“I’m a professional bronc rider.”
Thick, dark brows shoot up on his forehead. “No shit? That’s fucking cool, man. You know, I run an art studio, and I’ve been wanting to?—”
Whatever he was about to say is cut off when Xander walks over, slapping him on the back, a huge grin splitting his face.
“Aston, you came!”
Shifting to fully face Xander, the guy gives him a bro hug. “You’re in my neck of the woods. How could I not?”
Just then, another guy who’s a smidge taller than Aston, with brown, slightly curly hair, significantly more tattoos, and the worst case of resting bitch face I’ve ever seen, steps up beside him, his eyes trailing from me to Xander.
“What’s up, Xan,” he rasps, his voice deeper than I thought it would be. “Nice place you got here. Thanks for the invite.”
Xander practically preens under the compliment. All smiles. “Thanks. And thanks for coming.” His hand lands on the small of my back as he looks between me and the two men. “Cope, these are friends from back in college. Aston”—he gestures toward the blond one—“and his husband, Knox,” he mutters, regarding the unfriendly looking one. “Guys, this is Cope. He’s my…”
Voice trailing off, he glances over at me, seemingly coming up short on how he should introduce me. It’s not something we’ve talked about, but I save him the trouble as I extend my hand to the blond guy first and say, “Boyfriend. It’s nice to meet you two.”
The three of us shake hands, and beside me, I can see in my periphery that Xander is grinning, but I don’t look at him. I don’t know where that came from, but I’m not taking it back. I love the way it sounded rolling off my tongue.
“How’d you two meet?” Aston asks. “Do you live around here, Cope?”
“Nah, I actually live in a small town in Wyoming,” I reply. “We met there when Xander’s car broke down on the side of the road.”
“I drove down there to help my aunt with her farm when she had surgery,” Xander offers. “He stopped to help me when he saw my car on the side of the dirt road.”
“What a gentleman,” Aston says with a grin as he gives me a once-over. Glancing over at his husband, he says, “Cope was telling me that he’s a professional bronc rider.”
Knox’s eyes widen, a devilish grin tugging on his lips. “Really? A rodeo cowboy, huh?”
I chuckle. “Yup, that’s me.”
“How’d you get into something like that?”
One of my favorite things when meeting new people is getting to talk about the rodeo. A smile splits my face. “Oh, man, the rodeo’s been in my blood since I was little. It’s something I always wanted to do as a kid, and couldn’t picture myself doing anything else. My dad was part of the rodeo, and it’s a big deal in my hometown, so I was exposed to it a lot.”
Knox whistles. “Damn. I’ve never been to a rodeo, but it sounds badass.”
I nod. “Thoroughly recommend checking one out, at least once. There’re some that pass through Washington, or, I know it’s kind of far and probably unrealistic, but if you guys ever find yourself in Wyoming, let me know, and I’d be happy to bring you to one.”
“Hell yeah,” Aston replies. “That’d be cool.”
The four of us stand around, making some more small talk for a while before Knox and Aston excuse themselves. Xander eventually has to go mingle with the other guests while I happily sit and watch him from the outer corners of the room, thoroughly enjoying getting to see him in his element.
I’m dying to get him alone and get my hands on him, but in the meantime, watching him like this isn’t a bad way to pass the time.
29
XANDER DAWSON
By the time we’re stumbling into the hotel room, we’re all grabby hands and hungry lips. I’m honestly surprised I was able to keep my hands—mostly—to myself on the drive here from the dispensary. It wasn’t an easy feat, though. It’s been aloooongsix weeks since Cope and I have seen each other, and I feel like I’m going out of my skin with this raw, carnal need for him.
Fingers grapple with our shirts as we yank them over our heads, pulling away only long enough to toe off our shoes before we’re fumbling with the buttons on our pants, shoving them and our boxers down. There’s no finesse to our movements, no grace period where we work our way into this moment. It seems we’re both on the same page, needing to be skin to skin as quickly as possible.
My hands fly to the back of Cope’s head, his to my hips, as our lips crash together in a fury of lust. We walk backward, his legs meeting the edge of the bed as we topple on top of it. Shimmying his way up toward the head of the bed, I follow, loving the feel of his thick, powerful thighs wrapping around my waist, pulling me in.
“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he admits, hot breath fanning my lips a moment before they’re fused together again.
One thing I can’t get enough of with Cope is how open he is with his feelings. He doesn’t shy away from them. Doesn’t play hard to get. He’s not afraid to say exactly how he feels, even though I know this situation with us is new for him. Cope wears his heart on his sleeve, and I admire that. And from my corner of things, it seems like he’s accepted this so gracefully. I may be the first man he’s ever been with, but I haven’t seen a freakout in sight. It’s like he met me, realized he may have feelings for me, and said,“fuck what society thinks, I feel how I feel.”
