for his cock, but I bat his hand away. I don’t want this to be over yet.

I give him more, hitting that spot over and over until his cock is even harder than it was, deep pink with arousal and pouring a constant stream of clear, slippery precum onto his skin. He tightens his thighs around me, thrashing his head back and forth and squirming to fuck himself with my cock.

I fall forward, changing the angle and bracing myself on the pillow again.

“I’m so fucking in love with you,” I tell him again, the words feeling heavy and light at the same time as they fill the air between us.

Red tries to respond, but all he can manage is a whimper before grabbing my hair roughly and slamming his lips into mine for a harsh, biting kiss. I fuck him until we’re both slick with sweat and my balls are heavy and sore, begging for release.

When I pull out without warning, Red roars like a wounded animal, reaching for me desperately and thrusting his hips helplessly.

I scramble on top of him with my heart thundering and my lungs burning for more air than I can manage to drag in. I grip his cock and sink down onto him in a single motion, too desperately horny to be bothered by the sharp feeling of the stretch this time.

I push myself upright, breathless from the feeling that rushes over my body. I see what he meant now. I don’t just feel full from his cock stretching my ass beyond its normal limits, it’s like he’s reaching a deep ache inside of me that I didn’t know I needed soothed until this moment. I roll my hips faster and faster, taking him deep over and over. The sounds of our moans and the slapping of our skin ricochet off the bedroom walls, rattling the windows as the bed creaks and groans under us, slamming hard against the wall with every desperate thrust.

Red sits up and the angle shifts, his cock slamming into that same place inside of me that I’d been using to torture him. My throat aches with the next moan that tears from me as he wraps his arms around me, burying his face against my sweat-slicked skin. We rock together, my cock against his belly, his moving so deep inside of me that my vision blurs and I can’t stop my body from quaking.

“Oh god, oh fuck, I’m… I’m…” I gasp. Red grunts and his cock swells even stiffer inside of me. I let out a wail and every muscle in my body tightens, my inner ones squeezing so tightly around him that I see stars as I fall over the edge into pleasure.

We thrust and grind, holding on tightly to each other as we grunt and moan through every wave of pleasure we share, our orgasms going on and on. I can feel the heat of his release deep inside of me, the throb of his orgasm pulsing in time with mine. I paint his skin with rope after rope of my cum until it’s nothing more than a trickle of sticky, milky fluid trickling lazily down my shaft and I’m gasping and trembling with aftershocks.

When he finally falls back against the pillow, I collapse right on top of him, our chests moving against each other as we both work to catch our breath.

“Fuck, I love you,” he murmurs, and I manage a weak laugh.

“I can’t feel my legs.”

Red chuckles, running his hand up and down my spine, his softening cock slowly slipping out of me until it finally pops free and I hiss at the sharp sting that finally hits me now that the haze of lust is passing.

“Yeah, I should have warned you about that part. You get used to it, but you’re going to be a little sore tomorrow.”

“Worth it,” I mumble sleepily before yawning. I manage to gather enough energy to roll off him and rest my head on his shoulder. Eventually I’ll have to get up and clean myself up, but that’s going to have to wait until I can feel even a single one of my limbs again. “This is forever, right? You and me.”

“Just try and get rid of me,” he threatens, and I smile, my eyelids drooping with exhaustion.

“Promise?” I check, holding out my pinky finger. I already know the answer, but seeing how seriously the man takes a pinky promise, the extra reassurance never hurts.

“Promise,” he vows, hooking his finger with mine and then kissing my forehead. “Forever.”

Chapter 19

RED

The energy in the garage is way too high for seven in the morning when I shuffle in with a to-go cup of coffee in my hand, smelling like hay and manure. I didn’t get the chance to shower after morning chores this morning because Journey and I wasted too much time before actually getting out of bed. Totally worth it.

I take a sip of coffee and stride over to the open box of donut holes, grabbing two and popping them both in my mouth at once.

“What’s everyone so excited about?” I ask, joining Riggs, Tallahassee, Auggie, and Shep all crowded around, talking in low voices about something.

“Fresh meat.” Shep waggles his eyebrows and I frown. I’m not sure if they’re planning a cookout or if someone hit a deer and they’re excited to have it butchered. Neither seems like cause for this level of enthusiasm.

“The boss hired someone for customer service,” Auggie explains. “He just told us a few minutes ago. The guy is supposed to be here any minute.”

“These two idiots are all horned up to fuck whoever it is, sight unseen,” Riggs says, sounding bored by the whole thing.

“If it means we can spend a little less time arguing with idiot customers and a little more time elbow deep in an engine, I don’t care who the hell it is,” Tallahassee says, loudly sipping from his own coffee.

“They can make our lives easier and also be hot,” Shep points out. Riggs scoffs and strides away from the group, heading straight for his bay where there’s already a semi parked, waiting for him to get to work on it.

The seldom-used door to the grungy, forgotten lobby creaks open, and we all whip our heads in that direction at once. Steele steps through with another man right behind him. He’s the very definition of a bear with a thick beard, muscled arms, and a rounder belly, a tuft of dark chest hair peeking out past the unbuttoned top of his shirt. He has his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, both of them covered in colorful tattoos that are partially obscured by more dark hair. He has piercing blue eyes and a nose that looks like it’s been broken at least once, but there’s a certain rugged charm to his whole look.

Auggie makes a choking sound next to me, spitting his recent sip of coffee back into his cup and then reaching for a napkin in a hurry. In his haste, he slams his hand into the box of donut holes, sending them tumbling to the ground. They spill out of the box and Denali and Bunny rouse from the nap they were taking in Steele’s office and descend on the sugary treats, fluffy tails wagging as they Hungry, Hungry Hippos the fuck out of the mess.

“Fuck,” Auggie mutters.

“If that gives them the shits, I’m calling you at three in the morning to come deal with it,” Steele threatens.

“Sorry.” Auggie snatches up a couple of the donuts before the dogs can eat them, tossing them into the garbage before finally grabbing the napkin he was originally reaching for to mop the coffee off of his face.

After all the commotion, when I turn my attention back to the new guy, he looks like a deer caught in the headlights, staring wide-eyed at Auggie. I guess the chaos of this place might take some getting used to.

“Guys, this is our new office manager, Henry. Henry, the guys.” Steele waves a hand between us and Henry. “He’s here to make your lives easier, so do him the courtesy of trying to do the same.”

Shep steps forward to shake Henry’s hand. “Welcome to Big Bull. Did Steele tell you his policy about sex toys?”

“Uh…” Henry looks over at Steele who rolls his eyes.

“Yes, very important policy. Don’t give the customers dildos,” Riggs explains from his perch half under the hood of the truck.

“Why would I…?”

“Just wait. You’ll understand once you meet some of them,” Shep says ominously.

Tallahassee elbows Shep out of the way and shakes Henry’s hand as well, offering his name. “You’ll get used to these guys, I promise.”

Henry gives a weak laugh. I go next, introducing myself and welcoming him. Auggie is the last to step up, wiping his hands on his overalls and moving to stand just a little too close to the new guy. Henry blushes furiously, all the hair in the world not doing a damn thing to conceal the cherry red color of his cheeks as Auggie takes his hand and grins at him.

“Hi, Henry.”

Henry clears his throat. “Hey… Good to meet you.”

“Hm.” Auggie’s grip lingers for several seconds longer than normal before he lets go of Henry’s hand.

I’d bother to wonder what the fuck any of that was about, but I’m pretty sure I’m at least a few episodes behind on As the Crankshaft Turns. Who can keep up with all the drama and intrigue around this place?

A car pulls into the parking lot and Steele pats Henry on the shoulder. “Into the fire, as they say.”

The two of them head inside together, and the rest of us wait to find out who’s up first.

The day passes smoothly, and it’s obvious even with Henry still learning the ropes that things are going to be a hell of a lot easier with a middleman between the customer bullshit and us.

When I get home, I expect Journey to be waiting for me like he has been every day for the past couple of months, but the house is quiet as I step inside.

“Journey?” I call out, sticking my head into the living room to find it empty. There’s no answer. I check the bedroom and the kitchen and find both of them empty as well. I even head to the back of the house to check the bedroom that’s under construction. I poke my head in just long enough to see that it’s almost finished, and that it’s also completely empty.

His car is here, so he’s probably out in the field with Angie or down at the barn. I should hop in the shower and then start on dinner, but a feeling in my gut tells me to head down to the barn, so that’s what I do.

The summer heat is starting to give way to a cooler breeze, a reminder that fall isn’t far away. I hear the murmur of Journey’s voice before I see him. I can’t quite make out what he’s saying, but there’s an edge of panic to his tone even though his voice is low and even.

I step into the barn to find him in Angie’s stall, petting her.

“Hey, is everything okay?” I lean over the edge of the stall and sweep my eyes over the cow, expecting some obvious sign of injury or illness. The main thing I notice is that Journey was right the other day when he said we must be overfeeding her. It looks like her stomach has ballooned overnight.

“There’s something wrong with her. She hasn’t been eating today, she wouldn’t even take the apples I offered her. And look at her stomach. That’s not normal, right?” He sounds a little frantic.

“I’m not sure.” It definitely doesn’t seem normal, but I don’t want to panic him more than necessary.

“When I looked online, I saw some stuff about bloat, which is deadly if it’s not treated. I was going to run up to the house and see if there’s a number for a veterinarian in the binder, but I didn’t want to leave her.”

“Porter is a veterinarian,” I remind him.

“Oh, right. Fuck, sorry, I was so freaked out I wasn’t even thinking.” He fumbles to pull out his phone, dropping it immediately thanks to the nervous tremor in his hands.

“I got it.” I pull my own out and bring up the number I have saved for Porter.

He answers after a couple of rings, his voice echoing like he’s in his car. “Hey, Red. Is everything okay? I don’t think you’ve ever called me before.”

“Are you busy? There’s something wrong with Angie.”

“I’m just leaving the wildlife rehab, so I’m only about ten minutes from you actually. What’s going on with her?”

“Journey thinks it might be bloat. That’s bad, right?” I rub the back of my neck with my free hand, eyeing the cow again. Her udder looks bigger than normal too, but I can’t tell if that’s just from the way her stomach is bulging.

“Bloat isn’t good, no. Is she swollen on just one side?” Porter asks.

“Uh…” I take a step back, doing my best to visually gauge the situation. “It’s pretty symmetrical, I think.”

“Okay. I’ll be there in just a few minutes.”

“Great. Thank you. Just come right down to the barn when you’re here.”

JOURNEY

Red hangs up his phone and I keep stroking Angie. Her ears flick and she leans her weight into my hand.

“Porter should be here soon,” Red says, and I nod, a lump in my throat. I can’t believe I forgot Porter was a vet. I could have called and had him here half an hour ago. If the delay costs Angie, I’ll never forgive myself.

Red opens the stall door and steps inside, putting a hand on my shoulder and squeezing it. “She’s going to be alright.”

“I know she’s just a cow.” I sniffle, fighting against the burning in my eyes.

“Hey, there’s no just about it,” he says firmly. “Whatever’s wrong with her, Porter will fix her right up, I promise.”

I know he’s only saying it to comfort me, that there are plenty of things that can’t be fixed with positive thinking or sheer force of will, but the firmness in his voice makes me believe him. He’s never lied before, and I’m positive the man would fist fight the Grim Reaper himself if it meant keeping me happy.

I lean into Red and he puts an arm around my shoulders.

The rumble of an engine announces Porter’s arrival. From the sounds of it, he pulls right up to the barn before getting out of his car. He strides into the barn a minute later with a stethoscope around his neck, pulling on a glove that stretches all the way up his arm. He’s all business, stepping into the stall and going straight to Angie.

“Hey, beautiful. Let’s see what we can do to get you feeling better,” he coos at her, pressing on her belly and then bringing his stethoscope to it to listen for a few seconds. When he takes it out, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a tube labeled “sterile lube” and he squirts nearly the entire bottle into his gloved palm.

“When did she eat last?” he asks.

“Last night,” I answer, moving to stand in front of Angie so I can comfort her but give Porter space to work.

He lifts her fluffy tail and shoves his hand up her ass. Not just his hand, his entire arm, until he’s shoulder deep in my poor girl.

Red cringes. “Skipping all the niceties, apparently.”

Porter grins, and I sputter a laugh in spite of the nerves that have been twisting in my stomach for the last forty minutes.

“Oh,” Porter gasps and then chuckles. He spends another few seconds shoulder deep before pulling his arm out and stripping off the soiled glove immediately. “Congratulations are in order, you two are about to be papas.”

“What?” Red and I ask at the same time.

“She’s bloated because she’s pregnant. I just got to pat the little tyke’s head and everything,” he says cheerfully.

“How the hell did she get a baby up her ass?” I ask, and this time Red is the one who barks out the laugh.

“Her calf is where it belongs, in her uterus. In cows it’s just much easier to palpate for pregnancy through the rectum. She’s looking so big today because her ligaments have relaxed, which means she should calve sometime in the next day or so.”

“Wow, okay.” I’m in a daze, feeling a bit of whiplash after going from thinking she was about to die to finding out we’re going to have a calf here any day. “So, uh… I don’t know how to ask this, but… there’s no bull here, so how…? I mean, it’s for sure a baby cow in there and not, like, a Minotaur, right?”

“Did you just ask if your uncle fucked a cow?” Red asks, and I shrug.

“Well, I don’t know. This whole situation has been a little shocking.”

“I can’t say I know enough about your late uncle to answer whether or not he had an inappropriate relationship with a cow,” Porter says with a remarkably straight face. “But I do know enough about biology to assure you that he didn’t get her pregnant. At least not like that. He probably ordered frozen semen and inseminated her. Cow gestation is about nine and a half months.”

“Well, that would have been a good thing for them to put in the damn binder for us,” I mutter.

“Yeah, that’s a pretty glaring oversight,” Red agrees. “But maybe he bred her just before he got really sick.”

“That would make sense.” I blow out a breath, relief and a giddy feeling finally replacing the anxiety that was filling my chest. “We’re going to have a new little baby. Did you hear that, Angie? You’re going to be a mom.”

She doesn’t look all that impressed by the news, but I’m sure it’s an even bigger shock for her than it was for us. She’ll be happy once it all sinks in.

“What I need you guys to do is give her some space. Make sure she has access to water, but don’t panic if she doesn’t eat or drink anything between now and when she calves. Most of the time they can handle the whole process themselves, but since this is her first calf as far as we know, do check in on her. In the last hour or so before birth, it’ll look like she has a water-filled balloon coming out of her. If you notice that for longer than an hour without the calf being born, you need to call me. Got it?”

“Got it.”

Porter gives us a few more tips and then leaves us to celebrate the news.

“A baby, how exciting,” Red says with a grin. “We should throw a baby shower for her.”

“Is there time?”

He shrugs. “How much time do we need? Let’s call everybody and tell them to get their asses over here tomorrow, and then we can hit the dollar store for some decorations and stuff.”

“Alright, yeah, that sounds like fun. I think I’ll call Meg too. She’ll get a kick out of the whole thing.” I haven’t been putting off coming out to my sister for any particular reason, this whole thing with Red has just been a whirlwind. But after the other night, there’s no doubt in my mind that this isn’t a passing thing. This is it, Red and me growing old together right here on the farm, and I want my sister and everyone else to know.

Red eventually coaxes me out of Angie’s stall with promises that we can check in on her every couple of hours all night, but that we should give her some space like Porter said. I let him drag me up to the house with his arm around my shoulders, tempting me with the idea of a shower together and paying a ridiculous delivery fee to get something delicious for dinner.

This. This is the forever I didn’t realize I wanted until Red came along and laid it at my feet. My heart flutters at the thought of making things officially permanent. I brace for the feeling of discomfort and indifference that has followed thoughts of marriage my whole life, but of course, when it comes to Red there’s none of that, just more of all the warm, happy emotions I’ve been having since I stopped fighting my feelings for him.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, nuzzling my neck as he backs me into the bathroom and then tugs my shirt up over my head.

“You,” I answer with a grin.

“What a coincidence.” He smiles back. “I was thinking about you too. Then again, that’s pretty much a given.”

“Sap,” I tease, unzipping his work jumpsuit, slowly exposing his chest and belly all the way down to his briefs.

“Guilty,” he says shamelessly and then claims my lips in a rough, hungry kiss.

Chapter 20

JOURNEY

I quietly peer over the wall of Angie’s stall for what has to be the two dozenth time in the last twenty hours. My eyelids are heavy from lack of sleep last night and a long day of farm chores and party planning. She’s lying down now, breathing heavily, which should mean that the calf will be coming soon.

I slip back out quietly to leave her to it, jogging up the dirt path towards the house. I spot my sister’s car pulling in just as I reach the farmhouse. I asked her to come a little earlier than we told everyone else so I could have a few minutes to talk to her alone. She gets out of her car with a bouquet of pink and blue balloons in hand and a fluffy little stuffed cow that looks a lot like Angie.

“Hey,” I greet her, coming around the car and pulling her into a hug.

“You stink like a farm,” she complains, and I chuckle.

“Gee, I wonder why.”

“Here.” She hands me the gifts when I release her from my tight grip. “I wasn’t sure what to bring to a cow baby shower. You get that this is weird, right?”

“There is nothing weird about celebrating a brand-new family member.”

“Alright, when you put it like that, it’s pretty wholesome,” she concedes. “Am I early?” Meg glances around, seeming to realize she’s the first guest to arrive.

“Yeah, I wanted to talk to you really quick before everyone else gets here.”

“About the fact that even though we’re in the same state you still haven’t called in two months?” She arches an accusing eyebrow at me.

“Phone works both ways,” I point out, and her irritated expression morphs into a guilty one instead.

“Fair enough. I’m sorry. I got busy at work and with this woman who had my head all twisted up. I’ll do better, I promise.”

“It’s alright, I’ve been a bit… twisted up with someone myself.” It’s such an understated way to explain what’s been going on between Red and me, but it feels like a fitting segue.

“For real? You never date. Tell me about her.”

“Him,” I correct.

She blinks rapidly a few times, his mouth forming into a comical, shocked O-shape before she manages to regain her composure. “It’s Red, isn’t it?”

A slow smile creeps over my lips and I nod. “How did you know?”

“Please. That poor man has been in love with you half his life. So, I’m assuming it’s serious?”

“Very.” I swallow around a thickness in my throat. “I’m thinking about asking him to marry me.”

Her expression goes haywire again with surprise, and she flails her hands around wildly. “Hold the fucking phone. You’re thinking of proposing?” She practically shouts the words.

“Shhh.” I put a hand over her mouth and glance over my shoulder to make sure Red didn’t come out of the house at the most inconvenient time possible. “Chill, please?”

She licks my palm and I yelp with disgust, pulling it back and wiping her spit off on my shirt. “What are you, twelve?”

“Keep your hands to yourself then.” She gives me a sassy look. “But seriously, you don’t think it’s a little fast?”

“Fast? In what world is twenty-some years too fast?”

“Okay, but you haven’t been dating that long,” Meg points out.

“I know, but what am I going to suddenly learn about Red that I don’t know at this point? I’m in love with him. Like, crazy, stupid, unbelievably in love with him. I want this and I know he does too. So, why wait?” I reason, and she sighs.

“I guess that’s pretty sound logic.” She loops her arms around my neck and pulls me in for another hug. “I’m happy for you. I haven’t seen you like this… well, ever.”

“Thank you.” I jerk my head towards the house when she lets me go. “Come on, let’s go inside before everyone else gets here.”

Red went all out with pink and blue streamers decorating the living room. We got a banner to hang across the wall that originally said, It’s A Boy, but Red used a sharpie to fix it so it now reads It’s A Bovine, with a terrible doodle of a cow drawn next to it. We also researched typical baby shower games, so we have a “guess the baby’s weight” pool, “love or labor” where you have to guess if the person in the picture is having an orgasm or giving birth, and a stuffed cow, blindfolds, and diapers so we can have timed races. I’m not sure how human baby showers go, but this one seems like it should be a blast.

Red comes out of the kitchen with a plate of snacks and greets Meg with a hug. She squeezes him extra tight, and he gives me a startled look over her shoulder when she doesn’t let him go right away.

“I told her about us,” I explain, and his expression softens. He awkwardly pats her back, giving in to the ridiculously long hug gracefully until she decides to let him go.

“I just can’t believe that our parents turned out to be two for two with gay children,” she says with a laugh, finally letting Red go.

“He’s not gay.” He frowns, the same insistence in his tone that he had the other day when his friends said something similar.

“It’s easier for people to say gay.” I shrug, not caring much either way.

“I don’t care if it’s easier. They’re erasing a whole part of you when they say you’re gay.” The stubborn set of his jaw makes my heart flutter with a fresh wave of affection and love for him. “You’re bisexual and demisexual, right?”

“Yeah,” I agree softly, swallowing around a lump in my throat and nodding.

“Well, I’m excited to have a bisexual, demisexual brother,” Meg corrects herself. “And I would say welcome to the family, but we both know you’ve been part of the family since we were kids,” she says to Red.

“Thanks. That means a lot.” He smiles.

“Yeah, well, if you ever hurt my brother, I will disembowel you.” She points a threatening finger at him.

Red nods solemnly. “Understood.”

RED

I can’t wipe the smile off my face as I finish getting everything set up for the party. Journey coming out to his sister made this whole thing feel real. Really real in all the best ways. Not that anything else up to this point gave me any reason to doubt his feelings. Hell, I’m not sure I could have been half as brave and open as he’s been if I’d suddenly had a major sexual awakening at our age.

A hand comes down firmly on my ass and I yelp, banging my head on the shelf of the refrigerator as I’m pulling out the last of the snacks. Journey laughs shamelessly behind me, and the sound warms my insides. It’s the laugh I fell in love with decades ago, except now I know what it tastes like on his lips. I turn around and use my free hand to snag the back of his neck, dragging him in for a kiss just because I can.

“The guys just started pulling up outside. I’m running down to the barn really quick to check in on Angie, but I’ll be right back,” he says when I release him.

“Weren’t you just down there?”

“She was lying down, so I think she’s close. I won’t bother her, I only want to take a quick peek,” he explains.

I make a mental note to stop by the tech store tomorrow after work to get some kind of camera to set up so he can watch them remotely instead of spending the next couple of weeks running down there every five minutes to check on the calf.

He heads out the back door and I carry the tray of cheese that I arranged into a very skillful likeness of a cow out into the living room. No one bothers to knock, simply spilling inside loudly with their arms full of ridiculous gifts, like a giant novelty baby bottle and a stuffed cow that’s roughly the same size as Riggs.

“Congratulations,” Steele says right away, patting me on the back and handing me a cigar.

I arch an eyebrow at it and then pocket it. “Thanks. Where’s Porter?” I ask, glancing past him and realizing that his man is missing.

“He’s going to try to make it a little later. He got called in for an emergency surgery right as we were about to leave.”

“Bummer. We wanted to thank him again for rushing out here yesterday. And I’m sure Journey would feel better having him here when Angie actually calves.”

“So, how does this work exactly, is the baby genetically yours or Journey’s?” Gates asks with a smirk, and I roll my eyes.

The backdoor opens and closes loudly, and Journey jogs down the hallway, slightly out of breath. “We have two legs poking out,” he announces.

“Legs? I’m no doctor but shouldn’t the head be first?” Auggie asks.

Journey frowns. “Oh shit. Do you think something’s wrong?”

I look to Steele immediately. “Can we call him? Or what about Robbie, do you have his number?”

“Let me try the clinic, they might be able to put it on speaker phone for him.” Steele pulls out his phone and we all shuffle into the living room, so we’re not crowded in the hallway. Steele explains the situation to the person who answers the clinic phone and then puts it on speaker for us too.

“Hey, what’s up with our girl?” Porter’s voice comes through the phone a second later, echoey and accompanied by several different types of beeping, I’m guessing from the heart monitor and other equipment.

“Is this an okay time?” Steele asks and Journey scoffs like we’re going to let Angie suffer if it’s not a convenient time.

“Yup, just wrist deep working on pulling out a giant, infected uterus,” Porter answers entirely too cheerfully.

“Journey went down to check on Angie and he says that two feet are coming out. Is that normal? Should the head be first?” I ask while Journey fidgets beside me like he’s struggling to keep himself from snatching the phone out of Steele’s hand and demanding Porter abandon his patient in the middle of surgery to get his ass out here and help us.

“Shit, you guys are coming at me with the hard questions. If I remember my farm rotation from second year, they usually come out headfirst with their front feet extended, so it’s possible the feet are showing first. But if the head doesn’t appear in the next ten minutes or so, the calf could be in the wrong position or stuck in the birth canal.”

“So, what do we do?” Journey asks, giving up fighting his impulse and snatching the phone out of Steele’s hand. “Is she going to be okay? Is the calf going to be alright?”

Porter curses. “Sorry, that was at this damn slippery uterus, not you. Uh… fuck, okay, sorry but if you don’t see the head soon then your best option is to put on some gloves and reach in there. Grab on to whatever you can and yank the calf out.”

“Grab and yank?” I repeat. “That seems… wrong.”

“Well, you don’t have extractors there, so grab and yank is all you can do. I can’t promise the calf will be fine, but it’s your best bet for Angie to make it through this. I’ll be there as soon as I can, but I doubt it’ll be sooner than an hour, hour and a half. Fuck, I’ve got a bleeder, I’ve gotta go.” The line goes dead and we’re all stuck staring at each other.

“This is way more exciting than the other baby showers I’ve been to,” Meg says happily. “Let’s go pull a calf out.”

We all head down to the barn, but when we get there, I make everyone stay outside while Journey and I go in to check on things. I don’t want to stress Angie out with too many strangers, and I’m hoping we’ll go in and find that she’s already finished giving birth.

No such luck. We poke our heads over the stall wall to find her still breathing heavily with nothing but two hooves sticking out from her back end.

“Who’s doing the grabbing and yanking?” Journey asks.

“Rock, Paper, Scissors?” I suggest.

I lose two out of three, which means I’m about to add “cow midwife” to my list of life experiences. I don a pair of gloves that Porter left us yesterday “just in case” and step into the stall. Journey’s right behind me, going to kneel by Angie’s head while I get on the ground behind her.

Porter said grab and yank, so I try not to overthink it as I grimace and reach inside with both hands, trying to get a grip higher up on the legs. Everything is warm and slippery and it’s harder to get a good hold than I expected it to be. Angie makes a pained sound and tries to stand up, but Journey rushes to soothe her, petting her head and talking to her in a low voice.

If I don’t get this calf out quickly, I’m afraid Angie might start panicking. I try again to get a good hold and then close my eyes and pull as hard as I can. There’s resistance at first, but then the body starts to move and with one more strong tug it slides out.

The calf is black, with long fur that’s soaking wet. Its eyes open and it tries to stand immediately, wobbling onto two unsteady legs.

“Journey, look.”

He looks up from soothing Angie and a wide smile spreads across his face. “It’s so cute.”

I nod, watching as Angie stands and the calf goes straight to her to nurse. Since they both seem fine, I pull the gloves off and we slip quietly out of the stall to leave them alone for now.

We step outside where everyone is waiting anxiously.

“It’s a… cow?” Journey announces, looking over at me for more information.

I shrug. I probably should have checked, but figuring out the calf’s sex wasn’t at the top of my mind just then.

“Maybe a bull, I have no clue,” I admit. “Either way, it seems okay, and Angie is standing and healthy as far as we can tell.”

A cheer goes up and we’re met with a round of hugs and congratulations.

We herd our friends back up to the house for the post-birth baby shower where we celebrate with the games and snacks we prepared. Porter shows up a couple of hours later and heads right down to the barn to check on Angie and her calf. When he comes back up to the house, he lets us know they both look healthy, and that the calf is female.

“What are you going to name her?” Shep asks.

“We haven’t even talked about names yet,” Journey says, looking to me again for answers.

“What about Cowabunga?” Gates suggests.

“Cowasaki,” Riggs tosses in.

“Milkshake?” Shep offers.

“Moo-donna.”

“Cowlick.”

“Cheddar.”

Names fly at us left and right as everyone shouts their own ideas, laughing and trying to one-up each other.

“I like Milkshake,” Journey decides.

“Milkshake it is,” I agree with a nod.

Shep whoops at having won the name game. The party goes on until the late evening when everyone eventually files out with more congratulations and requests for pictures of the new addition as soon as possible.

Once we’re alone, Journey and I head down to the barn one more time to sneak a peek at our girls. They’re sleeping curled up together. Journey leans against me and we watch them doze for a few minutes before getting around to finishing up the rest of our evening barn chores and bringing the alpacas inside.

I spent so much time dreaming about what a life with Journey would look like, and I never came up with anything close to this. All the chaos and manure, the long days and early mornings—it’s so much better than what I pictured.

Chapter 21

JOURNEY

“Turn left up here, right into that parking lot,” I instruct Red, my heart pounding wildly in my chest as he slows and puts on his blinker.

I’ve spent the last month dreaming up and rejecting dozens of proposal ideas. They felt too big, not like Red at all, or just plain wrong for us. I’ve almost blurted it out once or twice, basking in the afterglow of mind-altering orgasms, desperate to make him officially mine forever. That didn’t feel right either though. I know Red well enough to know he would worry about whether I meant it or not if I asked while we were naked.

“Ink Slingers or the carpet cleaning place?” He arches an eyebrow at me, looking at the two shops sharing the parking lot.

“The tattoo place,” I answer, and he swings into a parking space right in front.

My stomach twists with nerves and my heart goes wild again. I lick my lips, but it does nothing to combat my suddenly dry mouth. My idea to take him on a hot-air balloon ride felt too big, but maybe this idea is too small? Or, fuck, maybe I should have asked at home before bringing him here. Who wants to be proposed to in the parking lot of a tattoo shop?

“Everything okay?” Red asks, turning off the truck and reaching across the bench seat to grab my hand.

“Everything’s great.” My voice sounds high and manic even to my own ears. He frowns and studies me, his eyes roaming over my face like he’s hoping to find my thoughts scrawled neatly right across my forehead for him. “So…okay, the tattoos…” I clear my throat.

He nods and glances at the shop again. There’s a green neon Open sign flickering in the window, right next to a rainbow flag and a large poster advertising a fundraiser for the local animal shelter. The parking lot is empty aside from our truck and a gleaming Harley parked a few spots down.

“Did you have something specific in mind? Are we getting something together?”

I squeeze his hand. The speech I lay awake all night practicing in my head about how much I love him and how I don’t want to imagine any kind of future without him is completely gone now. I’m so nervous I can’t even remember how to string sentences together in an intelligent way. If I just blurt “wedding” will Red be able to put the pieces together? Probably, but he deserves a better proposal than that.

I clear my throat again and unbuckle my seatbelt so I can turn in my seat to face him. He just keeps looking back at me with an expression that’s nothing but relaxed curiosity. I could tell him I want to go in there and get matching face tattoos and he’d be all for it. Fuck, I love him so much.

That thought loosens my tongue and shrinks the lump in my throat considerably. I scoot closer and look down at our joined hands.

“I never thought I wanted anything serious with anyone. The thought of settling down and being tied to some other person for the rest of my life sounded like a nightmare.” I look back up at his face to see a wrinkle of concern between his eyebrows. I reach up with my free hand and smooth it out gently. “But really, I think that even back then, some part of me knew that no one else would ever be able to compete with the bond I felt with you. You were my ride or die from day one and deep down, I was already planning to spend the rest of my life with you. Falling in love with you just made that choice that much easier. I want to wake up with you every morning and sit on the porch to watch the sunset with you every night.”

Red squeezes my hand again, this time so hard that my fingers go numb, and he lets out a shaky breath. “What…?” It’s his turn to clear his throat and look as nervous as I feel.

“Marry me?” The words form on my lips easier than I expected, and in an instant, the parking lot of a tattoo shop seems like the perfect place to ask. Hell, I think standing in a pile of manure together would have been a fine place too. It’s the question that matters, not the location.

“Yes,” he answers without hesitation.

“Seriously?” I let out a shaky huff of relieved laughter.

“Of course, seriously. I’ve been physically biting my tongue to keep from asking you the same thing for the past few weeks. I was afraid it was too soon,” he confesses.

I laugh again and drop his hand to grab on to the front of his shirt and yank him into a rough, deep kiss. We both smile into it like we do so often, sparks of heat and excitement dancing along my skin as our mouths meet and our tongues tangle. I can feel Red’s heart hammering against my hand where it’s pressed to his chest.

“Wait, so why are we at a tattoo shop?” Red asks again when we break the kiss.

“I was looking at rings and it occurred to me that they’re not that practical when you work with your hands all day, we’d have to take them off most of the time. So, I had the idea that we could get tattoos instead.”

He grins. “I love that idea. Don’t most people get their ring finger tattooed after the wedding though?”

“Do we seem like most people to you?” I challenge, and he barks out a laugh. “Besides, as far as I’m concerned, this thing is already as permanent as it can get. The wedding is a formality.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Alright, let’s do it.”

We climb out of the pickup and head inside. The tattoo artist I spoke to over the phone, Piston, is the only person in the shop when we step inside. He’s an intimidating-looking man with colorful tattoos extending from his knuckles all the way up both arms to cover his neck.

“You Journey?” he asks, pausing in the middle of wiping down the tattoo chair to turn his head and eye us both up and down.

“I’m Journey, this is Red,” I answer.

Piston grunts and nods. “Fill out the form on the counter, I’ll be ready in a minute.”

We grab the clipboards off the counter, and both start filling them out. “What are we actually getting tattooed?” Red asks when he reaches the question that asks for a description of the tattoo and location.

“Shit, yeah, I hadn’t actually gotten that far. I was mostly focused on getting the words right when I asked,” I admit. “Something on our ring fingers, obviously. How about the date we first kissed?”

Red looks down at his hand and then back at me. “What if we got it on our pinky fingers instead? The date we met.”

My heart swells and I nod. “I like that. But how are we supposed to figure out the date we met?”

“First day of second grade, August twentieth, 1988,” he answers easily.

“I can’t believe you remember the exact date.”

“It was the day my life changed.” He shrugs, and I fall just a little more in love with him.

We finish filling out the forms and Piston beckons us over. I notice a leather vest hanging over his chair with a large patch sewn onto the back. There’s an image similar to a skull and crossbones design, except the skull has a pair of rainbow horns and the crossed bones behind it are a pair of wrenches. The word Skins is arched over it and Ride Me is around the bottom.

In spite of the rainbow flag in the window, nerves suddenly flutter in my stomach. As far as I know, most motorcycle clubs aren’t exactly filled with the most forward-thinking people. If this guy is a homophobe, things could get awkward extremely fast.

Now that we’re closer to him, my eyes land on some of the tattoos littering his arms and my anxiety eases. There’s more than one rainbow woven into the overall design, and on the inside of his forearm there’s a pinup style tattoo that features a man posed suggestively, straddling a motorcycle. I think it’s pretty safe to say that he’s a member of the rainbow mafia.

He smiles, which somehow doesn’t manage to make him look the least bit less intimidating and pats the tattoo chair. “Who’s my first victim? Also, did you come up with a design or am I just winging it? I should warn you that I’ve been known to just draw dicks when left to my own devices.”

I sputter a laugh and Red hops into the chair first. “We’ll consider letting you doodle a couple of dicks on us next time. This time, we want the date we met on the inside of our pinky fingers.”

“Right on.”

RED

We pull back up to the farm a couple of hours later, freshly tattooed and officially engaged. Journey pauses on his way up the front steps to pull out his phone and check the app connected to the cameras I set up around the barn and in the fields now that Milkshake is venturing outside during the day—sticking close to Angie, of course.

“Oh my god, look at this.” He shoves the phone towards me to show me the live feed of Milkshake chasing a butterfly while Angie grazes happily a few feet away. “How is she so damn cute?”

We officially gave up eating beef after Milkshake was born. It just doesn’t feel right anymore. I smile at the screen and then grab Journey’s wrist to coax him to sit down with me.

“Alright, so, priorities list. We finally got my furniture over here, but we still need to call Goodwill to pick up the old stuff. What do you want to do about the spare room now that it’s finished?” I ask.

He gets comfortable on the top step next to me and puts his phone away. “What were you thinking?”

“Well, you could use an office. You’re starting that new blog page and you want to work on the alpaca blanket business, so an office would be helpful.”

His face lights up with a smile. “I like that idea. I can put a desk in there for my blog work, and then a comfortable chair to knit in, plus the spinning equipment I stuck in the basement can go in there.”

“Perfect.” I throw an arm over his shoulders and kiss the side of his head. “I don’t know if you have ideas already, but it might be nice to have the wedding right here.”

We gaze out over the farm, late afternoon sunshine still bathing everything in warmth. The leaves on the trees are all dancing in a light breeze, and in the last few weeks purple wildflowers have taken over the fields, making everything look even more beautiful than usual.

“I love that idea.” He strokes his fingers through my short beard and peppers kisses along my cheek and nose. I close my eyes and lean into it, my pulse slowing with a kind of peace I never knew until recently.

I card my hands through his hair and claim his lips in an unhurried kiss, savoring the shape of his mouth and the warm taste of sunshine on him.

“I love you,” I murmur, and his lips curve into a smile against mine.

“I love you,” he responds in the same tone he always does, like it’s the most simple and obvious thing in the world. I guess it is. It might have taken us a hell of a long time to reach this moment, but it was set in stone the moment we met. There was never anyone else for either of us, and there never will be.

Epilogue

ONE YEAR LATER

RED

Journey’s hand is warm in mine. He wobbles just a little on his feet from too many glasses of Champagne, his cheeks are rosy, and his hair that was styled this morning now hangs messy over his forehead. He undid his tie hours ago and lost it somewhere, along with his suit jacket—I’m guessing Stone took them and we’ll find one of the alpacas wearing them in the morning—and the top few buttons on his dress shirt are undone.

I’m sure I look about the same, except I did manage to knot my tie around my free hand, so it didn’t get lost once the drinks started flowing and the music started playing. I sway closer to him and duck my face into the crook of his neck, taking a deep breath to fill my lungs with him. He smells like Champagne, frosting, and a hint of sweat from the hours we just spent dancing together.

I’m not even sure what time it is other than late. It’ll be a rude awakening when the rooster crows tomorrow, but at least when we wake up it’ll be as an officially married couple. I smile and kiss the fluttering pulse point in his neck, getting just a little more drunk on the sound of the laughter that falls from his lips as we stumble up the steps to the house.

“Wait.” I tug him to a stop before he can open the door.

“What?” He looks at me with the same infectious grin he’s been wearing all day, and half-lidded eyes that drop to my lips immediately. My skin heats and my cock stirs.

“I have to carry you over the threshold.”

Journey snorts. “I’m not the bride.”

“No shit, but it’s good luck or something,” I insist. He laughs again as I tug him closer.

“I’ll carry you then,” he argues, refusing to stand still so I can scoop him up the right way.

“I’m stronger than you are,” I point out. Probably more sober too, but everyone knows you should never challenge a drunk person’s sobriety unless you want to give them something to prove.

“Tsh, maybe once, but I’ve got farm muscles now.” He flexes his free arm and waggles his eyebrow even though it’s impossible to see any muscle through his dress shirt. He has put on a fuck-ton of muscle in the last year, and he probably could carry me just fine, but I’m also drunk enough that being stubborn about the issue seems like the best plan.

I grunt and give up trying to carry him the right way, instead stooping down and hauling him over my shoulder. Journey yelps with surprise, and I chuckle. I open the door and step inside. Today is exactly one year since we moved in and nowhere has ever felt more like home than this little work-in-progress of a farmhouse. Of course, it could just be that I get to come home every night and kiss the hell out of the love of my life.

We kept the wedding simple today, setting up a tent out in the empty west field and inviting a few dozen family members and friends. Meg got ordained and performed the ceremony. We kept it traditional, just having her take out the part where we would have exchanged rings and adding a few of our own vows to the mix. Auggie baked the cake and Gates played DJ for most of the night. And, yes, he did bring his bird. He even dressed Nigel up in the same little tux that the parrot wore to Gates and Tallahassee’s own wedding. The parrot was kind enough to save all of his profanity for the reception too, so all in all he was a pretty respectful guest.

Of all the years I spent imagining forever with Journey, I never bothered to picture the wedding itself. If I had, this would have been exactly what I wanted. It was exactly us and it was perfect in every way.

I don’t set him down until we reach the bedroom, tossing him onto the bed. He bounces on the new, far less squeaky mattress we bought last month, and kicks off his shoes. Each one falls to the floor at the foot of the bed with a thunk while he looks up at me with his eyes full of desire and affection. It’s the same way he’s looked at me for the past year, but I’m still not tired of it. I doubt I ever will be.

I gaze right back at him, hoping he can see all my emotions written on my face the same way I can with him. Most people baffle me, but it’s not so hard to tell what Journey wants. Maybe because the answer is almost always me. My cock jerks at that thought. He wants me, and that’s another thing I doubt I’ll ever get bored of.

I slip my suit jacket off my shoulders and unwind the tie from around my fist, tossing both aside and then starting on my buttons. He tracks the slow movement of my fingers, working one button open at a time down my chest and stomach until my white dress shirt hangs open. He licks his lips and sits up, reaching for my belt to tug it loose with an impatient huff, eyeing the bulge tenting my suit pants.

Once my belt is hanging open, he groans and nuzzles the stiff outline of my cock through the silky material. The heat of his breath sends a shiver of desire through me as I card my fingers through his hair and twitch my hips to grind my cock against his mouth. He presses a chaste kiss to the head of my dick, looking up at me with a mixture of innocence and filth in his eyes as he unbuttons and unzips my pants.

My cock springs free and he catches the tip with his lips while I shove my pants and underwear down to pool around my ankles. He sucks and nibbles gently on the head, a gasp getting stuck in my throat as he catches a trickle of precum on his tongue, lapping it up and giving me another one of those sweet yet sinful looks that set my blood on fire.

I grunt and use my grip on his hair to get him to stop. Not that I don’t want to spend all night using our mouths, hands, and everything else to drive each other wild. But I need him naked first. Journey releases me and leans back on the bed, propping himself up on his elbows and raking his eyes over me shamelessly.

“You’re my husband,” he purrs while I kick off my shoes and shake my pants off to leave them in a heap on the floor.

I groan, shrugging off my shirt and then climbing onto the bed to straddle him. “Say it again,” I plead, reaching for his shirt to finish with his buttons.

“You’re my husband,” he sing-songs with a grin, flopping back and extending his arms up over his head, arching into my touch as I release the last button so his shirt falls open around him.

Journey grabs the back of my neck and pulls me down to claim my lips. Our tongues tangle and stroke against each other, our hot breath mingling as we trade impatient, breathy sounds and I finish fumbling with his remaining clothing.

My cock throbs and every inch of my skin dances with the electric feeling as it slides against his. I drag my hands over his bare body, teasing my thumbs over his taut nipples, tracing the lines of the muscles he’s built over the past year, squeezing and kneading his ass cheeks roughly while I hump our cocks together. Journey moans and touches me in similar ways, his fingers and palms rough and calloused now in a way they weren’t the first time he ran them over my skin. I love this hard labor version of him. I fucking loved the softer shape of his body back then too, and I’ll love the hell out of every inch of him as he wrinkles and his hair grays.

“I love you so much,” he rasps between kisses as if he’s reading my thoughts.

I smile against his lips and then kiss him harder, answering his words with actions I know he can read, pouring all the years I spent desperately longing for him and all the joy of the last year into it as our lips and bodies move with each other, the two of us rolling and grappling, touching and rutting as our breaths grow heavier.

Our cocks grow sticky with the precum leaking from both of us, sweat slicking all the other spots where our skin is connected, from our chests to our thighs and everywhere in between. Journey writhes under me, thrusting and panting against my mouth, both of us murmuring incoherent promises of forever that mirror the vows we took earlier in front of family and friends. Somehow, this moment feels more binding, more official, than any of the rest of it.

“I’m so in awe of you,” I confess, stroking my fingers along the curve of his ass cheek again before slipping them into his crease to tease him a little. “You set your mind to things and you accomplish them every damn time. You’re brilliant and beautiful, and I can’t believe you’re mine.”

He makes a choked sound, putting his hand over my pounding heart and looking up at me. “I can do it all because you’ve always had my back every step of the way. I can’t believe you’re mine.”

We could play the who’s luckier game all night, I know because we have. Always in good nature of course. I don’t think I’ve done anything special by supporting him. So what if there are two-dozen misshapen alpaca blankets in the living room that he messed up until he finally got the hang of things? So what if I spend evenings proofreading posts for his new LGBTQIA+ blog and filming social media videos with him to promote it? None of it is a chore, and if he comes up with a hundred more businesses for me to help him with, I’ll happily do that too. That’s what you do when you love someone, and I can’t imagine loving anyone more than I love Journey.

I roll him onto his back again, bracing my hands on the pillow on either side of his head and gazing down at him. My heart feels so big inside of me that I’m surprised my chest can manage to contain it.

“You’re the other half of me,” I tell him with the kind of simple conviction I’ve felt since the day I realized he was the only man I would ever love, decades ago.

“No.” He shakes his head, his hand on my chest again, his palm against my heart. “You’re whole and I’m whole, and all of our whole parts fit perfectly together. Now, put your whole dick inside me before I spontaneously combust.”

I bark out a laugh. Yup, that’s exactly like the man I married, saying something so profound and so filthy in the same breath. I reach over and drag the drawer open to grab the bottle of lube. Journey plucks it out of my hand immediately, pouring a generous amount into his palm and then wrapping it around my cock.

I gasp at the cool, wet feeling of the lube as he spreads it up and down my shaft, stroking me in long, slow tugs that have my balls tightening and my cock jerking in his grasp. When he releases my cock, I shuffle down to reposition his legs and he slides his slicked fingers to his hole.

I watch with quivering heat in the pit of my stomach as he circles his hole, spreading the leftover lube around his rim before dipping two fingers inside. I grunt and hump against his thigh, leaving it glistening with lube from my cock. He doesn’t linger or take his time, just a few strokes of his fingers to loosen himself up before reaching for my cock again and angling it towards his hole.

Some nights we still spend hours fingering and frotting, building up our pleasure until we’re both out of our minds for each other before we finally let go, and other nights, two seconds of prep is almost more than we can bear before one of us is inside the other. If I have my way, this will only be our first round tonight, so I’m perfectly happy to give in to the impatience that’s been riding us both since we rolled out of bed this morning.

A long, low moan bursts from my throat as the tight, silky heat of his inner muscles wraps around the head of my cock and pulls me in deeper. I grab on to Journey’s thighs and thrust forward as slowly as I can bear, giving him a chance to adjust and relax since the prep was so rushed. The pink in his cheeks from the booze and dancing spreads down his throat and over his chest, his eyelids fluttering and his lips parting on a cry of pleasure that echoes my own.

“Fuck, I love having you inside me,” Journey groans, tightening around me, making us both gasp again. “So full, so fucking good.” He cants his hips, his hard cock slapping against his stomach as he clenches and relaxes around my length.

I lean in, resting my forehead against his, my cock throbbing, buried deep in the constricting heat of his ass. “I’m going to make you come every day for the rest of our lives, and twice on Sundays.”

He laughs, the sound turning into a moan as I pull out and thrust deep again. “I love you,” he mutters and brushes a kiss to my lips, rolling his hips and groaning as he meets my thrusts. “I love you. I love you. I loooo—”

I grunt, kissing him harder and fucking him faster and deeper, grabbing his hips and pulling them up so I hit just the right spot with every thrust. My balls are heavy and aching for release, and my cock swells inside of him with every deep thrust until we’re both babbling again like we were earlier—half-bitten words of love and muffled moans of each other’s names.

Journey’s orgasm seems to catch him by surprise, his dick untouched as he digs his fingers roughly into my biceps and lets out a keening moan, his inner muscles clamping down so tightly around my cock that I see stars before he starts to pulse around me, pushing me over the edge. My thrusts grow wild and fall out of rhythm as he milks the cum from me, splashing his hot, sticky release over our skin as we pant.

We bump mouths in clumsy kisses that grow deeper and sweeter as our orgasms start to fade. Even once my cock is oversensitive and starting to soften, I don’t want to pull out. I want to stay deep inside of Journey, our tongues slowly stroking over each other, exactly like this, forever.

He caresses his fingers gently over the spots that are likely to bruise tomorrow from his grip in the heat of the moment. I certainly won’t complain, but I’ll happily let him kiss them softly tomorrow when he notices.

Eventually I convince myself to roll off of him. Not that he lets me go far, grunting in protest immediately and shuffling close so he can rest his head on my shoulder while I wrap my arms around him.

I push his sweat-damp hair off his forehead and hold him tightly, not because I’m afraid he’ll disappear or that I’ll wake up to find that the last year was nothing more than a dream, but because I can. Because Journey is mine and I’m his, in all the ways I ever had the audacity to wish for.

I hook my pinky finger with his and close my eyes. Eventually I’ll gather the energy to drag him out of bed with me for a shower, and maybe another round of seeing just how loudly I can make him moan, but for the moment this is exactly where I want to be.

THE END

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About the Author

K.M. Neuhold is a complete romance junkie. Bisexual and polyamorous, she often describes herself as being in love with love. She loves to write stories full of bearded, cinnamon roll men who get super swoony HEAs. Her philosophy is there’s so much angst and sadness for LGBT characters in media, all she wants is to give them the happiest happily ever afters she can with little angst, tons of humor, and SO MUCH STEAM. K.M. fully admits to her tendencies of making sure every side character has a full backstory that will likely always lead to every book turning into a series or spin-off. When she's not writing she's a lion tamer, an astronaut, and a superhero...just kidding, she's likely watching Netflix and snuggling with her husky while her amazing husband brings her coffee.

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