“Scott says you’ll be in the NHL soon,” Will noted.
Rusty ducked his head to hide how much he appreciated that vote of confidence. “Well, this summer I’m just a hired hand. Have you done ranch work before, Ayden?”
“Nope. City boy. But I like animals and I’m not afraid of work.”
“Pretty sure you’re provin’ that with this paint job,” Will said. “You’re farther along than I expected. Rusty, you wanna grab some painting clothes and help out?”
“Sure. Can do.”
Before heading inside, Rusty snapped a quick selfie of himself, the shed, and Will, and sent it to Cross.~Spent the morning with cows, but a paint roller will be my afternoon job. Working in the sun really makes me miss the ice.
He was surprised, a few minutes later as he stripped off his riding jeans for some crappy ones, to hear his phone ping three messages in quick succession.
He zipped up, then took a look.
~Hope it goes well.
~Who’s that with you?
~Not that it’s my business.
He blinked at the replies, trying to process them, and was about to send back “that’s Will, duh,” because Cross knew Will perfectly well. Then a quick scroll back showed that he’d caught Ayden in the photo, his cap off as he rubbed his hair, the sunlight catching that red mop and highlighting Ayden’s cheekbones and lips. He looked hot as hell. No wonder Cross wanted to know.
~That’s Ayden. A new hand for the summer.Ayden’s foster care background wasn’t something he needed to reveal.
~Looks like a kid. Is he even eighteen?
Rusty bristled at that because, fuck, Cross was still hung up on ages.~Yeah, Will doesn’t hire kids
~Right. Of course. Is he a friend of yours?
~Not yet. Just met him. Hoping he will be.Ayden seemed friendly enough and the summer would go a lot better if they worked together well.
~Sure.
That short answer sounded like Cross checking out again, and Rusty wasn’t ready to let go of the first real conversation they’d had in ten days.~Hey, I sent you a selfie. You have to send me one.
He waited, wondering if he’d gone too far. But after almost a minute that he spent picking through his T-shirts for the rattiest one, his phone chimed again.
The photo Cross sent showed his head and shoulders, clearly sitting in a wheelchair in a garden somewhere. Presumably the rehab, since Rusty hoped Cross would at least mention if he left. Small pink flowers dotted the bush behind the wheelchair and the dapple of sunlight on Cross’s face suggested he was under atree. But sunlight didn’t hide the dark circles under his eyes and his expression looked pinched and tight.
Rusty wondered if he was still in pain, or dealing with bad news. He wanted to be there, but that wasn’t something he could say. He settled for,~At least your hair is starting to grow out, thank fuck
~Didn’t you like it shaved?
~It’s hot but I want something I can stick my hands into. If you leave it the fuck alone you might have that back the next time I’m there
Rusty worried that was maybe too much, but he needed Cross to know he was still all in.
~I won’t shave it again.
That was something, Cross agreeing to what Rusty wanted. Except maybe that wasn’t right either.~It’s your hair, though.
~You’re the one looking at it.
That was good. Suggested Cross wanted Rusty to look. He replied,~Hell, yeah. Lots of looking. I don’t have many pics of you though. Don’t want to jerk off to your team portrait. You could send me more.
That was followed by a long, long pause. Long enough for Rusty to put his socks and boots back on, choose a cap he’d rather get paint on than his Stetson, and kick himself around the room half a dozen times for pushing Cross.Too much, too soon.He knew Cross wanted to go slow with the sex stuff, even before he wrecked his legs. Hewouldbe jerking off to thoughts of Cross, like he had for weeks, but he didn’t need to point that out in conversation.
