“Uh, how did you even get in here?” Xander questions beside me. At some point, he’s pushed himself into a sitting position too.
“Cope gave me a key.” Shooter holds up the white plastic square as if to prove his point. “Duh.”
“I gave it to you in case I locked myself out again. Not so you can barge in here bright and early like you own the place, asshole.”
He shrugs. “Semantics. Now, get up and get dressed, lovebirds. I’m starving.”
“You couldn’t have texted like a normal person?” I ask.
“I did. Twice. And called you. Now, up and meet us in the lobby in five minutes, or I’m coming back up here.”
They turn around and leave, the door offering a quietclickonce they’re gone. Tossing a look over at Xander, we both laugh. “I’m sorry about him. He can be…”
“Intense?” Xander finishes for me.
“I was going to say a dick, but sure, let’s go with that.”
Xander tosses the blanket off of us, glancing between our now half-hard dicks. “Think we have time?” He raises a brow as he looks up at me.
Laughing, I say, “Absolutely not. He, one hundred percent, will come back up.”
He dramatically rolls his eyes, a grin spread on his face. “Fiiine,” he groans, climbing out of bed, and I follow to do the same.
Twenty minutes later, the gang’s all sat around a huge circular table at some diner off the strip, and we’ve already ordered a ton of food for the group.
“How’re you feeling after that win last night, Sterling?” Xander asks from beside me. He’s mixing some cream and sugar into a hot cup of coffee.
“Sore, but so freaking good.” The smile on Sterling’s face is blinding, and I can’t help but mimic it. It’s not only his first world champ win, but it’s only his first pro season. That’s gotta feel fucking incredible.
Our food comes and we all dig in, most conversation coming to a halt. We all head back to Copper Lake later on today, and I’m excited to get home, but at the same time, I’m nervous. I don’t know what’s going to come with Xander once we’re back. As far as I can tell, Colette is getting stronger by the day, and Xander is technically only here to help her while she needs it. There’s no logical reason for him to stay if she doesn’t need his help, but Ican’t ignore the pit that forms in my gut when I think about him leaving.
Whatever this is between us is new—way too new for me to expect him to uproot his entire life in the possibility that something real could be here—but fuck if I don’t wish I could. Hell, for all I know, this was just a one-night thing for him. He may not even feel the same way I do. I’m hoping once we get back home, we’ll be able to sit down and talk. I don’t know what I’d even say, but I need to say something because this connection I feel with him is too strong to ignore.
I went from being perfectly content being by myself, assuming I’d never know what real, intimate feelings are like, to helping him out on the side of the road and wondering what it’d be like to get to know him.
After we all finish eating, Shooter kicks me under the table. When my eyes lift to meet his, he asks, “Wanna go outside and have a smoke with me really quick?”
“Sure.” Glancing over at Xander, he’s deep into a conversation with Whit about who knows what. Nudging his arm, I lean in and whisper into his ear, “I’ll be right back.”
He nods but doesn’t look my way, too enthralled with what Whit’s rambling on about.
Outside, Shooter lights two cigarettes, handing me one. We take a few drags in silence, watching the cars and the pedestrians pass us by, but I know he wants to talk.
Sure enough, not even a minute later, his blue eyes—a shade much darker than Xander’s—drag to meet mine, a grin on his face. “So, last night,” is all he says, waggling his brows suggestively.
Barking out a laugh, I shake my head. “What about it?”
“You fuck him?”
Shooter knows no boundaries, and he’s the definition of blunt, but I can’t really fault him because we’ve always beenclose. From the time we were little kids, we’ve had the type of friendship where we shared everything. I can’t expect him to hold back now. Not that I really care and, to be honest, I could use his advice.
“We hooked up,” I offer.
Bringing the cigarette up to his lips, he takes a drag, his features softening as he watches me. “Yeah, how was it?”
I can read between the lines. He isn’t asking me that, looking for all the juicy details. He’s asking me, as my friend, wanting to make sure I’m okay after having my first man-on-man experience. There’re so many sides to Shooter, and for most of the world, they only see the one side. The bronc rider and son of the Graham legacy. Not many people get to see the caring, supportive side of him that I do.
Before I can even answer, a smile breaks free. I don’t bother trying to hide it. “It was…really good.”
