roll in the hay by Melanie Greene
a short novella featuring characters from ON A ROLL
Chapter 1
He walked with his head down.
He always walked with his head down. Cisco expected nothing less of the man at this point. Going back four or five springs now, Francisco would show up at the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo grounds, and spend his nights wondering why he couldn't grasp the cojones needed to approach the hot, focused, insular agricultural engineer.
Agricultural engineer. Cisco snorted to himself. Fancy-ass name for the guy who figured out what to do with all the literal bullshit generated over the nineteen days Houston teemed with farmers, cowboys, equipment reps, vendors of everything from brisket mac’n’cheese to snakeskin boots, and hordes of city folk crowding in to grab a taste of their state’s ag roots. Not that Anton Bellamy seemed to notice any of them, intent as he was on the acres of livestock displays, and the holding pens for the arena floor, and the logistical ins and outs of cattle for each round of the Super Series performances.
Not that he was criticizing. An event as big as Houston’s needed fancy-ass people to figure all that stuff out. And without rodeos to circuit between, Cisco’s life would be made up of day work and dude ranches, always chasing a new horizon to soothe his peripatetic yearnings. He wasn't cut out to spend all his days on a working ranch, at the beck and call of some boss who wanted him to rise and shine at the same time every morning and get on with the same work as every other interchangeable cog on the wagon wheel.
Been there, done that, still dealing with the fallout from his extended family. And damn his nosy uncles who couldn't figure out why their promise to name him main screw someday wasn’t enough to con him into hanging his Stetson in their bunkhouse while they never got around to retirement.
“Shit.”
Cisco jerked his head up and felt his sour musings sink behind a fast grin. Seemed he'd spent too much time contemplating the fate the universe had in store for him, and ended up smack in the middle of the agricultural engineer’s path.
“Anton, hey.”
Anton Bellamy looked up from the patch of lean pec he'd been rubbing. Like he was determined to erase the impact of Cisco's shoulder plowing into him, just as Cisco was thanking fate for the abrupt contact. “I don't know you.”
He took the rude tone easy. His many springs of scoping out Anton made him well aware of the guy’s blunt nature. He held out a hand. “Francisco Martine. Cisco.”
Anton hit him with those brown-green-black eyes, and Cisco knew a moment of triumph. Actual eye contact. After a shake so brief Cisco shouldn't have been able to catch hold of any of the lightning sparking between them, Anton stepped back like this was over.
But no. Fate went and threw this dream man in his path just when he was speared with a touch of despair? Cisco was damn sure taking the hint. “I’ve been meaning to introduce myself.”
Anton pulled out his phone. “Problem with a pen sensor?”
He was immediately prepared to solve some problem Cisco didn't have. So fucking cute. “Nope.”
Anton nodded like the lack of information was no barrier to him getting shit done. “If it’s the hay, something on the feedline is messed up. I’m headed over there next.”
“Nope. Well, I mean, probably, if you're headed over there. You don't go places unless you know you're needed.”
That got him another flash of eye contact. “You're not on my list.”
“Nope.”
“So how do you know me?”
He sounded more impatient than anything else. That was the Anton he'd been creeping on for half a decade. Always on a mission, never a sit back and shoot the shit kind of guy. And so damn competent it was eerie. His efficiency always got Cisco dreaming up ways he could slow the man down and make him yearn to linger.
He had a list of ideas longer than his lariat. And Cisco hadn’t spent dozens of nights thinking about Anton to be unprepared with an answer. He’d needed this push from fate directing him to go do something about his fantasies, but once the chance presented itself, Cisco took it. He stepped forward to put them in intimate range. “You don't know me. Yet. But if you let me buy you dinner tonight, I'll be sure to let you get to know me. Inside and out.”
Chapter 2
Good thing he’d drawn a late slot for the first day of tie-down competition, because he was nervy as hell. He gripped the rail of Cricket’s stall like he was fixing to start cribbing at it, which earned him a nicker and a head butt. Bless his horse, chill as ever and unbothered by the move from home to the rodeo grounds, and from there to the competition stalls. Cricket was a stayer, and here Frisco was coming up skittish. All because he’d glimpsed Anton walking by.
Hadn’t occurred to him that the man would be on the show floor. But of course he was; he was one of the people making the place operate smoothly. Hell, it wasn’t even the first rodeo when Cisco spied Anton while he was fixing to compete. Just the first time Anton spied him right back. And he looked settled in to watch Cisco at work. Perched his foot up on the arena rail, talking to some other honcho, but turned so he was looking Cisco’s way. Then he took his cap off and that shock of black hair sprung up so fucking cute, it about ripped Cisco's heart in two.
He took up a piggin’ string and whipped it into and out of a bowline then a sheet bend then a clove hitch before coiling it up straight again. His fingers still sparked like that one second when Anton had touched him before agreeing to their date, but it felt like the good kind of pre- competition adrenaline, instead of snap-temper. Cricket nosed at him. He nodded right back at him. “Right you are, pal. Let’s get it done.”
Then it was go time, and they slid into the well-known pattern of chase, build a blocker loop, throw, hog-tie, hooey, and done. Cricket was perfect and Cisco did his best to live up to his beloved blue roan’s expertise. Ended the contest in second place, which was enough day money to ensure he wasn’t taking a loss on this year’s rodeo. Everything else he earned would be stakes for his future.
After signing autographs and bedding down Cricket and navigating some nonsense from a couple of the barrel riders who were friends with his cousin, he finally got back to his RV in Rodeo Village. Well, his sister’s RV, but she let him use it for rodeos where there were hookups like Houston had. One day he aimed to be a big enough deal for endorsements and a truck with a full wrap of branding and such, but he didn’t compete in the roughstock events, so he was never going to be an all-round champion.
After showering, he stumbled around his RV like the wettest calf in existence, looking for his good belt. He knew he’d tossed it in with his kit when heading up the road from his small parcel just south of Houston, but he could only locate the busted old belt that always needed saddle soap. His sister threatened to toss on the fire every time she spotted it, but it was the one he wore to compete, no matter how grubby it looked. He wouldn’t abandon it, but it wasn’t right for the night. He needed all the help he could muster if he hoped to impress someone like Anton.
He'd been years trying to figure out what the man might be looking for in a date. A guy, sure, but beyond that? He hoped Anton was also looking for someone steady, and that their frequent travel—him to rodeos, Anton to contract jobs—meant he’d be understanding about schedules and the demands of hard work.
He’d been dumped before because of how many weekends he loaded Cricket into the trailer and hit the road. And once because he’d busted his arm training and his jerk boyfriend suddenly thought competition was too dangerous. And had too many men to count who figured he was up for a fling but no use for the long-term. No one who seemed to get that all the work and travel just meant it was important to him to have a relationship he could count on.
He tried his best to set up the date to please Anton, but he feared that none of his snooping or eavesdropping had gotten him one lick closer to figuring out for sure if they were as good a match as he hoped. Cisco figured at least the nice belt would be a good start, in case Anton’s eyes strayed down his jeans again like they had that morning. Because he also wanted his relationship to be hot.
He finally located the belt coiled in a snake of tack on the banquette, looped it on, and managed to get himself out the door in time. Cisco had no intention of being late. One thing he knew about Anton was the man liked schedules. He’d gathered so many tidbits of info like that, dropped like spare change in the mason jar of his brain. How he always wore blue, black, or green. Never gray. Never brown. How he would sometimes mutter to himself while he was walking, but if he was having a conversation, he came to a standstill. How he rotated between a collection of five different ball caps, but never on any kind of schedule that Cisco could work out. How he kept his credentials lanyard tucked in his front right pocket, which Cisco for sure noted created room for other kinds of tucking on the left.
He gunned the engine of his truck. He was not going to keep the man waiting on him.
Chapter 3
He was leaning against the restaurant’s exterior, abs tight and thumbs tucked into his jeans pockets, when Anton’s truck pulled up. He’d positioned himself in a spill of light from the awning, so Anton could take as through a gander as he wanted as he came up to meet him. Seemed like the belt had been a good choice. Cisco’s face was shaded by his Stetson, so he allowed himself a wicked grin as he clocked the way Anton eyed the bulge he’d framed with his large-knuckled hands.
The man’s face was hard to read, but he had body language for days. He leaned toward Cisco like Cricket sensing a sugar lump. Cisco, no fool, leaned right back. Not touching, but not leaving the spark between them to the imagination. He tilted his head to speak close. “Hey, thanks for coming. This place okay?”
Anton glanced at the restaurant and nodded. “Seems good.”
After watching Anton for half a decade, Cisco had hopes he’d figured out a few ways to make the man happy. He’d picked a quiet place, small and not shabby. Definitely more a dinner joint than a bar, and since they were meeting after the show, they were catching the tail end of service. Not much of a crowd, and no ambient music to lay demands on Anton’s senses.
It lived up to the claims of the online reviews, and Cisco's chest filled with some combination
of pride and relief that he'd maybe gotten it right. He kept half an eye on Anton as they went through the settling in and ordering food motions. Seemed like he was ready to relax into the night, which matched up so close to Cisco’s fantasies he didn’t trust he was reading Anton right. Once they’d gotten through a couple of perusing glances and some lip-licking encouragement, Cisco gave in to the urge to be blunt. “I want you.”
Anton swallowed and rubbed his hands on his jeans. “Yeah?”
Cisco nodded. “Yep. Had my eye on you for a while, to tell you the truth. You took my fancy the first spring I qualified for HLSR, but I wasn't really out then. Took me a little longer than it should have, looking back, but it is what it is.”
Anton flashed eyes at him, but without censure. “I came out when I was fourteen.”
Cisco nodded. “Always seemed like you're not caught up in toxic masculinity and whatever cultural expectations might come along with that. It’s one of the things I’ve admired about you.”
Anton gave him a look like: why would he bother wasting time with anybody else's expectations?
Cisco huffed. “Yeah, it's not the kind of thing you'd get swayed by. I put some stock in the wrong things growing up. Can't say it was worth it now. Except it did get me into rodeo. I love rodeo. We have that in common. Both gay, both love rodeo. Seems like we're a perfect pair.”
“That's everything you want then? A lover while you're in town?”
Damn if he didn't feel himself blush. “No. There's more to it. If that was it, I'd have gotten the balls to approach you three-four rodeos ago, instead of stalking you every spring.”
That earned him a bit of sustained eye contact and the joy of Anton's bright smile. “I’ve never been stalked before.”
Cisco grinned right back. “Not that you know. Maybe all your other stalkers are better at it than me. More subtle.”
“I think you were subtle enough for a few years there.”
He wasn’t positive, but it seemed like flirting. Cisco enjoyed being flirted with, however low-key it came across. “Fair enough. Apparently I'm just a real cautious cowboy.”
“You got all those championship belts by being cautious?” Anton’s head was ducked, but his voice floated into the space between them.
Oh, Cisco was for sure bright with embarrassment now. “Seems you took a little time to stalk me right back.”
Anton shrugged. “Just a quick Google.”
He wanted to toss his head and lunge at the man. As it was he couldn't stop from puffing out his chest and kicking out his boots under the table. They brushed up against Anton’s calves; he went statue-still. Not as if he'd been some sort of dervish before, but Cisco knew how Anton typically moved, and this was definitely a change.
He waited. Didn’t take back the contact, didn’t press it further.
“You mentioned, before, about me,” said Anton. He must have jiggled his knee a bit, cause one leg bobbed against the ball of Cisco’s foot.
“About me wanting you?” He wanted to tease. He wanted to laugh and holler. He wanted to plunder every inch of the man. Instead he went back to that straightforward clarity he'd figured as his best chance of success. “I do want. I want to fuck you, but not just while I'm running my series. Or when I come back for semi-finals, which you ought to guess I’ll be doing, seeing as how you looked at my successes and all.”
Anton pressed his legs against Cicso’s boot, deliberate this time. He managed not to jump like he'd been prod, and took it as encouragement.
“But I also want this.” He jerked his chin up towards the restaurant, and the waitress coming their way with food. “Dates. Time to talk and get to know each other. Maybe going so far as to call it a relationship, if I'm lucky. And for the record, if that search of yours didn't tell you, I'm a local. I’ve got a few acres down by Alvin. So, no, I’m not just looking for a quick lay before moving on to the next town.”
He waited, again. Maybe it was caution, or sub-par cojones. But maybe it was listening to everything fate and his instincts told him was the right way to persuade Anton Bellamy he not only meant it—he yearned for it.
Four-five silent bites later, Anton put down his fork, sat even straighter, and asked, “Why?”
Chapter 4
He set down his own fork and closed his eyes a sec to muster up his answer. “I said before, about cultural expectations I took on board. Not to say I’m looking for a heteronormative future, marriage and kids and all. That’s not out of the question, but it’s all likely a ways down the trail for me. I want as much time on the circuit as I can get. But the part I reject, for me, is the one of feckless player. Met plenty of guys who expect me to take that as the norm, being young like us, and traveling a good bit—yeah, I searched up on you, too. I take my stalking seriously.”
That got him another smile, and it fortified Cisco to go on. “I expect you know them, too, the honey in every town type. Gay or straight, no matter. But that’s not why I roam. Me and Cricket —he’s my roping horse—we like the road. We like new places and going back to familiar places to see new faces at the chuck wagon. We like competing. But it’s part of the same reason I don’t ride broncs. I like Cricket. He’s my guy. Riding him, I can take on all the back and forth of the road, cause he’s constant.”
“And you want to put me in your stable?”
Cisco nearly snatched up his hat to give himself some retreat from this laid-bare conversation. But his mama taught him better, and fate wouldn’t take kindly to him blowing this chance set out so neatly for him.
“It’s an analogy. I’m explaining how I am, how I know what I’m looking for is a partner, not a hook-up. Not to say you have to abide by my dreams, but I want to be clear about my goals. Stalked you enough to know you like things to be clear.”
Anton nodded. “I appreciate it.”
He ran a hand through that dark thick hair and Cisco drowned his thirst with a pull on his beer.
“But you haven’t said why me.”
The beer nearly headed down the wrong pipe, but Cisco coughed himself under control. Cool as a steer’s nose, that was him. He patted at his face with his napkin, hoping he didn’t look too much the fool. As usual, Anton’s expression gave little away. Cisco tucked his napkin back in his lap, brushed his thumb along the engraving on the championship buckle to settle his nerve.
“You’re hot, of course. And I wasn’t serious before, but it’s true this rodeo circuit’s not overflowing with hot, available gay men. I’ve never dated anyone from rodeo before, though not from any objection to it. Just had more luck looking for guys elsewhere. But my point is, noticing how you looked was the reason I started noticing more about you, back when.”
Anton nodded. “You are, too. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”
Cisco waggled his eyebrows, glad now the hat rested on the chair beside him. “Meant you to. Glad you did.”
Anton’s leg rustled and then he had Cisco’s boots trapped between his calves.
Oh.
All-righty, then. Body language for days.
“Talk more about me.”
Fuck if the command didn’t about send him flying again. The points where Anton’s legs met his were all that seemed to ground him.
Straightforward it was. “You’re savvy as hell, and don’t take shit from anyone. You work hard and expect everyone else to work hard, too. You don’t wait around for approval when you know what needs doing. That last thing just about made me angry, it’s so close to what I want to be and keep failing.”
If fate was fucking with him and laughing about how fruitlessly he was throwing himself at this man, he was going to be big time pissed.
“You’re not a failure.”
Fuck. Anton barely knew him, but that one comment was enough to settle him down. “I hope that’s getting to be true. I try now, ever since I sorted out why I got mad you could do that. It helped, realizing how much I wished I could go after everything I wanted.”
“What kind of things?”
Seemed like they were straying from Anton’s directive to talk about him, but Cisco hungered for the man’s attention. If he wanted to know Cisco’s raw soul, seems he’d fry it up with chili and beans. “Being out, for a start. Competing while out. Took me a good age to feel I wasn’t waiting for some committee or another to let me know I wasn’t welcome. Still feel that in some places, but I’m not making it easy anymore. When they get round to disinviting me, they do it knowing I’m not slinking away in shame.”
Anton’s legs had pinched in firmer while he talked. “Who disinvited you?”
He waved a hand. “Assholes. Don’t fuss over their narrow minds. Point is, that’s when I started to confront my cautious nature, when I saw how you do. If nothing else comes from tonight—not that I’m giving you an easy out, either—I get a chance to thank you for that example. I used it for my family, too, finally telling my uncles to stop waiting for me to take over their ranch. They run cattle out past La Grange, but like I said, me and Cricket, we’re roamers.”
“And you don’t wait for anyone’s approval.”
He snorted. “Just the rodeo associations and the event judges and the fans in interview alley and my mama. But she’s a pushover.”
“That’s not approval, that’s kudos.”
“Okay, two-dollar-word man. Whatever you say.”
Anton ducked his head and seemed to think through everything while they focused on their meals. Then he asked, “Why’s he called Cricket?”
“He loves to roll the bit around.”
“I guessed you were color blind and thought his coat was green.”
The other thing the online reviews had mentioned was the small tables at this joint. Cisco hitched his chair forward so his knees lined up with Anton’s. Who knew the man would be likely to spin stories about his horse? Cisco wanted to soak up all of his passing thoughts and whimseys.
“Did I tell you enough for you to make up your mind? Or am I buying you dinner and watching you drive away?”
Anton nudged his plate away and dropped both hands below the table. One dug into his pocket, and the other slid with no hesitation up Cisco’s thigh. He brought out his phone and thumb-typed a few times. “That’s my address. It’s a duplex; mine’s the one on the left as you approach the porch. Meet me there.”
And with that, he gave Cisco’s leg a squeeze, swiped up his ball cap, and sauntered away like he knew Cisco was staring at every sway of his ass.
Chapter 5
Cisco barreled at Anton like iron fillings to a magnet.
“Take your boots off.”
“Right. Sorry. I swear I have home training.” His sister would be rolling out laughing at him, but Cisco didn’t care. Anton had met him at the door with his shirt unbuttoned and no hat to shield his face. Cisco barely glanced at the place—tidy, lots of books, some complicated looking electronics. He knew the man would have a nice lifestyle, it was just who he was. So long as he didn’t mind that Cisco’s life was full of dirt and horse-smell, it didn’t matter at all.
What mattered was toeing off his boots and tackling Anton to a horizontal surface. Or vertical. Cisco could work with vertical. It flushed him to his core, looking up close at Anton, nothing external to distract them from each other. The man was tall, and younger-looking away from the authority of his job. Cisco watched his gaze move down the placket of his shirt.
Body language. Cisco’s fingers were obeying Anton’s unspoken wish before he’d even thought about it. Anton backed up the stairs from him, watching every button Cisco undid, and Cisco let himself be rounded up and penned in Anton’s room like the most biddable of cattle.
Finally, both bare-chested, they kissed. Anton was enough taller that Cisco felt the stretch in his spine, but not enough to make climbing him like a pole necessary. Fun, but not necessary.
Anton’s lips were firm and sure, and he tasted still like the beer from dinner. Cisco liked that he hadn’t rushed home to brush his teeth; it felt like his man was too focused on getting to this moment to consider normal routines. And Cisco could bet he had routines. He wondered how many he could disrupt.
And then Anton palmed his butt, and Cisco didn’t wonder anything else. He crashed them both onto the bed, hands ripping at both pairs of jeans until their cocks came free and rubbed together. Cisco wrapped his fingers around their combined girth, and Anton moaned an unholy curse that sent Cisco to thrusting before he could think twice about what his man wanted.
“Shit, sorry, baby. You’re good with this?”
Anton slapped his bare ass cheek and Cisco bucked them together again. Anton rubbed the sting away and said, “Come on, cowboy. Let’s get the edge off before you fuck me.”
And hell if just the surety and lust in Anton’s voice didn’t have his spine tingling, never mind his words. “Anton. Jesus fuck you’re hot.”
Anton bit his nipple and Cisco’s hand convulsed around their cocks. So he shouldn’t have been surprised when Anton bit him again, pairing it with another light spank. What did surprise him was the way Anton met his gaze for a long moment before leaning in to lick Cisco’s tender chest.
Having him unguarded like that, with their jeans tangled around their knees and their groans filling the air? Cisco was gone. He jacked his hand faster, rejoicing when Anton thrust up into his hold, and they came within seconds of each other.
“Fucking hell, baby.”
Anton pulled him flat on his back under him and rained kisses across his shoulders and chest. “You okay? You are okay, right?”
“I’ll tell you if I’m not.”
Cisco thought he’d blown every scrap of tension out of his body with that orgasm, but it turned out he had a touch more breath to let go. “You will?”
Anton tucked himself half-over Cisco, holding him down while kicking both their legs free of the rest of their clothing. “I will.” Matter-of-fact as that. He made it sound as simple and logical as the way he grabbed a cloth from the side of the bed to wipe down their stomachs.
Fate was doing silly things with his heart. “That sounds like this means something more than just a fling to you.”
“You have two more nights on this series.”
“And I’ll be back for semi-finals.” His was the second of five series, so he’d have nine nights break before semis. He’d already calculated how long it would take to get to Anton’s place from his land, and how he could adjust his training schedule to ensure repeats of nights like this.
Anton thrust his pelvis into him, and his cock got the idea real quick. “You better make it to finals, cowboy. I never got to root for someone special before.”
He wasn’t going to survive the night, much less the whole of Houston’s rodeo season. “Anton. Baby. Sorry, I keep calling you that, it’s slipped right out and I can’t say why. But. You mean it?”
“Sure.” Anton started a promising bit of motion, edging the two of them to the center of the mattress. “Like you noted already, I am savvy. And when I know what needs doing, I act on it.”
He swallowed. His skin was dancing with fire ants and it seemed like Anton was the only salve. “I like that about you.”
“Good. Because I’m about to act on preparing myself to take your shaft up my ass.”
Cisco howled with laughter. “I don’t know if that’s the smartest or the most smart-ass thing you’ve said today, but either way: yes. Let’s do that. And ... thanks for rooting for me.”
“Speaking of roots.” His man stroked him to hardness, not that his cock put up much of a fight, and he took a moment to just eyeball every inch of Anton’s lean, taut frame and sex- flushed skin.
Fate was one smart cookie, and he was one lucky cowboy.
Chapter 6
The next couple days were buoyant ones. Mornings training with Cricket and bullshitting with friends. Afternoons sneaking a little time with Anton, so long as some blue-ribbon pig’s waste wasn’t offending the livestock show’s attendees. The demands on his man’s time were various, but nothing ever seemed to set him back. Cisco was half in love with him just from the way he anticipated every problem before he could get a frantic text about it.
And after the show, he and Anton got to enjoy their personal fireworks. They squeezed into the RV’s bed and set the thing to rocking. Once his series was up and he and Cricket moved back home, and he’d cleaned out and returned the RV to his sister, they spent most of their nights at Anton’s place.
He promised to come down to Cisco’s property once the rodeo ended and he could indulge in a longer commute. Cisco dedicated a bit of his prize money to some comfortable sheets and a couple of new rag rugs to replace the ones that were a little too full of ground-in muck to be saved. For all his talk about not changing up his schedule for a partner, Cisco was starting to think up some intriguing ways to lure Anton for an extended stay. Even if that meant missing an
invitational or two.
First, though, he had to figure out if Anton would ever want such a thing.
And figure out what do with all his hope, should the answer be no.
He and Cricket did a fine job at semifinals. And he and Anton did an even finer job celebrating that night. But watching the second round of semis the next day, it got to be clear he wasn’t going to the Championship.
He tipped down his brim and blew out a breath. Over a week now of running into Anton at the rodeo grounds or meeting him after the day’s work was done, and each day Anton said something about him performing in the last night of the rodeo. He didn’t ask much of Cisco—out of bed, anyway—and now Cisco had gone and broken this one promise he’d foolishly made.
“Shit.” His voice was scratched tin. “I’m sorry, baby.”
Anton cupped his nape. “What for?”
He didn’t deserve all that tenderness. “I knew it was a long shot, but we had a chance. Until Trey went and cleaned out so fast just now, damn him. Cricket’s in good form, though. We’ll take the prize at Wild Card tomorrow. I know it’s not the same, but I swear I’m not going to let you down again.”
Anton’s grip on his neck firmed. “Cisco.”
A problem with Anton’s face and voice being so hard to read was Cisco was free to imagine all the kinds of censure and disappointment coming his way. He braced for whatever his man would say. Hoping this wasn’t such a failure that Anton would walk away, he sucked in a breath and said, “Yeah?”
“I don’t give a fuck if you’re not in the finals.”
“You ... don’t?” He turned to look at him. No tells in his face, but then Anton went and pressed his knee into Cisco’s thigh, and he melted like butter on cornbread fresh from the skillet. “You really don’t.”
“Nope.”
“You’re sure? You don’t have to hide it from me.”
“I’m sure.”
He snorted and shook his head. “Damn me to hell and back. I was so sure you’d be disappointed. I mean, I know I could have trained more this last week, and ....”
Anton kissed him. Right there in the viewing stands of the rodeo, surrounded by a crowd of friends and strangers and coworkers, like it didn’t matter to his man one bit how much glory he would be bringing home.
Like he was worth it just how he was.
Like what mattered was making him feel special.
Cisco threw every scrap of emotion into the kiss in return, because he wasn’t waiting around to show his man just how much he mattered in return.
Chapter 1
He walked with his head down.
He always walked with his head down. Cisco expected nothing less of the man at this point. Going back four or five springs now, Francisco would show up at the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo grounds, and spend his nights wondering why he couldn't grasp the cojones needed to approach the hot, focused, insular agricultural engineer.
Agricultural engineer. Cisco snorted to himself. Fancy-ass name for the guy who figured out what to do with all the literal bullshit generated over the nineteen days Houston teemed with farmers, cowboys, equipment reps, vendors of everything from brisket mac’n’cheese to snakeskin boots, and hordes of city folk crowding in to grab a taste of their state’s ag roots. Not that Anton Bellamy seemed to notice any of them, intent as he was on the acres of livestock displays, and the holding pens for the arena floor, and the logistical ins and outs of cattle for each round of the Super Series performances.
Not that he was criticizing. An event as big as Houston’s needed fancy-ass people to figure all that stuff out. And without rodeos to circuit between, Cisco’s life would be made up of day work and dude ranches, always chasing a new horizon to soothe his peripatetic yearnings. He wasn't cut out to spend all his days on a working ranch, at the beck and call of some boss who wanted him to rise and shine at the same time every morning and get on with the same work as every other interchangeable cog on the wagon wheel.
Been there, done that, still dealing with the fallout from his extended family. And damn his nosy uncles who couldn't figure out why their promise to name him main screw someday wasn’t enough to con him into hanging his Stetson in their bunkhouse while they never got around to retirement.
“Shit.”
Cisco jerked his head up and felt his sour musings sink behind a fast grin. Seemed he'd spent too much time contemplating the fate the universe had in store for him, and ended up smack in the middle of the agricultural engineer’s path.
“Anton, hey.”
Anton Bellamy looked up from the patch of lean pec he'd been rubbing. Like he was determined to erase the impact of Cisco's shoulder plowing into him, just as Cisco was thanking fate for the abrupt contact. “I don't know you.”
He took the rude tone easy. His many springs of scoping out Anton made him well aware of the guy’s blunt nature. He held out a hand. “Francisco Martine. Cisco.”
Anton hit him with those brown-green-black eyes, and Cisco knew a moment of triumph. Actual eye contact. After a shake so brief Cisco shouldn't have been able to catch hold of any of the lightning sparking between them, Anton stepped back like this was over.
But no. Fate went and threw this dream man in his path just when he was speared with a touch of despair? Cisco was damn sure taking the hint. “I’ve been meaning to introduce myself.”
Anton pulled out his phone. “Problem with a pen sensor?”
He was immediately prepared to solve some problem Cisco didn't have. So fucking cute. “Nope.”
Anton nodded like the lack of information was no barrier to him getting shit done. “If it’s the hay, something on the feedline is messed up. I’m headed over there next.”
“Nope. Well, I mean, probably, if you're headed over there. You don't go places unless you know you're needed.”
That got him another flash of eye contact. “You're not on my list.”
“Nope.”
“So how do you know me?”
He sounded more impatient than anything else. That was the Anton he'd been creeping on for half a decade. Always on a mission, never a sit back and shoot the shit kind of guy. And so damn competent it was eerie. His efficiency always got Cisco dreaming up ways he could slow the man down and make him yearn to linger.
He had a list of ideas longer than his lariat. And Cisco hadn’t spent dozens of nights thinking about Anton to be unprepared with an answer. He’d needed this push from fate directing him to go do something about his fantasies, but once the chance presented itself, Cisco took it. He stepped forward to put them in intimate range. “You don't know me. Yet. But if you let me buy you dinner tonight, I'll be sure to let you get to know me. Inside and out.”
Chapter 2
Good thing he’d drawn a late slot for the first day of tie-down competition, because he was nervy as hell. He gripped the rail of Cricket’s stall like he was fixing to start cribbing at it, which earned him a nicker and a head butt. Bless his horse, chill as ever and unbothered by the move from home to the rodeo grounds, and from there to the competition stalls. Cricket was a stayer, and here Frisco was coming up skittish. All because he’d glimpsed Anton walking by.
Hadn’t occurred to him that the man would be on the show floor. But of course he was; he was one of the people making the place operate smoothly. Hell, it wasn’t even the first rodeo when Cisco spied Anton while he was fixing to compete. Just the first time Anton spied him right back. And he looked settled in to watch Cisco at work. Perched his foot up on the arena rail, talking to some other honcho, but turned so he was looking Cisco’s way. Then he took his cap off and that shock of black hair sprung up so fucking cute, it about ripped Cisco's heart in two.
He took up a piggin’ string and whipped it into and out of a bowline then a sheet bend then a clove hitch before coiling it up straight again. His fingers still sparked like that one second when Anton had touched him before agreeing to their date, but it felt like the good kind of pre- competition adrenaline, instead of snap-temper. Cricket nosed at him. He nodded right back at him. “Right you are, pal. Let’s get it done.”
Then it was go time, and they slid into the well-known pattern of chase, build a blocker loop, throw, hog-tie, hooey, and done. Cricket was perfect and Cisco did his best to live up to his beloved blue roan’s expertise. Ended the contest in second place, which was enough day money to ensure he wasn’t taking a loss on this year’s rodeo. Everything else he earned would be stakes for his future.
After signing autographs and bedding down Cricket and navigating some nonsense from a couple of the barrel riders who were friends with his cousin, he finally got back to his RV in Rodeo Village. Well, his sister’s RV, but she let him use it for rodeos where there were hookups like Houston had. One day he aimed to be a big enough deal for endorsements and a truck with a full wrap of branding and such, but he didn’t compete in the roughstock events, so he was never going to be an all-round champion.
After showering, he stumbled around his RV like the wettest calf in existence, looking for his good belt. He knew he’d tossed it in with his kit when heading up the road from his small parcel just south of Houston, but he could only locate the busted old belt that always needed saddle soap. His sister threatened to toss on the fire every time she spotted it, but it was the one he wore to compete, no matter how grubby it looked. He wouldn’t abandon it, but it wasn’t right for the night. He needed all the help he could muster if he hoped to impress someone like Anton.
He'd been years trying to figure out what the man might be looking for in a date. A guy, sure, but beyond that? He hoped Anton was also looking for someone steady, and that their frequent travel—him to rodeos, Anton to contract jobs—meant he’d be understanding about schedules and the demands of hard work.
He’d been dumped before because of how many weekends he loaded Cricket into the trailer and hit the road. And once because he’d busted his arm training and his jerk boyfriend suddenly thought competition was too dangerous. And had too many men to count who figured he was up for a fling but no use for the long-term. No one who seemed to get that all the work and travel just meant it was important to him to have a relationship he could count on.
He tried his best to set up the date to please Anton, but he feared that none of his snooping or eavesdropping had gotten him one lick closer to figuring out for sure if they were as good a match as he hoped. Cisco figured at least the nice belt would be a good start, in case Anton’s eyes strayed down his jeans again like they had that morning. Because he also wanted his relationship to be hot.
He finally located the belt coiled in a snake of tack on the banquette, looped it on, and managed to get himself out the door in time. Cisco had no intention of being late. One thing he knew about Anton was the man liked schedules. He’d gathered so many tidbits of info like that, dropped like spare change in the mason jar of his brain. How he always wore blue, black, or green. Never gray. Never brown. How he would sometimes mutter to himself while he was walking, but if he was having a conversation, he came to a standstill. How he rotated between a collection of five different ball caps, but never on any kind of schedule that Cisco could work out. How he kept his credentials lanyard tucked in his front right pocket, which Cisco for sure noted created room for other kinds of tucking on the left.
He gunned the engine of his truck. He was not going to keep the man waiting on him.
Chapter 3
He was leaning against the restaurant’s exterior, abs tight and thumbs tucked into his jeans pockets, when Anton’s truck pulled up. He’d positioned himself in a spill of light from the awning, so Anton could take as through a gander as he wanted as he came up to meet him. Seemed like the belt had been a good choice. Cisco’s face was shaded by his Stetson, so he allowed himself a wicked grin as he clocked the way Anton eyed the bulge he’d framed with his large-knuckled hands.
The man’s face was hard to read, but he had body language for days. He leaned toward Cisco like Cricket sensing a sugar lump. Cisco, no fool, leaned right back. Not touching, but not leaving the spark between them to the imagination. He tilted his head to speak close. “Hey, thanks for coming. This place okay?”
Anton glanced at the restaurant and nodded. “Seems good.”
After watching Anton for half a decade, Cisco had hopes he’d figured out a few ways to make the man happy. He’d picked a quiet place, small and not shabby. Definitely more a dinner joint than a bar, and since they were meeting after the show, they were catching the tail end of service. Not much of a crowd, and no ambient music to lay demands on Anton’s senses.
It lived up to the claims of the online reviews, and Cisco's chest filled with some combination
of pride and relief that he'd maybe gotten it right. He kept half an eye on Anton as they went through the settling in and ordering food motions. Seemed like he was ready to relax into the night, which matched up so close to Cisco’s fantasies he didn’t trust he was reading Anton right. Once they’d gotten through a couple of perusing glances and some lip-licking encouragement, Cisco gave in to the urge to be blunt. “I want you.”
Anton swallowed and rubbed his hands on his jeans. “Yeah?”
Cisco nodded. “Yep. Had my eye on you for a while, to tell you the truth. You took my fancy the first spring I qualified for HLSR, but I wasn't really out then. Took me a little longer than it should have, looking back, but it is what it is.”
Anton flashed eyes at him, but without censure. “I came out when I was fourteen.”
Cisco nodded. “Always seemed like you're not caught up in toxic masculinity and whatever cultural expectations might come along with that. It’s one of the things I’ve admired about you.”
Anton gave him a look like: why would he bother wasting time with anybody else's expectations?
Cisco huffed. “Yeah, it's not the kind of thing you'd get swayed by. I put some stock in the wrong things growing up. Can't say it was worth it now. Except it did get me into rodeo. I love rodeo. We have that in common. Both gay, both love rodeo. Seems like we're a perfect pair.”
“That's everything you want then? A lover while you're in town?”
Damn if he didn't feel himself blush. “No. There's more to it. If that was it, I'd have gotten the balls to approach you three-four rodeos ago, instead of stalking you every spring.”
That earned him a bit of sustained eye contact and the joy of Anton's bright smile. “I’ve never been stalked before.”
Cisco grinned right back. “Not that you know. Maybe all your other stalkers are better at it than me. More subtle.”
“I think you were subtle enough for a few years there.”
He wasn’t positive, but it seemed like flirting. Cisco enjoyed being flirted with, however low-key it came across. “Fair enough. Apparently I'm just a real cautious cowboy.”
“You got all those championship belts by being cautious?” Anton’s head was ducked, but his voice floated into the space between them.
Oh, Cisco was for sure bright with embarrassment now. “Seems you took a little time to stalk me right back.”
Anton shrugged. “Just a quick Google.”
He wanted to toss his head and lunge at the man. As it was he couldn't stop from puffing out his chest and kicking out his boots under the table. They brushed up against Anton’s calves; he went statue-still. Not as if he'd been some sort of dervish before, but Cisco knew how Anton typically moved, and this was definitely a change.
He waited. Didn’t take back the contact, didn’t press it further.
“You mentioned, before, about me,” said Anton. He must have jiggled his knee a bit, cause one leg bobbed against the ball of Cisco’s foot.
“About me wanting you?” He wanted to tease. He wanted to laugh and holler. He wanted to plunder every inch of the man. Instead he went back to that straightforward clarity he'd figured as his best chance of success. “I do want. I want to fuck you, but not just while I'm running my series. Or when I come back for semi-finals, which you ought to guess I’ll be doing, seeing as how you looked at my successes and all.”
Anton pressed his legs against Cicso’s boot, deliberate this time. He managed not to jump like he'd been prod, and took it as encouragement.
“But I also want this.” He jerked his chin up towards the restaurant, and the waitress coming their way with food. “Dates. Time to talk and get to know each other. Maybe going so far as to call it a relationship, if I'm lucky. And for the record, if that search of yours didn't tell you, I'm a local. I’ve got a few acres down by Alvin. So, no, I’m not just looking for a quick lay before moving on to the next town.”
He waited, again. Maybe it was caution, or sub-par cojones. But maybe it was listening to everything fate and his instincts told him was the right way to persuade Anton Bellamy he not only meant it—he yearned for it.
Four-five silent bites later, Anton put down his fork, sat even straighter, and asked, “Why?”
Chapter 4
He set down his own fork and closed his eyes a sec to muster up his answer. “I said before, about cultural expectations I took on board. Not to say I’m looking for a heteronormative future, marriage and kids and all. That’s not out of the question, but it’s all likely a ways down the trail for me. I want as much time on the circuit as I can get. But the part I reject, for me, is the one of feckless player. Met plenty of guys who expect me to take that as the norm, being young like us, and traveling a good bit—yeah, I searched up on you, too. I take my stalking seriously.”
That got him another smile, and it fortified Cisco to go on. “I expect you know them, too, the honey in every town type. Gay or straight, no matter. But that’s not why I roam. Me and Cricket —he’s my roping horse—we like the road. We like new places and going back to familiar places to see new faces at the chuck wagon. We like competing. But it’s part of the same reason I don’t ride broncs. I like Cricket. He’s my guy. Riding him, I can take on all the back and forth of the road, cause he’s constant.”
“And you want to put me in your stable?”
Cisco nearly snatched up his hat to give himself some retreat from this laid-bare conversation. But his mama taught him better, and fate wouldn’t take kindly to him blowing this chance set out so neatly for him.
“It’s an analogy. I’m explaining how I am, how I know what I’m looking for is a partner, not a hook-up. Not to say you have to abide by my dreams, but I want to be clear about my goals. Stalked you enough to know you like things to be clear.”
Anton nodded. “I appreciate it.”
He ran a hand through that dark thick hair and Cisco drowned his thirst with a pull on his beer.
“But you haven’t said why me.”
The beer nearly headed down the wrong pipe, but Cisco coughed himself under control. Cool as a steer’s nose, that was him. He patted at his face with his napkin, hoping he didn’t look too much the fool. As usual, Anton’s expression gave little away. Cisco tucked his napkin back in his lap, brushed his thumb along the engraving on the championship buckle to settle his nerve.
“You’re hot, of course. And I wasn’t serious before, but it’s true this rodeo circuit’s not overflowing with hot, available gay men. I’ve never dated anyone from rodeo before, though not from any objection to it. Just had more luck looking for guys elsewhere. But my point is, noticing how you looked was the reason I started noticing more about you, back when.”
Anton nodded. “You are, too. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”
Cisco waggled his eyebrows, glad now the hat rested on the chair beside him. “Meant you to. Glad you did.”
Anton’s leg rustled and then he had Cisco’s boots trapped between his calves.
Oh.
All-righty, then. Body language for days.
“Talk more about me.”
Fuck if the command didn’t about send him flying again. The points where Anton’s legs met his were all that seemed to ground him.
Straightforward it was. “You’re savvy as hell, and don’t take shit from anyone. You work hard and expect everyone else to work hard, too. You don’t wait around for approval when you know what needs doing. That last thing just about made me angry, it’s so close to what I want to be and keep failing.”
If fate was fucking with him and laughing about how fruitlessly he was throwing himself at this man, he was going to be big time pissed.
“You’re not a failure.”
Fuck. Anton barely knew him, but that one comment was enough to settle him down. “I hope that’s getting to be true. I try now, ever since I sorted out why I got mad you could do that. It helped, realizing how much I wished I could go after everything I wanted.”
“What kind of things?”
Seemed like they were straying from Anton’s directive to talk about him, but Cisco hungered for the man’s attention. If he wanted to know Cisco’s raw soul, seems he’d fry it up with chili and beans. “Being out, for a start. Competing while out. Took me a good age to feel I wasn’t waiting for some committee or another to let me know I wasn’t welcome. Still feel that in some places, but I’m not making it easy anymore. When they get round to disinviting me, they do it knowing I’m not slinking away in shame.”
Anton’s legs had pinched in firmer while he talked. “Who disinvited you?”
He waved a hand. “Assholes. Don’t fuss over their narrow minds. Point is, that’s when I started to confront my cautious nature, when I saw how you do. If nothing else comes from tonight—not that I’m giving you an easy out, either—I get a chance to thank you for that example. I used it for my family, too, finally telling my uncles to stop waiting for me to take over their ranch. They run cattle out past La Grange, but like I said, me and Cricket, we’re roamers.”
“And you don’t wait for anyone’s approval.”
He snorted. “Just the rodeo associations and the event judges and the fans in interview alley and my mama. But she’s a pushover.”
“That’s not approval, that’s kudos.”
“Okay, two-dollar-word man. Whatever you say.”
Anton ducked his head and seemed to think through everything while they focused on their meals. Then he asked, “Why’s he called Cricket?”
“He loves to roll the bit around.”
“I guessed you were color blind and thought his coat was green.”
The other thing the online reviews had mentioned was the small tables at this joint. Cisco hitched his chair forward so his knees lined up with Anton’s. Who knew the man would be likely to spin stories about his horse? Cisco wanted to soak up all of his passing thoughts and whimseys.
“Did I tell you enough for you to make up your mind? Or am I buying you dinner and watching you drive away?”
Anton nudged his plate away and dropped both hands below the table. One dug into his pocket, and the other slid with no hesitation up Cisco’s thigh. He brought out his phone and thumb-typed a few times. “That’s my address. It’s a duplex; mine’s the one on the left as you approach the porch. Meet me there.”
And with that, he gave Cisco’s leg a squeeze, swiped up his ball cap, and sauntered away like he knew Cisco was staring at every sway of his ass.
Chapter 5
Cisco barreled at Anton like iron fillings to a magnet.
“Take your boots off.”
“Right. Sorry. I swear I have home training.” His sister would be rolling out laughing at him, but Cisco didn’t care. Anton had met him at the door with his shirt unbuttoned and no hat to shield his face. Cisco barely glanced at the place—tidy, lots of books, some complicated looking electronics. He knew the man would have a nice lifestyle, it was just who he was. So long as he didn’t mind that Cisco’s life was full of dirt and horse-smell, it didn’t matter at all.
What mattered was toeing off his boots and tackling Anton to a horizontal surface. Or vertical. Cisco could work with vertical. It flushed him to his core, looking up close at Anton, nothing external to distract them from each other. The man was tall, and younger-looking away from the authority of his job. Cisco watched his gaze move down the placket of his shirt.
Body language. Cisco’s fingers were obeying Anton’s unspoken wish before he’d even thought about it. Anton backed up the stairs from him, watching every button Cisco undid, and Cisco let himself be rounded up and penned in Anton’s room like the most biddable of cattle.
Finally, both bare-chested, they kissed. Anton was enough taller that Cisco felt the stretch in his spine, but not enough to make climbing him like a pole necessary. Fun, but not necessary.
Anton’s lips were firm and sure, and he tasted still like the beer from dinner. Cisco liked that he hadn’t rushed home to brush his teeth; it felt like his man was too focused on getting to this moment to consider normal routines. And Cisco could bet he had routines. He wondered how many he could disrupt.
And then Anton palmed his butt, and Cisco didn’t wonder anything else. He crashed them both onto the bed, hands ripping at both pairs of jeans until their cocks came free and rubbed together. Cisco wrapped his fingers around their combined girth, and Anton moaned an unholy curse that sent Cisco to thrusting before he could think twice about what his man wanted.
“Shit, sorry, baby. You’re good with this?”
Anton slapped his bare ass cheek and Cisco bucked them together again. Anton rubbed the sting away and said, “Come on, cowboy. Let’s get the edge off before you fuck me.”
And hell if just the surety and lust in Anton’s voice didn’t have his spine tingling, never mind his words. “Anton. Jesus fuck you’re hot.”
Anton bit his nipple and Cisco’s hand convulsed around their cocks. So he shouldn’t have been surprised when Anton bit him again, pairing it with another light spank. What did surprise him was the way Anton met his gaze for a long moment before leaning in to lick Cisco’s tender chest.
Having him unguarded like that, with their jeans tangled around their knees and their groans filling the air? Cisco was gone. He jacked his hand faster, rejoicing when Anton thrust up into his hold, and they came within seconds of each other.
“Fucking hell, baby.”
Anton pulled him flat on his back under him and rained kisses across his shoulders and chest. “You okay? You are okay, right?”
“I’ll tell you if I’m not.”
Cisco thought he’d blown every scrap of tension out of his body with that orgasm, but it turned out he had a touch more breath to let go. “You will?”
Anton tucked himself half-over Cisco, holding him down while kicking both their legs free of the rest of their clothing. “I will.” Matter-of-fact as that. He made it sound as simple and logical as the way he grabbed a cloth from the side of the bed to wipe down their stomachs.
Fate was doing silly things with his heart. “That sounds like this means something more than just a fling to you.”
“You have two more nights on this series.”
“And I’ll be back for semi-finals.” His was the second of five series, so he’d have nine nights break before semis. He’d already calculated how long it would take to get to Anton’s place from his land, and how he could adjust his training schedule to ensure repeats of nights like this.
Anton thrust his pelvis into him, and his cock got the idea real quick. “You better make it to finals, cowboy. I never got to root for someone special before.”
He wasn’t going to survive the night, much less the whole of Houston’s rodeo season. “Anton. Baby. Sorry, I keep calling you that, it’s slipped right out and I can’t say why. But. You mean it?”
“Sure.” Anton started a promising bit of motion, edging the two of them to the center of the mattress. “Like you noted already, I am savvy. And when I know what needs doing, I act on it.”
He swallowed. His skin was dancing with fire ants and it seemed like Anton was the only salve. “I like that about you.”
“Good. Because I’m about to act on preparing myself to take your shaft up my ass.”
Cisco howled with laughter. “I don’t know if that’s the smartest or the most smart-ass thing you’ve said today, but either way: yes. Let’s do that. And ... thanks for rooting for me.”
“Speaking of roots.” His man stroked him to hardness, not that his cock put up much of a fight, and he took a moment to just eyeball every inch of Anton’s lean, taut frame and sex- flushed skin.
Fate was one smart cookie, and he was one lucky cowboy.
Chapter 6
The next couple days were buoyant ones. Mornings training with Cricket and bullshitting with friends. Afternoons sneaking a little time with Anton, so long as some blue-ribbon pig’s waste wasn’t offending the livestock show’s attendees. The demands on his man’s time were various, but nothing ever seemed to set him back. Cisco was half in love with him just from the way he anticipated every problem before he could get a frantic text about it.
And after the show, he and Anton got to enjoy their personal fireworks. They squeezed into the RV’s bed and set the thing to rocking. Once his series was up and he and Cricket moved back home, and he’d cleaned out and returned the RV to his sister, they spent most of their nights at Anton’s place.
He promised to come down to Cisco’s property once the rodeo ended and he could indulge in a longer commute. Cisco dedicated a bit of his prize money to some comfortable sheets and a couple of new rag rugs to replace the ones that were a little too full of ground-in muck to be saved. For all his talk about not changing up his schedule for a partner, Cisco was starting to think up some intriguing ways to lure Anton for an extended stay. Even if that meant missing an
invitational or two.
First, though, he had to figure out if Anton would ever want such a thing.
And figure out what do with all his hope, should the answer be no.
He and Cricket did a fine job at semifinals. And he and Anton did an even finer job celebrating that night. But watching the second round of semis the next day, it got to be clear he wasn’t going to the Championship.
He tipped down his brim and blew out a breath. Over a week now of running into Anton at the rodeo grounds or meeting him after the day’s work was done, and each day Anton said something about him performing in the last night of the rodeo. He didn’t ask much of Cisco—out of bed, anyway—and now Cisco had gone and broken this one promise he’d foolishly made.
“Shit.” His voice was scratched tin. “I’m sorry, baby.”
Anton cupped his nape. “What for?”
He didn’t deserve all that tenderness. “I knew it was a long shot, but we had a chance. Until Trey went and cleaned out so fast just now, damn him. Cricket’s in good form, though. We’ll take the prize at Wild Card tomorrow. I know it’s not the same, but I swear I’m not going to let you down again.”
Anton’s grip on his neck firmed. “Cisco.”
A problem with Anton’s face and voice being so hard to read was Cisco was free to imagine all the kinds of censure and disappointment coming his way. He braced for whatever his man would say. Hoping this wasn’t such a failure that Anton would walk away, he sucked in a breath and said, “Yeah?”
“I don’t give a fuck if you’re not in the finals.”
“You ... don’t?” He turned to look at him. No tells in his face, but then Anton went and pressed his knee into Cisco’s thigh, and he melted like butter on cornbread fresh from the skillet. “You really don’t.”
“Nope.”
“You’re sure? You don’t have to hide it from me.”
“I’m sure.”
He snorted and shook his head. “Damn me to hell and back. I was so sure you’d be disappointed. I mean, I know I could have trained more this last week, and ....”
Anton kissed him. Right there in the viewing stands of the rodeo, surrounded by a crowd of friends and strangers and coworkers, like it didn’t matter to his man one bit how much glory he would be bringing home.
Like he was worth it just how he was.
Like what mattered was making him feel special.
Cisco threw every scrap of emotion into the kiss in return, because he wasn’t waiting around to show his man just how much he mattered in return.