First Rodeo (The Cowboy and the Dom Book 1) Page 8

  “Shit. I been to see you twice, I been to a bar fight, and I’ve walked every fucking inch I could walk here.” He snorted. “I swear to God, I never been so lonely in my life as here. I didn’t know it would be hard to learn to sleep all alone for days and days.” Even on the road with the circuits, they’d all share a hotel room or a tent. There were always people wanting to chat or have a beer or a cup of coffee. “I bet James damn near lost his mind.”

  He stopped, rolled his eyes, and took a deep drink of his coffee. “Getting beat up gave me diarrhea of the mouth.”

  “I don’t know. I think you’re right, that it actually was good for you.” Thomas laughed. “I’ve learned more about you waiting for bacon to arrive than in the last three weeks.”

  Speaking of bacon, huge plates of thick eggy, toasty bread landed in front of each of them, a giant plate of bacon, and refills for their coffee.

  Sam moaned, the sound embarrassing, but this was just right. “Oh, damn. This looks fine. I’m gonna look like a gecko that swallowed a beetle bug when I’m done.”

  “There’s something I’d like to see.” Thomas took a huge bite, chewed for a second, and shoved it into one cheek. “So…sightseeing Saturday?”

  “You want to? I mean…” He didn’t want Thomas to give up a day because he was lonely. On the other hand, he wanted to see things, talk to someone. “I’d like to go, if you got no plans.”

  “Well, I suppose I could sit around in my living room, watch reruns of Iron Chef in my underwear, and feel sorry for myself—like I did last weekend. That was some real fun, I’ll tell you.”

  “American or the original? I will judge you, so watch your answer.” Fuck he was amusing himself.

  “You’re serious? It’s not the same without Chairman Kaga biting into that bell pepper.” Thomas winked at him and snagged a piece of bacon.

  “Munch!” He started eating, digging in. Lord, this was good shit. He loved the whole crunchy, sweet, orgasmic thing.

  “Saturday, then. I’ve got a packed week at work, but text me if you’d like to visit the museum this week as well. Maybe we can manage a quick lunch.” Thomas shrugged. “I’d appreciate the company.”

  “Me too.” And that was that. He would too. “We cool about last night, then? All straight?”

  “We’re fine. I…I never thought it was about me, you know. You’re a better man than that. I believe that.”

  “I try. I wouldn’t be nasty to James’s people for love or money. One day I’ll tell you about the whip-crackers I met in Wyoming. Those boys were vicious in a fight.”

  Thomas laughed. “I look forward to that. I’ve tried it a few times. It requires a great deal more skill and precision than it seems.”

  “Yessir. I never tried, but I’ve seen the scars from the practice. Damn.”

  They ate and laughed, which was good, because their last meal no one had gotten to eat.

  This promised already to be better.

  Really, he should have got into a fight days ago.

  12

  Just walking away, hm?

  Shut up, Clint.

  That had been the extent of his conversation with his friend and mentor. He’d told Clint he was taking Sam sightseeing and planned to bring the cowboy to the club for drinks after, and Clint had just given him that look.

  He knew, though. He knew that embedded in those words, as always—along with taking the opportunity to bust his chops—was a commitment to support him when he needed it.

  And he knew he would need it. Mother of God, would he need it.

  He and Sam hadn’t managed to get together for lunch because he’d been truly overrun with work commitments, but they’d been texting all week. He’d made a point of keeping it light and friendly, not mentioning James unless Sam did first. If this was going to work, if it was meant to work, they would have to develop a relationship that acknowledged their shared grief but that didn’t invoke thoughts of James every time they saw each other.

  It was working too. He was starting to think of the apartment as Sam’s, and he’d been looking forward to seeing the man all week. Regardless of whether Sam ever was intrigued enough to walk the path Thomas wanted to share with him, he felt like he’d gained a friend.

  He was lying to himself a little, he knew. You don’t stress over an outfit to go sightseeing with a friend. He wanted to make an impression. That was part of the game he was playing.

  He was meeting Sam at the Empire State Building at ten, which meant he’d better get going. He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d be met with; he half expected Sam to show with a new black eye and one arm in a cast. He pulled on his jacket and grabbed his keys, impulsively lifting one of the hats James had given him off a hook by the door on his way out.

  They’d look good together. It was about making an impression, after all.

  When he wandered out toward the spot they were supposed to meet, he found Sam with two coffees, listening to God knew who talk to him. Sam looked good in what James called the redneck tuxedo. Jeans, chambray shirt starched to within an inch of its life, that huge silver buckle showing off a flat, ripped belly. The beard was neatly trimmed today, sunglasses visible under the brim of Sam’s felt.

  He felt a little underdressed. Ninety-nine percent of his casual wardrobe was black, but he’d worn his favorite blue jeans to go with his black Henley. At least it was nicely fitted, so he didn’t look entirely out of shape next to Sam. And he knew he looked good in his hat—James used to love to see him in it.

  “Hello. Is that coffee for me?” He smiled, walking up next to Sam.

  “Yessir, it is.” Sam grinned at him, looking him over, top to bottom. “Looking fine as frog hair. Morning. This is Mister Benny. He was telling me about Vietnam.”

  “Morning. And thank you. Hey, Benny. Thanks for keeping my friend company. You need a sandwich?” He pulled out his wallet and gave the guy a few dollars. “I have to borrow him now. You have a good day.” He put a hand behind Sam’s shoulder and steered him away.

  Sam grinned at him. “Man, didn’t he have some stories. How does life find you today, sir?”

  “I was up early, spent an hour or so at the gym. It’s a lovely sunny day, and I have been looking forward to this all week. Life’s been kind today. Thank you for the coffee. You?”

  “You’re more than welcome. I worked some, talked to Momma on the phone, washed some clothes in the bathtub and got them to drying. Normal shit.”

  What? “Bathtub? There’s a laundromat around the corner, you know.”

  “Yeah, I’m saving my pennies.” Sam lifted his face to the sky, soaking in the sun. “That’s nice, the sun.”

  Saving pennies? Was Sam that broke? Surely James had some money, managing to live without roommates. He’d never asked what James paid for rent or how much money his lover was making, but how much could a load of laundry cost?

  He wouldn’t know; he had a small stacked unit in his apartment.

  “Come do it at my place. Your laundry.”

  “That’s kind of you. I might come do jeans at some point, just to have both pairs clean at the same time.”

  Obviously, Sam needed work. His freelance earnings weren’t going to cut it in New York. Sooner or later money would send him home, whether he’d accomplished what his family wanted him to or not. Thomas filed that away for thought, though he didn’t know that there was anything he could actually do to help.

  He knew better than to discuss it. That would just be one more blow to Sam’s tenuous self-esteem. He’d start by picking up the tab more often—that he could do—and think about it.

  “Sure. Anytime. I’m home by six most evenings, unless I’m—” Home-home. “At the club.”

  “Good deal. You get all that work off your desk?”

  Sam paid attention—he liked that, the attention to detail, the care Sam took.

  “I did. I have a free-and-clear weekend. Oh! And I found someone to sponsor that textile exhibit we want to bring in from DC. Can you
believe it? Three weeks I’ve been looking. I got the call yesterday.”

  They headed into the lobby and straight for the ticketholder line. After the conversation he and Sam just had, he was glad he remembered it was easier to buy them ahead online.

  “Not afraid of heights, I hope.” He laughed, an adrenaline junkie like Sam? Not a chance.

  “Not a bit. There’s precious little I’m too scared to try.”

  “Yes. That was more or less a pointless question.” He winked at Sam and handed him a ticket. “This is a great view,” he said as they crowded into an elevator. They ended up packed together against a rear corner, and Thomas just shook his head. “Welcome to New York.”

  “Not much different than being in the chutes and prob’ly less dangerous.”

  God, Sam smelled good.

  “Old Spice? I like it.” Hm. He’d said that out loud, hadn’t he? Interesting.

  “Some things are eternal, I guess. Cowboys, Old Spice, horses.” Sam got a distant expression that disappeared like smoke.

  Too bad. It was lovely and peaceful, and he’d liked it.

  He cleared his throat and tried to lean back a little, but there was no hope of putting space between them. All he managed to do was knock his hat down over his eyes. Smooth.

  Sam tilted his head, looked at him over the sunglasses. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Someone has their elbow in my back,” he lied. The elevator doors opened like magic at just that moment, and suddenly there was space. “This is such a great view.” And there was more than the view. There was an exhibit about the building and some interactive things to do. It was a worthwhile trip.

  They were exactly on time for their ticket window and were allowed right in. “Okay, I’ve seen all of this before, so this time I really am following your lead.” He followed as Sam gravitated toward the windows, which was what he’d expected. It’s what everyone did.

  “I appreciate you touristing me. I’m sure it’s old hat for you.” Sam shook his head as he looked out, eyes searching, seeming to see everything. God, he wanted to know what was in that brain, what caused that hint of sorrow, why it dissolved into a smile, where that self-deprecating expression came from and what it meant.

  “I never get tired of this view. Come around this side, you can see the park.” They’d go outside in a bit, brave the wind to really feel like they were in the city and not stuck behind glass. For now, they made their way slowly around the floor, following the line of the windows.

  There had to be a way to learn some of those answers without having to meet for lunch after a fistfight. And for that matter, he needed to figure out what he could offer Sam that would make coming to him for that rush a more attractive option.

  It fascinated him that Sam seemed fully aware of his needs, even more that Sam was unashamed of it, almost reveled in it openly, when his response to the club had been almost deadened.

  Maybe it hadn’t been the club. Maybe it had been timing. God knew he hadn’t expected Sam to admit to being gay as if he’d assumed Thomas had known, as if it was a silly question.

  “Hey, where are you?” Sam touched his shoulder. “Smoke’s coming out of your ears.”

  “Hm?” Oh, Earth to Thomas. “Sorry. I got lost in the view.” That was partly true. The rest was just what he did. When he was at work, he was working; he loved what he did. When he wasn’t working, he was focused on his progress with…with his sub. He’d been taking care of one long enough now, it was habit. Sam wasn’t there, might never be there, honestly, but the cowboy was the closest he had. Habit was comforting, right? Even Clint said as much.

  “You want to get some air?” He grinned and pointed to the doors. “You’ll want to hold on to your hat.”

  “Let’s do it!” Little adrenaline junkie.

  He laughed, looped an arm around Sam’s waist and pulled him outside, slipping his own hat off his head and holding it against his chest as they stepped out into the wind.

  He’d been up here on days that it was just breezy and days when the wind would literally blow him sideways. This one was somewhere in-between, the steady breeze very manageable, but the occasional gusts had him groping for a railing.

  Sam, though, he moved with the wind like he wasn’t even thinking about it, hips rolling to keep him steady.

  Damn low center of gravity. Or something. Something that didn’t want to make him watch those hips.

  He’d brought quarters for the viewfinders, and as soon as one opened up, he coaxed Sam over and pumped a couple into the machine. “Have a look.”

  “Oh, dude! How fucking cool!”

  He had to laugh because James had been so cool about the sights, so much the teacher, and Sam? Sam was drinking it in, the excitement buzzing from him.

  There was insight there that Thomas filed away to think about later—the way that James took everything he knew and applied it to the world, and the way Sam opened his arms and let the world make its mark on him.

  But he’d already been caught once thinking too hard, and Sam was more in the moment. He promised himself to be present for the remainder of their day.

  “Can you see people? I always try, and I’m just never quite sure that’s what I’m seeing.”

  “You have to just open your eyes wide and see the way we all move, man. Come on, try!” Sam offered him the viewfinder. “Wide-eyed. Don’t try to see them and you will.”

  He looked at Sam. “Yeah? That easy, huh?” The viewfinder was warm where Sam had pressed his forehead against it; that was a plus. “Wide-eyed?”

  “Yes, sir.” One of Sam’s hands landed on his lower back.

  “Whoa. Wait.” He wasn’t seeing anything differently until that hand distracted him, made him shift his eyes a little, and suddenly all those little black lines were moving. Weaving in and out of one another on the sidewalk. He could even make out people holding hands.

  “Hey! I see them now!” He grinned; then the timer in the viewfinder made that ratcheting sound and the sight went black. “Shit.”

  Sam’s smile was bright enough to rival the sun. “Rock on.”

  “They were moving around each other, going this way and that way, going in and out of storefronts. Very cool, Mister Wide Eyes.”

  A gust of wind got him from behind and lifted him off his heels. He reached for the viewfinder and missed it, stepping forward to catch himself. Sam grabbed him, caught him like he weighed nothing, and settled him back on his feet.

  “I got you, honey. You’re okay.”

  “Thanks.” He rolled his eyes at himself and laughed at the irony. “I’m usually the one saying that.”

  “I worked safety a lot. I know how to make a catch.”

  “Of course you did. High risk, high adrenaline. I’ve got my eye on you now, Sam.” He winked. “There’s more fun to be had in this city. Should we finish our tour through here, then have it?”

  “I’m at your disposal. Let’s play.”

  He liked that thought, and he was hoping to keep Sam in that mind-set.

  They spent a little more time touring the exhibit upstairs, before they took the far less crowded elevator down to the main lobby. He fished out his sunglasses as they left the building. “Okay. Pick a museum. The Guggenheim…or Ripley’s.”

  “Ripley’s. No question. I want to play with you. We’ll go be serious art historians another day.” God, that was breathtakingly charming.

  “Perfect. My friends are too stuck-up for Ripley’s. I’ve never been.” It was a silly tourist trap, but he was utterly fascinated by the concept. The one time he’d suggested it might be fun to his museum circle, everyone laughed and thought he was kidding. He wasn’t, but he certainly never brought it up again. “It’s a walk, but not a long one. Are you all right with that? Or we can take a cab.”

  “I’m completely able to walk. I am fueled by caffeine and adrenaline. Let’s do this.”

  “Adrenaline? Please tell me you didn’t get into another fight.” He angled his head to look un
der the brim of Sam’s hat as they walked. “I don’t see a black eye.”

  “Not today. My ribs aren’t ready for another go-round.”

  “Yet. Right?” He grinned and bumped into Sam’s shoulder lightly. He had a suspicion he was just going to have to accept this part of Sam for a while.

  Or keep accidentally poking him in his fractured rib. Oops. Looks like you’re out for at least another week. I’m so sorry. He chuckled, possibly out loud.

  “Yeah, yeah. I got invited back. They have a ‘beat the fuck out of your friends’ day. Like it’s on a calendar. Rednecks are less about the plan and more about the moment.”

  He just shook his head. Maybe he should suggest that at the club. A “whip your friends” day? “Cuff and suck your friends off” day? “The planned aspect seems a bit artificial. Seems like a good fight should be more spontaneous. Not that I’d know. I don’t hit with my fists.”

  “Right? Wait. Really? Never? Like not ever?” Sam looked honestly shocked.

  “Not unless you count a bag at the gym, no. Flat, open hand, certainly. Fists? No, I’ve never hit another person with my fist.” Every single one of his brothers except William, who was nine years younger, had thrown punches at him. His older brothers, Terence and Peter, had knocked him out at least once each. He just hadn’t ever hit back.

  “Huh. That’s different. Not bad. Kinda cool, in fact, because you can tell you’re not scared to stand up for yourself. I can’t remember my first, or how many times I’ve fought.”

  “You’d be surprised how much power there is in choosing not to fight. How many people are intimidated by confidence. I’m not judging, mind you. I just think we all have to find and use our strengths as we understand them.”

  The streets grew more and more crowded as they walked toward Midtown and Times Square. Corners were four and five people deep waiting to cross; here and there he and Sam had to walk single file.

  Sam followed along. Every so often he thought he heard Sam humming to himself, but he wasn’t sure.

  They spent an hour or so staring at crazy exhibits, getting dizzy to the point of feeling sick in the black hole, and giggling like drunken frat boys. They left the circus that was Ripley’s Believe it Or Not, and Thomas was laughing so hard his sides hurt, and they hadn’t gotten half a block away before his stomach rumbled so loud it startled them both.