02-Let It Ride (2 page)

Okay, so maybe he needed to run a little test. He plumped the pillow under his shoulders and shifted on the bed, opening his legs wider, and then took another breath to focus himself on his mission.

“Women?” His voice sounded firm and determined, and he stared hard at his crotch while picturing the last woman he’d been with, Diana. She was a barrel racer from Northern Cali. Tall, fit, sharp as a whip, and could bend in more ways than any body should. Bridge Junior gave a halfhearted throb of enthusiasm. Okay, there was interest in the fairer sex.

“Men?” He shifted his mental image to an extremely attractive cowboy he’d once tried to set Marty up with, before Marty spilled the beans about his then deeply closeted boyfriend, champion bull rider Tripp Colby. His cock throbbed again, still not quite ready for action so soon, but definitely just as interested in the rougher sex.

If the idea of being with both a man and a woman appealed, then that made him bisexual, right? But he had one more question to ask. He sighed, preparing himself for an answer he already knew. “Eric Palmer?”

He didn’t need to apply any effort to conjure up an image of the sexy paramedic with the sharp New York accent. The man was there in his thoughts 24-7, whether Bridge liked it or not. It had been a few months since the regular season had ended, and with Eric living more than two hours away in Redding, Bridge had only seen him a handful of times for beers and pool with friends. But his face was as clear in Bridge’s mind as if he were looking into those unique violet-colored eyes right now.

A slow but determined pulse pushed through the length of his cock, and another chased it. Then another, and the pace quickened.

Yep. Definitely perking up now.

He glared at his dick and fisted his hands in the sheets to keep from touching himself. “You realize you’re getting hard for a man, right?”

Junior responded to his accusation with another eager pump of blood, growing more insistent with each pulse. Greedy bastard.

Bridge barked out a laugh, and a surprising wave of relief washed through him, as if a weight he hadn’t known he’d been carrying had lifted. “Well, hell.”

Yes, he’d questioned it when he was younger. Yes, he’d once fooled around with a man and enjoyed it. But then a woman had captured his interest, so he hadn’t given the whole sexuality thing much more thought after that.

And then along came Eric Palmer, bringing all those questions back to the surface. Only this time, he’d found his answer, and it came without any doubt. Maybe he was gay, maybe he was bisexual, but neither label mattered. Labels were too damn limiting to be set in stone anyway. It was what it was. Like the steady tick of the grandfather clock at the end of the hall and the gentle stirrings of the waking ranch outside his window as the sun’s rays crept over the ledge and spilled onto the floor. Life had its own plan; folks just had to learn how to ride it or get bucked off.

Man or woman didn’t matter. Marty liked men, Kent liked women, and Bridge apparently liked both.

But Eric was the one he wanted above all others, and for whatever reason, that felt all kinds of right.

He let his head sink back into the pillow and closed his eyes, giving his imagination free rein to run with Eric on its back. He took himself in hand and stroked slowly, picturing Eric tugging on him, Eric’s mouth with those plump, red lips sucking on his balls, Eric looking up at him with desire in those amazing eyes. And that was all it took. A few more quick, hard pulls, and his second orgasm of the morning rolled through him.

He threw an arm over his face, absently wiping cum off his action hand onto his stomach, and started laughing.

“Shit. I’m Eric-sexual.”

Two months later . . .

Bridge leaned forward in his seat and gripped the wheel a little tighter. Not to keep the equine RV under control as he steered onto the rodeo grounds at Folsom, but to keep from jumping clean out of his hide. Blood pounded through his veins so fast his skin tingled and his brains felt loose and floaty inside his skull. Then there was the herd of wild horses charging through his stomach, leaving a jittery mess of exposed nerves in their wake. Anticipation overload. Thank God he hadn’t drunk any coffee this morning or he’d probably be having a coronary right about now.

“Wanna share?”

Kent’s voice jolted Bridge out of his thoughts, but he hoped the truck bouncing through a pothole just then masked his surprise. The big Dodge lurched again when the trailer hit the same hole, and a loud
thud
let him know the horses weren’t too happy about it either. He shot a quick glance at Kent, who sat in the passenger seat watching him, eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses, cowboy hat low on his brow, but there was an amused lift to his mouth.

Bridge returned his focus to the driveway. Folsom’s rodeo grounds were part of a park that sat along the banks of the American River. A densely tree-lined road led the way to the main spectator parking area and then wrapped around behind the arena to the designated lot for competitors and crew, which was half-hidden by more trees. The first lot was empty, as he’d expected, but he didn’t have a clear view of the one behind yet. Damn trees were going to make him wait until the last minute to see if Eric’s truck was already there.

He managed to keep his voice casual. “Share what?”

“Why you’re smiling,” Kent said. “I know you didn’t get laid last night, so what is it?”

Damn
. Bridge hadn’t realized he’d been smiling like a crushing high schooler.

He cast another sideways look at Kent and shifted in his seat.
Well. It’s like this, Kent. I get to see Eric again today—for four whole days, actually—and I’m really excited because I’ve been having erotic dreams about him for months now, and maybe if I’m lucky, it wasn’t all fantasy and I really will get laid this weekend
.

But he couldn’t spill that out of the blue without some sort of preamble, could he?

“I’m just looking forward to getting back at it,” he said instead, steering his rig around the far side of the arena.

“I am too, but this is only a preseason clinic. Nothing to get
that
excited about.” Kent’s tone said he didn’t buy Bridge’s answer for a second. Bridge had known he wouldn’t. The annual rodeo school was a great way to teach greenhorns a few things and introduce new cowboys to the sport. Kent taught roping sessions, and Bridge and Marty worked pickup, as well as ran a session on their profession. And while it was fun, it wasn’t
that
exciting. Not unless he was the greenhorn. “And this is far from your first rodeo, cowboy.”

“I know. I’m just excited to see the guys again. Marty and Tripp.” Bridge rolled his hands on the wheel. “And Eric. It’s been too long.”

“Yeah, it has.” Kent finally turned his attention to the grounds in front of them, and Bridge felt Kent’s all-too-observant stare fall off him as if it had been a brick sitting on his chest. But the feeling was fleeting. The sense of lightness that had him on the cusp of floating out of his seat the whole drive left him when he pulled into the parking area and found it empty. His body sank back into the seat like a deflating balloon.

“Told you we’d be the first ones here,” Kent said. “I don’t know why you were in such a rush to get going, especially since this is pretty much our backyard.”

Bridge ignored his best friend and guided the rig toward the back of the grass lot and parked. Kent hopped out of the cab, and Bridge hung back for a second to release a long breath before following. “Chill, dude,” he mumbled to himself. “It’s just Eric.”

He huffed a short laugh and shook his head. There was nothing
just
about Eric Palmer. He took another deep breath and ran his hands over his thighs, then exited the truck and met Kent at the back of the rig. Together, they went about their practiced routine of unloading the horses and tethering them to hooks welded along the outside of the trailer. Once the horses were secure, Kent climbed up the short ladder on the side of the big fifth wheel.

“You’re going to tell me what’s had you practically whistling like a kid on his way to Disneyland the last few days.” Kent’s disembodied voice carried down from the roof of the rig, followed by a grunt. The trailer rocked, and Bridge jumped back when a bale of alfalfa came flying at him without warning, landing where he’d just been standing.

Kent peered over the edge, a cocky grin on his face. Bridge glared up at him. “Dude. That was a bit close.”

Kent snorted and put his hands on his hips. “Met a new girl, right?”

“What? No.” He shook his head. “There’s no girl.” He pulled a Swiss Army knife from his belt loop and leaned down to slice the baling twine. “I told you. Just excited to get on with rodeo season.”

“Which doesn’t officially start for another two weeks.”

True, but he wasn’t ready to share what had him feeling like a five-year-old on Christmas Eve yet. He had to see Eric first. Make sure he wasn’t building up some wild imaginary love affair that would never exist beyond a few crazy dreams. Okay, there’d been a lot more than
a few
dreams, and the only crazy thing about them was how much he wanted them to come true, but still . . .

“Shut up and throw down another bale.”

Kent disappeared from view, but his laugh echoed across the empty lot. Bridge began splitting leaves off the bale and putting them in the mesh feed bags they’d strung up between their five horses. Kent, a state champion steer wrestler, only needed one horse, but as a pickup man, Bridge worked all day every day and needed fresh horses with different abilities for specific events. Light, fast, and agile for the bronco and roping events, and a big, solid horse that could handle tangling with a two-thousand-pound beast, if it came to it, for the bull-riding events. In general, though, that was a scenario they all made a point of avoiding. His job was to make sure every cowboy and animal that entered the ring left it safely. Including himself.

The low rumble of a heavy-duty engine drew his attention just as Kent climbed down from the roof of the trailer.

“Here they are,” Kent said. Excitement laced his smooth voice, and Bridge had to laugh. He smacked the brim of Kent’s hat, knocking it askew.

“Who’s the excited one now?”

“Hey!” Kent adjusted his hat, shaking his head, and stepped over to stand beside him, bumping shoulders with him. Bridge smiled and threw an arm over his shoulder. Kent was a few inches shorter than him—about the same height as Eric—and he wondered if Eric would tuck under his arm as comfortably as Kent did.

They both waved as Marty approached in his own equine RV—not quite as big as Bridge’s because he only had four horses to haul, but still impressive. Marty angled his rig parallel to Bridge’s, cab to trailer so their doors opened to each other, as they always did, in their own circling-the-wagons kind of way. The tradition stemmed from when they’d first started working as pickup men, and some of the good old boys hadn’t been too keen on Marty’s out-and-proud presence, so they’d parked their rigs this way to create a safety barrier of sorts. After a few years, the regulars began to accept that Marty’s orientation had zero bearing on how well he did his job, and things, while not completely safe, were safer, but their parking habit remained the same.

Marty jumped down from the cab of his truck, a huge smile splitting his handsome face, and threw himself at Bridge. They were the same height, though Bridge packed more muscle and bulk, but that didn’t stop the air from whooshing from his lungs on impact. He stumbled back into one of his horses, who gave a disinterested swish of his tail and continued munching his hay. Bridge wrapped his arms around Marty and hugged him tightly.

“Man, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” Bridge said, his voice tight with emotion. They’d only seen Marty a few times since Marty and Tripp had gotten back together after a nasty breakup at the end of last season. It had been a tough time, but the two of them were working through and finding their happiness. And seeing Marty’s light shine so bright always had a way of reminding Bridge that all was right with the world.

Marty stepped back, holding Bridge’s arms by the biceps. His green eyes glittered with joy. “You’re looking good, B.”

He gave a squeeze, and then he let go, turning to wrap Kent up in another bone crusher of a hug.

“I miss seeing you guys all the time,” Marty said when he let Kent go.

“Same here, Smarts,” Bridge said, and Kent nodded.

Tripp hobbled up beside Marty. He’d never walk without a cane again, but he was moving with much more confidence now than the last time Bridge had seen them. Marty slid his arm around Tripp’s waist, and a light blush crested over Tripp’s cheeks, his mouth lifting in a shy, crooked smile. That was something Bridge never thought he’d see—Tripp accepting any kind of PDA, let alone acknowledgment of Marty in public—but he was damn glad for his best friend that Tripp had finally broken out of the closet. Bridge approved of this new more relaxed and expressive Tripp.

“Hey, Bridge.” Tripp held out his hand. “Good to see you again.”

“Screw that.” He knocked Tripp’s hand away and pulled him into a solid hug. They’d had their differences, but Tripp had earned his respect when he came out and made a stand for Marty. Even though it had cost him his career. “You’re family now, dude. How many times do I have to tell you that?”