7. Denny

7

DENNY

M ake a left onto Interstate 70.

I doubled-checked Siri's route on the console screen, veering right as an incoming call buzzed in.

"Trinsky. What's up?" I answered.

"Yo, you're coming tonight."

"Where?"

"To Meyer's barbecue. I'll pick you up at five."

I switched lanes for no real reason. "Uh…I can't?—"

"You cannot bail," he insisted. "You're the newbie, the rookie, the baby. As your older, wiser mentor, you gotta listen up and go to this one. Meyer's wife is an awesome cook. She makes killer ribs and potato salads and shit. You'll love it. Oh, and she has a few very nice, very single friends and—oh, shit. My bad. Don't tell Mary-Kate. She'll think I'm a dick. And I want us to be buds when I see her this summer."

I was used to Trinsky's bulldozer, rapid-fire monologues now. No doubt we got along so well because we were complete opposites. I was quiet, and he never shut the fuck up. Sometimes I just nodded and grunted till he got tired of the sound of his own voice. But every once in a while, he stumped me.

"Huh?"

"Yeah, didn't I tell you I'm doing that camp with you? Vinnie Kiminski called me, man! Can you fuckin' believe it? I'm stoked. I've never done the Elmwood camp. I feel like the only one in the league who hasn't gotten the invite. That's totally on Jake fuckin' Milligan. That turd hates me."

True. Jake did kind of hate Trinsky, but I doubted he'd blackballed him from coaching summer camp. I was just surprised Trinsky was interested at all. He was a California boy and a surfer off-season and…okay, fine. I wasn't sure I liked the idea of a teammate who was also a friend hanging out in Elmwood this summer. I couldn't even verbalize why.

"That's cool," I said, flexing my fingers on the steering wheel.

"I can only do it for a couple of weeks at the end of summer, but it'll be fun. Oh, and I may need a place to crash. We can talk deets later. Remember…I'm picking you up at five tonight. Later, man."

I sighed heavily. No, I didn't want to go to a team barbecue, and I definitely didn't want to think of Trinsky in my guest bedroom. One caused immediate social anxiety and the other, future anxiety and general unease.

I blasted some metal music to drown my thoughts. I didn't want to think, period. If I did, I'd wonder what the fuck I was doing. So I hummed loudly, beating my thumbs erratically on the wheel and the dashboard the way I did when the ghosts sat with me for too long.

The goal was neutrality. No unwelcome emotions, no recriminations. Just static.

I'd almost achieved my desired detached mindset, but the familiar billboard cresting the hillside in the distance fucked me up. No shit. My mouth watered on cue, same as always, but different.

The cowboy wasn't a mystery anymore. He was a flesh and blood, sexy man. Now that I knew what it felt like to touch him, I needed more. Hank's hands on me, his body pressed to mine, his mouth on my cock…

Maybe it wasn't smart and maybe I shouldn't be on this road, but I wasn't turning around now. I was going to let it happen. Zero expectations—just a simple give-and-take arrangement.

At least that was the idea. It had been two weeks since we'd agreed to try this "exchange of favors," but I didn't have anything new to report. I'd been on the road or at practice, and Hank had been busy at the mill. We'd texted a few times, and that had felt more like an awkward schedule sync than sexy correspondence.

Hank told me he'd missed Grams at the bakery, and I gave him permission to avoid her. He congratulated me on my hat trick in Edmonton, and I thanked him…after staring at my cell, wondering what I could add that wouldn't seem too enthusiastic.

I thought about Hank all the time, but I sure as fuck wouldn't text that to a guy. I wanted to see him again, if only to test this out and see if it was a fluke, a dream, a one-off, never-to-be-repeated anomaly. I had a feeling he was waiting for me to make the next move, and fuck, that didn't come naturally. I sweated over what to say, typing and deleting messages till my fingers cramped.

This morning, I'd finally settled on, I'm in town this weekend. Can I see your horse?

The dark-chestnut horse whinnied as she meandered to the fence. She bent her head and leaned into Hank, grazing his shoulder as if in greeting. Hank flashed a wide, toothy grin, petting her neck affectionately.

"Hello, beautiful. I brought you presents, and I have someone I want you to meet. Be nice to him. He's a little"—Hank's Stetson tipped, sending a shadow across his handsome face as he whispered into the horse's ear loud enough for me to hear—"skittish."

True. I was very skittish. Bess was a regal-looking beast with a beautiful chestnut coat and a white patch between her eyes and nose, but damn, she was huge.

I bristled anyway. "I'm not. She's just…big."

Hank pretended to cover the horse's ears. "I'm sorry, sugar. That's no way to talk to a lady…or anyone. I know it. I'll give him a piece of my mind. Don't you worry."

I barked a laugh. "I meant tall and enormous…all over."

"Rotten to the core he is," he drawled mournfully. "Let's give him some slack, though. He hasn't spent much time in the company of a real lady like yourself. Come closer and say hi, Denny."

"Hey, Bess." I inched forward and waved like an idiot.

"You don't expect her to give you a high five, do you?"

I shot him an annoyed glance and copied him, running my hand along the horse's side, skimming her mane with my fingertips. Bess allowed the attention with a sort of bored air for a minute or so, then dipped her neck, jostling my baseball cap off my head on the upswing. The sudden movement made me jolt, much to Hank's amusement.

"Fuck you," I huffed without heat, stuffing my hands into my pockets. "Sorry for the language, Bess. Your owner is a dick."

Hank chuckled. "I promise you, she's a gentle soul. She's playful, too. Here. The best way to make friends is with food. Want to give her a carrot?"

"No, thanks. I need my hands to hold my stick. If she takes a bite out of me instead of the carrot, I'm toast."

Hank grinned, pulling a carrot from his pocket and feeding it to the horse. "Sorry. I didn't realize you'd be this nervous."

"I'm not nervous. I'm just…cautious."

" Hmm ."

I studied the horse and owner for a moment, their heads bent as Hank stroked her muzzle and fed her treats, whispering sweet nothings. I didn't have to know anything about animals to know they had a strong bond. Hank's voice was calming, his hands sure and soothing. Honestly, I was a twinge jealous of Bess. I would have loved to have his hands all over me.

Christ, look at him . Hank could have stepped right off that billboard in his form-fitted jeans, leather jacket, and yes…that fucking hat. I tore my gaze away to avoid embarrassing myself in front of Bess and scanned the fields surrounding the Cunningham ranch and the majestic mountains in the distance.

Yellow wildflowers and daffodils popped through the patches of grass interspersed with traces of snow, dotting the vista in gold and green till it met the blue horizon. A few other horses were in the paddock adjacent to a big red barn, and beyond that was a copse of trees leading to a sprawling ranch house.

It was peaceful and serene, like Elmwood…minus the Rocky Mountain backdrop.

"Do you live here?" I asked.

"No, I have a condo nearby." He tilted the brim of his hat and glanced toward the house. "It was a nice place to grow up, though. My brother and sister and me used to run wild, playing hide-and-seek, fishing with homemade rods, and riding horses down deserted country lanes with a posse of cousins and school friends. It's weird that it's so quiet now. Everyone is gone but my dad."

"How's he doing?"

Hank shrugged. "Same. He's…mercurial. Cranky some days, weirdly pleasant other days."

"Weirdly? Is he usually cranky?"

"Nowadays, yes. Not when I was a kid, though. He was a lumberjack superhero, a rock god, and a cool action star all wrapped in one. I idolized him. I thought he could do no wrong." Hank's lips tugged at the corner. "The real truth is that he's kind of an ass, but it was a sweet illusion at a time we needed it most."

"What do you mean?"

"My mom died when I was five, and Dad just…made things okay when they weren't. He stepped up, spent time with each of us individually and together. My brother loved football." Hank pointed at the field. "You'd see them out there tossing a ball around for hours. My sister was a theater kid. He helped her recite lines and of course, we went to all of her plays."

"And you were the horse kid," I guessed.

"Yep. Horses were Dad's passion too, so I probably got more of his time than anyone."

"That's cool."

"Maybe. He's a piece of work too," he said cryptically. "I try to remember the good parts when he's driving me batshit crazy and asking me to track down hockey stars."

I smiled. Hank's easygoing repartee had a nostalgic bent that invited shared experiences. I suddenly wanted to tell him about my dad. He'd been a superhero too, the biggest star in my galaxy. I had good memories, I had great stories, I had so much to say, but?—

I slammed my mouth shut and swallowed the words.

"Do your clients know how to ride, or do you teach them?"

Not the smoothest topic change ever, but Hank didn't seem to notice. "Your skill level isn't important on the right horse. Bess is ideal. She's gentle, sensitive, and wise. She'll be perfect for you."

I pointed at my chest. "For me?"

"Yeah, you. C'mon, let's put a saddle on her and?—"

"No." I shook my head adamantly. "I'm not here for that. I told you…no broken bones allowed."

"Ah, that's right." He inclined his chin in agreement, however, the twinkle in his eyes was hard to miss. "But are you sure you don't want to hop in the saddle and go for a ride?"

"This is corny innuendo, right?"

Hank snickered, patting Bess's flank. "It is."

"Well, I think you should probably lead by example and sit in the saddle first, cowboy."

"Gladly."

"Just like that?"

"I'm not shy about sex, assuming that's what we're talking about. If it feels good and nobody gets hurt, do it. YOLO."

I raked my teeth over my bottom lip. "I agree in theory, but I'm not very adventurous. I had the same girlfriend for years."

"She's the only one you were ever…intimate with?"

"No, we took a short break our freshman year of college, so there were a few others."

"What about guys?"

"No."

Hank hopped over the fence, whispered in Bess's ear as he pulled a lead rope from his pocket and attached it her harness. "So your bisexual curiosity has been on simmer for years."

"You could say that. What about you?"

"Gay. A hundred percent gay. I tried to be straight. I really did. But boobs did nothing for me. Kissing girls was fine, but touching them felt all wrong. Too soft where I wanted hard. I did some mild experimenting in high school and pretty much fucked my way through college. Men only. I've done it all and then some—sex in clubs, in cars, parking lots, at roadside stops, in the barn. One partner, two partners…and on one memorable occasion, a mini orgy in Aspen. Sex is life. It's beautiful proof we're alive and able to communicate joy and happiness."

My lips twitched. "Is that so?"

"Absolutely," he enthused, opening the gate for Bess. "And I'm a fully qualified sexpert in the homo arena."

I had a million questions about that Aspen orgy, but I just nodded. "Oh, good. I'd hate to be extorted by a novice."

Hank rolled his eyes and motioned for me to follow him toward the barn. "Are you planning on coming out?"

I blew my cheeks out like a chipmunk and sighed. "No. I mean…eventually, yes. But not anytime soon. It would require a major conversation, and I can't deal with that during hockey season. No one even knows MK and I broke up."

"So your ex is your beard?"

"Well…maybe. It was her idea to keep it private till the end of summer, and I didn't argue. I don't do well with external distractions in regular everyday life, but especially not now. No matter how inclusive a team claims to be, that's not the spotlight they want on their rookie. Once I say the words, I can't take them back. What if I'm not bi? What if the more we do, the less I like it? What if the sex is terrible?"

Hank stopped at the wide entrance of the stables. "With me? Unlikely."

I barked a laugh. "I like your confidence."

"That's not confidence, that's a guarantee." He cocked a lopsided grin and hiked his thumb. "Now get your head out of the gutter and come meet the gang."

Hank's deep voice echoed in the cavernous structure as he gave me a small tour of the stalls, the tack room, the office, and storage area. A musky scent of animals lingered, but it was a pristine space with ceiling fans affixed to the wood beams above to keep the horses cool in warmer months.

He led Bess to her stall and introduced me to her friend, Fred.

"Nice to meet you, Fred," I said awkwardly. "Are they…a couple?"

"No, just companions. Bess likes everyone, but Fred is kind of picky. She's a calming influence. Some horses, like people, get crusty with age. She's eighteen and she's a regal old lady with…"

I listened absently to his idle chatter, his tone dropping to a soothing coo for Bess's benefit as he watered her and brushed her coat. I watched his sure movements, his strong hands on the brush. I didn't know anything about horses but I could tell he was good with them. He was patient and confident and…somehow, that felt like a character reference of sorts.

He left Bess and Fred with promises to return soon, then washed his hands in the office bathroom while I perused a wall of framed photographs of the Cunningham horses.

"They're beautiful," I commented when he joined me. "This whole place is…so nice. Thanks for showing it to me."

Hank beamed. "You're welcome."

"I mean it. Bess is awesome, and the barn is cool and…it's nice to see you in your preferred habitat in daylight," I added with a playful shrug. "It makes this seem less…sleazy."

"Sleazy?" He pulled his hat off and tossed it onto the desk.

"You know what I mean."

"I do, but…that's not the right word. Think of a new one."

"Crazy?"

"Nope." Hank shook his head and slipped his fingers through his hair. "I don't like that one either."

I didn't have any more words. My tongue was tied.

I studied his chiseled stubbled jaw, crooked nose, and full lips. He had a face with a view. Every perfect feature was offset by a quirk—the divot in his cheek, his unkempt wavy hair, the long, jagged scar under his chin he'd told me was from the time he'd fallen off a tractor. Hank was super handsome yet interesting-looking too.

And his body was…HOT. All caps. I'd held his balls, stroked his cock, and run my fingers up and down his chest. I'd licked his nipples, flicked my tongue over the sensitive flesh till he'd groaned. I'd kissed him dirty, raked fingers through his hair as I'd cleaned his tonsils and writhed against him. I'd come in his mouth, on his hands, and all over his chest.

Two weeks later, I was very aware that there was so much more to do. I wanted to do it all. I wanted to suck him, lick him, fuck him. I wanted him to fuck me too—to know what it felt like…if only once.

And I really wanted to kiss him again. I could do it now. We were alone. No one in the office or the stable or?—

I stopped thinking and acted, pouncing on Hank like a greedy cat. I grabbed his neck and slanted my mouth over his.

Fuck, it was better than the first time. And it escalated just as quickly. One second, we were making out and the next, we were humping and grinding, straining to get closer than physically possible with so many layers of denim in between.

"Want to touch you," I panted, sliding my cock over his.

Hank groaned, his nostrils flaring as he eyed me. "Come this way."

He didn't wait for a reply. He strode into the main section of the barn and headed up a short flight of stairs to a hayloft. Bales were stacked high and neat, covering the entire loft. It was very…private.

We continued where we left off, sucking face like a couple of vampires. My shirt was bunched around my chest, my lips were swollen, and my cock ached behind my zipper. I couldn't stop kissing him.

He finally broke for air, unbuckling his belt, then mine.

"We shouldn't do this here," I panted.

"It's already done. Touch me…or just lick me. Are you ready for that?"

"I…yeah."

His pirate's smile was wicked in the extreme. "Good boy. C'mere. On your knees."

I obeyed.

I kneeled on the hay-strewn loft floor and gazed up at Hank with sex-drunk eyes as he unzipped. He lowered his jeans and boxer briefs over his ass, and his half-hard penis twitched as if in anticipation. I circled him at his base and slowly stroked him to his tip, squeezing his slit, and tracing the prominent vein along his shaft.

"Am I doing this right?" I whispered, glancing up at him.

Hank's lopsided lazy grin was the sexiest thing ever. Part of me wanted to knock him flat on a bale of hay, climb on top of him, and rub up on him like mad, but his cock had my full attention.

"You're doing so good."

"What turns you on?"

"This—you on your knees," he replied huskily. "The way you're looking at me. Do whatever you want, Den. You're running the show here. We stop when you say."

I stroked him lazily. "Okay."

"Try this." He squeezed precum onto his thumb and held it up like an offering. "For you."

This wasn't new, but it was so damn good, and I fucking yearned to taste him.

" Mmm ."

"You like it, don't you? Lick it all. Go on. That's right. Now, lick it off my cock," Hank urged. I flattened my tongue over his pole and hummed with pleasure. My dick pulsed against my zipper. He was still talking. "Again. That's it. Suck the tip. Oh, yeah. Take a little more, touch my balls. Damn, you're a fucking natural. Such a good cocksucker. Next, you'll be wondering how this bad boy is going to fit in your ass."

Every dirty command, every nasty compliment egged me on. I opened my mouth wider and sucked with gusto.

Was I great? No. Probably not. I gagged more than once and I was a little sloppy, but Hank didn't seem to care. He moaned encouragement, occasionally reminding me to mind my teeth, suck harder, use my hand.

I was so hard, I was in danger of passing out. Sitting on my heels, I released him with a pop to free my aching erection.

"I'm gonna fuck you," I growled, twirling my tongue around his crown as I jacked myself.

"Mm, and I'm going to love it," he purred. "Suck your fingers for me. You're going to need to practice stretching me open. Or have you already done that?"

I bit my bottom lip. "You want me to put my finger in your…"

"Ass," he finished, kicking his jeans to pool at his feet. "If that's where we're heading, you'll need to know what to do. For educational purposes."

"So, you want me to suck your cock and stick my finger?—"

"No, you don't stick it. You massage your way in. Carefully," he added. "Ideally, you'd use lube. Lots of saliva will do for now. Show me what you got, Hotshot."

I smacked his ass cheek and glared up at him. Slicking my fingers with saliva, I lifted his balls and trailed a digit along his crease. "Like this?"

"More." He shrugged his jacket off, laid it over the bale of hay, and kicked off his boots and his jeans. My mouth went dry when he sat on the haystack, opening his legs wide for me.

"Holy fuck," I choked out.

The view was incredible. I tried again, sliding my thumb over his hole, massaging his pucker. He tapped his erection against my cheek in a not-so-subtle request for me to get back to work, so I did, licking his crown as I slipped a digit inside him. Hank groaned his approval and before I knew it, I was a multitasking motherfucker, sucking cock and fingering my lover's ass while jacking my throbbing dick like a pro.

Honestly, I didn't recognize myself. Sure, I loved sex, and I liked to think I was good at it, but I couldn't remember the last time I'd been blown away. If I had any lingering questions about my bisexuality, they'd been answered. I was bi and sucking cock was my new favorite thing.

Needless to say, I didn't last long. Hank's hands in my hair and his whispered commands of the "You got this, you're doing so good, such a good cocksucker" variety were all it took to shove me over the edge.

I came like a freight train, shooting over my fist, on his leg, and all over the haystack too. He pushed my head away and finished himself off…with my finger in his ass.

I couldn't hear above the rush of blood pounding in my ears, and I definitely couldn't speak.

But I'd never felt better.

Maybe it wasn't fate, but I couldn't help thinking this felt right. Who knew? Maybe the cowboy was my good luck charm after all.