4. Three - Izzy

Judgmental prick.

Four days caring for the rescues, and Izzy was one sideways look away from breaking shit. Starting with Keegan Reid’s perfect, stubbled jawline.

Why did he have to be so fucking attractive? The guy checked way too many of Izzy’s boxes, from his reddish-blond hair that was always tousled like he’d just rolled out of bed, to his perfect stubble and muscular neck. His broad chest. Trim waist. Big…hands. Fuck . Okay. So Izzy had maybe, accidentally, checked out his package. It was habit. That wasn’t the point. The point was, looking at him was bad for Izzy’s mental health.

He was blaming sexual frustration for any errant thoughts. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone this long without some kind of human contact. It wasn’t even about sex at this point, just someone’s appreciative hands on his skin while they danced, or an arm wrapped tight around him at the bar. Izzy thrived on touch. It was his love language, same as Micah, which was part of why they got along so well.

Maybe he could convince Micah to go out with him later. If Ryan or Nick drove them, Izzy could wrangle a quick bathroom hookup and still have a ride home to feed the rescues before bed.

Problem-solving. He was good at it when he needed to be. And after more than half a week of solitude, he needed to be.

Screw you and your judgment, Keegan Reid.

Izzy was doing his best to tune out the low, soothing murmur of Keegan’s voice as he spoke to the rescue mare, whom Izzy had named Violet. She was moving better already, her abscess starting to clear up and her spirits higher now that she was getting what she needed.

He had to wonder what the rescues had been through before Keegan found them. Klaus, the big gelding, was calm and unbothered most of the time, and Izzy had secretly draped a saddle across his back and gotten no reaction. It was safe to say he had been at least semi-trained once upon a time.

Violet was a bitch, but in the way a lot of mares were. She pinned her ears and tossed her head, but once Izzy got ahold of her, she calmed down and followed directions for the most part.

Then, there was Sunny, aka Demon Pony.

Keegan set up the low bucket of Epsom salt-water while Izzy retrieved her from the stall. They had tried a soaking bag—the kind that Velcroed around her lower leg—the second day, but Sunny lost her shit and Keegan almost lost his head getting it off her again. Now they were back to buckets and sedatives.

Keegan had given her a little less today to see how it went.

Izzy had to dodge teeth when he snapped on the lead rope, so he wasn’t holding out hope.

“Would you rather get kicked today or bitten?” he asked Keegan as he led Sunny from the stall—well, he tried to lead her. She still didn’t care for the lead rope, so it was more like herding her in the direction he wanted and trying not to get stepped on by her sharp little feet.

He scowled when Keegan rolled his eyes. So, maybe his tone had been sarcastic, but it was an honest question. Someone needed to hold up her opposite leg while her abscessed one soaked, which would put them perilously close to danger. On the other hand, the person holding her head was at risk of snapping teeth.

Keegan elected to take her head. Five minutes into holding Sunny’s leg off the ground, Izzy regretted the offer. His thigh was killing him.

The old injury didn’t bother him all the time, but there were certain positions that, if he held them long enough, set off the nerve damage. Izzy’s femur was fixed together by a rod, screws, and scar tissue. Breaking your thighbone was a zero out of ten. It was worse in the winter when he swore all the metal soaked up the cold. He wasn’t going to let it stop him from doing his job, though. Keegan already thought he was a fuckup—no need to add evidence to that.

“That’s twenty,” Keegan said, startling Izzy out of the daze he’d fallen into. His voice startled Sunny too, and she flicked her tail, the long strands stinging Izzy’s cheek. He flinched back, then had to bite down on a hiss as the pain intensified. Goddammit.

When he managed to get himself to his feet, Keegan was giving him a distinctly unimpressed look.

Izzy tensed. “What?” he asked, trying not to limp as he collected the bandages and poultice.

“If it bothers your leg, you should have said something.”

Izzy’s skin heated. “I’m fine. It’s no big—” He cut himself off at Keegan’s raised eyebrow. Ugh. Whatever. He slumped back against the wall and tried to ignore the way the throb was sharpening. Keegan wasn’t wrong. Izzy was a fucking idiot. He couldn’t remember the last time it had cramped up like this. No, wait. He did. Shower sex was a hard limit now.

He dug his palm into the spasming muscle, but he couldn’t get enough leverage to do any good. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to breathe through it.

“ Isaac. ”

He jumped at his given name, coming from much too close and with a sharpness that told him Keegan had said it more than once. “What?” he snapped back, forcing his eyes open.

The pony was gone, and Keegan was down on one knee in front of him, his expression unreadable. “Are you going to let me help?” he asked, like it was a foregone conclusion.

Help? How was he planning to— Oh. Keegan was trying to push Izzy’s hand out of the way so he could get to the muscle. Izzy let him, and a moment later, strong fingers dug into his thigh, right where it was rebelling. Izzy gasped as agony shot down his leg and up into his hip, then groaned as the steady pressure made his head swim and his eyes water. “Fuuuck.” His head fell back against the stall behind him, too heavy to hold up.

He caught the quiet snort Keegan let out and lifted a hand to flip him off. “Shut up,” he said, the words coming out breathless. He didn’t care what he sounded like, as long as Keegan kept doing what he was doing. It fucking hurt, but it was fading into the kind of pain that could be mistaken for other things. Things that made his dick hard. “Don’t get any ideas down there,” he grumbled as an afterthought, not sure if he was talking to Keegan or to his cock.

Keegan chuckled, and Izzy shut his eyes again, pretending not to hear him.

When the muscle released, the relief made him light-headed, and he would have slid right to the concrete floor without the stall to hold him up. Keegan’s hands continued to knead until Izzy was biting back sounds that he hoped he wasn’t going to be mocked for later.

“Better?” Keegan murmured, his hands still wrapped loosely around Izzy’s thigh, warmth soaking through the thick fabric of his jeans.

Of course his cock would choose that moment to get in on the action and give an enthusiastic twitch. Izzy’s eyes shot open and locked on Keegan, who was peering up at him in question. Izzy’s heart started to race. Had Keegan noticed? If he had, Izzy would never live it down.

He reined in his first instinct, which was to tell Keegan to get the hell away from him. It wasn’t Keegan’s fault Izzy’s libido was all kinds of fucked up—even if Izzy sometimes blamed him for it. He forced out a gruff, “Yeah.” Then a belated, “Thanks.”

Keegan’s hands were lingering, and Izzy’s throat was getting tight. His hands curled into fists without his permission as he fought the urge to shove Keegan away, to put space between himself and the too-attractive vet. Goddamn fight-or-flight instincts. He wasn’t in danger—not of anything more than embarrassment—but his busted nervous system wasn’t cooperating.

Keegan must have read something in his expression, because his brow furrowed. He pushed himself to his feet and moved back, eyeing Izzy like he was a wild thing.

The space helped calm Izzy’s racing heart, but it didn’t do anything for his hard-on, which hadn’t received the memo that Keegan was the last person on earth Izzy wanted to fuck.

“I’m gonna—” He cut himself off and jerked a thumb in the vague direction of his apartment. “Advil.” He needed to get away, before his flight instincts turned into fight and he lashed out at Keegan. It was one of his worst habits, but as much as he knew that rationally, he wasn’t feeling rational at the moment with adrenaline racing through his body and his cock hard and aching against his zipper.

Thank fuck Keegan just nodded and went with it. “We’re pretty much done here anyway. Go rest your leg. I’ll feed them and clean up.”

Any other time, Izzy would protest. He didn’t want to be indebted to Keegan. He didn’t want to be anything to Keegan. But he was breathing too fast, and he needed to go.

Without another word, he limped away as quickly as his leg would let him. A shower and some painkillers. That was all he needed. And maybe a stranger to fuck him into next week and drive the sensation of Keegan’s warm hands so close to where he wanted them from his stupid, fucked-up brain.

This was all such a huge pain in his ass—and not the kind he enjoyed. Izzy collapsed on his bed, the towel around his waist coming loose, his wet hair soaking the sheets, and glared at the ceiling. What the fuck was wrong with him? He lifted his head and transferred his dirty look to his dick, which refused to behave, despite getting blasted with cold water. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Ugh. “Keegan’s a bastard and we hate him, remember?”

His dick didn’t respond. Maybe that was for the best. He’d be pretty disturbed if it started talking back.

Somewhere above him, his phone buzzed with an incoming message. He fished around until he found the cord, then dragged it closer. He had a handful of Exchange notifications, but he dismissed them. He wasn’t in the mood to sort through the people who saw his pics but didn’t read his profile. Being DMed by guys who only wanted a virtual plaything while they ignored their wives was exhausting. He ignored ten for every one he considered replying to.

At this point, he was thinking of monetizing his profile. At least he’d be getting something for his time—even if that something was jerking off for money. Nothing wrong with some extra cash, just for doing something he enjoyed.

He switched over to the paid side of the app and scrolled through until he found someone interesting to look at while he took his aching cock in hand. If the guy had messy, reddish-blond hair and big, capable hands, that was no one’s business.

When he was done, he used the damp edge of the towel to clean himself up and tossed it in the direction of the laundry closet, then he flopped back with a sigh.

His phone vibrated again where he’d dropped it, startling him.

Samantha.

He cringed but unlocked it anyway. If he didn’t answer, she’d just keep texting until he did. She was a bitch like that.

Samantha

Well?

Izzy wished he didn’t know what she was talking about. Unfortunately, there was only one option. His stomach swooped unpleasantly.

Izzy

Well, what?

The typing dots appeared and disappeared several times as Izzy’s stomach got worse and his skin started to crawl. He rolled to his side and curled around the nausea.

Samantha

Did you even read it?

Izzy

No, I didn’t fucking read it. I sent it to junk where it belongs.

And he’d been trying to forget about the email ever since. He didn’t even care what the contents were. Josh’s name in the preview line was enough for him to block the sender. He had no interest in dredging up ancient history.

Samantha

They’re putting him in the hall of fame. They want us at the ceremony.

Izzy barely made it to the bathroom before losing the contents of his stomach. He pressed his forehead to cool white porcelain and fumbled for the handle, flushing as he struggled to breathe. Fuck. Fuck.

Izzy slumped to the tile floor and threw an arm over his eyes, blocking out the world. His pulse pounded against the inside of his skull like the worst kind of hangover as he tried to force his lungs to do their job and get him some goddamn oxygen.

Somewhere in the bedroom, his phone vibrated again—and again—but fuck that. The poor choices of the US Eventing Organization weren’t his problem. That wasn’t his world anymore, and he refused to be dragged back into it.

What the hell was he doing here?

Izzy turned his back on the group at the far end of the bar and drained the last of his cocktail. He was going to have words with Micah later. When Izzy invited his friend out, he knew Micah would bring at least one of his men with him. What he hadn’t planned on was their third—fourth?—wheel tagging along. After basically a whole week of Keegan up his ass at work, Izzy didn’t need him and his judgy stares on his night off too. His skin crawled at the imagined sensation of eyes on him. He scrubbed a hand over his arm in an attempt to make it stop.

Someone calling his name over the music jerked Izzy’s attention back to the bar.

Damion, Hunter’s newest bartender, gave him a wave, then finished tying on an apron. “Need a refill?” Damion asked, gesturing to Izzy’s empty glass.

Damion was great. He was a few years younger than Izzy, with a pretty face and tight little body that earned him excellent tips. He joked that the real skill of his job was turning down customers who thought they had a chance and still getting his 20%.

Watching him do it was actually pretty hot. He tracked Damion’s perky ass as he bounced between the front and back bars and tried to picture it swallowing his cock.

He shuddered. Nope. Still not a top. He shook off the image. It was for the best that Damion wasn’t Izzy’s type and vice versa. Because Izzy was in a mood, and he wasn’t feeling very discerning. The last thing he needed to do was make things awkward at his safe place.

Someone familiar stepped up to the bar, and Izzy gave him an appreciative once-over. Fitted jeans and tee, designer shoes, and a watch Izzy didn’t need to know the cost of. He had artful stubble, and his highlighted-blond hair was the kind of celebrity-trendy that showed up on social media reels. Definitely not something you saw often in Split Rock, North Carolina.

Finally, Izzy placed him. Asher. Xavier’s personal assistant. Izzy had met him in passing. He was around a lot now that Xavier had his home base on the farm adjacent to the ranch. And, lucky day for Izzy, he was supposed to be single.

Izzy put on a sultry smile and slid closer. “What are you having?” he asked, planting his elbow on the bar top and keeping his body language open and inviting. He waited until the other man looked over before letting his gaze trail lower.

Asher tilted his head. “Probably nothing you’re into,” he replied, amusement coloring his tone.

Izzy tried not to let the dismissal bother him. “Typical,” he said, keeping his voice light and playful. “Hottest guy here and he isn’t looking for fun.”

Asher threw back his head and laughed. “You’re Izzy, right? You work at the ranch?” He traded Damion his credit card for a beer, giving the boy a dazzling smile. “Start a tab for me, would you, beautiful?”

Damion’s lips parted, and he blinked a few times, seemingly frozen by the smile and the endearment. So much for Damion’s professional distance. He looked starstruck. Izzy chuckled, earning a glare before Damion, pink-cheeked, spun on his heel and hurried to the register.

Asher watched Damion go with a slight smile curving his lips, then turned back to Izzy, his eyebrow raised.

It took Izzy a moment to recall the question. He held out his hand, surprised by Asher’s strength when he shook it. “Guilty. And you’re Asher.”

“Ash,” he corrected. “I’m only Asher at work.”

They chatted a little, but it was clear Ash wasn’t interested in more. Izzy wasn’t even disappointed. As attractive as the man was, Izzy didn’t get the feeling they’d be compatible between the sheets—or in a bathroom stall, as the case may be. Tonight, Izzy wanted someone to wreck him, and, while Ash had a certain vibe about it, it wasn’t that one.

After Ash got his drink and strolled away again, Izzy scanned the bar for newcomers. For a Friday night, it wasn’t very crowded. The recent holiday probably had something to do with that. People were still recovering from their New Year’s Eve excesses. That, or some new year’s resolution that would be forgotten before February, was keeping them home. Izzy didn’t believe in new year’s resolutions. Things like that were for people with regrets—Izzy was good with his current life choices.

He fidgeted with his cocktail straw, chewing on the plastic. A few people were dancing, but they were all partnered off and he wasn’t in the mood for a threesome. He needed all the focus on him tonight. He pulled out his phone and tapped the Connections app. The “nearby friends” feature didn’t offer up any options either. Just one guy he’d chatted with six months ago but wasn’t all that into. His knee bounced as he finished his drink and signaled Damion for another.

Damion complied without question, thank fuck. Hunter would have given him a look at the very least and probably a reminder about their agreement. Izzy didn’t think it was necessary; he was aware of his own tolerance and where the line was. The fact he chose to cross it as often as possible didn’t change that.

The alcohol wasn’t doing its job. Instead of making him warm and loose, he was increasingly jittery. It was the worst feeling. Soon, his skin would start to itch. He needed to find a distraction before that happened. He pulled out his phone again and shot the Connections guy a message. Greedy hands and a pounding hard enough to replace the discomfort with a mix of pain and pleasure was his go-to solution. The app guy claimed to like things rough. Izzy hoped he was telling the truth because he fucking needed it.

The response came through, a little slower than Izzy would have liked, but at least it was an affirmative. App guy was on his way and had offered a detailed description of what he planned to do to Izzy’s ass once he arrived.

“Tell me you’re bored without telling me you’re bored,” Micah said as he appeared next to Izzy and slung an arm around his waist.

Izzy rolled his eyes but leaned into Micah’s touch, some of the skin hunger settling at his friend’s comforting strength. “Have you looked around? It’s dead in here.”

Micah did as suggested and blinked a little. He clearly hadn’t noticed, too wrapped up in his sexy men to recognize the lack of options for the rest of them.

Izzy groaned. “You’re so married.” He ducked down and hugged Micah a little tighter.

“Yep,” Micah agreed as he hugged back. “You don’t have to say it like it’s a curse, you know.”

Izzy wrinkled his nose and rested his chin on the top of Micah’s head. Micah didn’t fit the way Eli did, but Izzy made it work, grateful for the reprieve the solid heat of Micah’s body gave him. “Says you,” Izzy replied. “I happen to like keeping my options open. Besides, my fan club would be devastated if I let someone take me off the market.”

Micah turned in his arms and put his warm, callused hands on Izzy’s cheeks, forcing eye contact. “Iz,” Micah started, his gaze and tone serious. “Are you happy?”

Izzy blinked at him. “What kind of question is that?”

“You’re with a different hookup every night. I worry. We all do.”

Izzy hid the flash of hurt and gave Micah a sly smirk, removing Micah’s hands from his face. “I don’t think the guy who decided his husband’s dick wasn’t enough gets to have an opinion on my sex life.” He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, but he didn’t take them back.

Micah’s eyes narrowed, and his nostrils flared as he inhaled slowly, then breathed out again. “You can’t distract me by acting like an asshole,” he said, voice steely but calm. “I’ve been your friend way too long for that to work.”

Izzy’s next breath ached. “I’m not acting,” he said, the closest he could bring himself to an apology. He was an asshole. Everyone knew that. “Yet, you still put up with me,” he continued, the joke falling flat.

Micah sighed and shook his head but thankfully let it go. “Ryan commandeered a table. Come sit with us.” He pointed to one of the large booths on the far side of the dance floor.

Izzy shook his head. “I’m fine.” He gestured to the bar. “Damion’s taking care of me, and I have a friend on the way.”

It was Micah’s turn to wrinkle his nose. “Dude, you’re the one who invited us out, and you haven’t even said hi to Nicky.”

“If you wanted me around, you should have thought through your plus-one,” Izzy shot back.

Micah heaved a sigh and waved Damion down, clearly needing another drink to deal with Izzy’s bullshit. “Seriously? Why are you still clinging to this grudge? I thought work went well this week.”

“It’s not a grudge,” Izzy grumbled, annoyance flaring. “The guy just pisses me off. Your husband may have ordered me to put up with him, but that doesn’t mean I have to play nice on my night off.”

“I don’t get you two,” Micah said, almost to himself. “If I didn’t know it would end in violence, I’d lock you in a room until you got it out of your systems.”

Izzy ignored him. He was here to have fun. Keegan wasn’t fun. He drained the last of his drink and set the glass on the bar. “Dance with me,” he said, taking Micah by the shoulders and steering him toward the flashing lights and writhing bodies. With any luck, app guy would arrive soon and Izzy could put on a show.

Izzy cursed and banged his fist against the tiled bathroom wall, frustration coursing through him. His pants were around his ankles, his asshole wet with lube, and his erection still raging. The stall door slammed shut behind his almost-hookup’s retreating back, and the sound of the bathroom door followed it.

“Fucker,” he grumbled, dragging his jeans back up, and tucked himself away, not in the mood to take care of his hard-on after that clusterfuck. It wasn’t about getting off anyway. If that was all he wanted, he could have dealt with it at home with a lot less disappointment.

The so-called “aggressive top” had been questionable from the word go. He’d insisted on buying Izzy a drink, then seemed annoyed when Izzy declined, not in the mood for chitchat when he was about to vibrate out of his skin. When they reached the bathroom, things had improved slightly. He’d ordered Izzy to get himself ready, watching with a hungry gaze as Izzy arched his back and spread his legs, stretching himself with two fingers, then three. The dirty talk had been unoriginal, but that was easy enough to block out. In the end, it had all fallen apart when Izzy insisted on protection.

It wasn’t the first time he’d had a guy call things off over condoms. It was bullshit. Sure, plenty of guys went without these days. Between PrEP and DoxyPEP, going raw didn’t hold the danger it used too, but that didn’t mean Izzy wanted some random’s come dripping out of his ass for the rest of the night. He always used protection for anal. Always . And, depending on the guy, he avoided swallowing when it came to oral. Most hookups were fine with it—especially once he reminded them that, as good as he was at blow jobs, if they came down his throat, they wouldn’t get a chance at his ass.

He scrubbed his face, the guy’s parting insults still echoing inside his skull, then pushed out of the stall and ran smack into a firm body that didn’t so much as shift at the collision. Izzy stumbled back, an apology on his lips before he realized who he’d run into.

Of course. Just his goddamn fucking luck.

Keegan was a solid barrier between Izzy and the exit, his stance wide and his arms folded across his chest. One arched brow lifted as he took in Izzy’s flushed skin and disheveled clothes.

“What’s your problem?” Izzy snapped, flustered, and angry that he was flustered. He had no reason to be embarrassed. He turned to the sink to scrub the lube off his fingers and splash water on his face.

Keegan didn’t respond, but Izzy could feel the judgment rolling off him.

It made him want to scream. “Well?” he demanded, ripping a handful of paper towels from the dispenser to dry his face, ignoring the ones that drifted to the floor. “You might as well say it. I can tell you’re dying to.” He threw the paper towels in the direction of the trash. They ended up on the floor too, but whatever. He was too agitated to care. His skin was pulsing with a combination of arousal and anger, and if Keegan didn’t get out of his way, Izzy was going to do something stupid.

“You deserve better.”

Izzy flinched. That…wasn’t what he’d been bracing himself for. He blamed the alcohol for the way his eyes started to prickle; it must finally be hitting him. “Gee, thanks,” he snarked. He stormed over to the trash and grabbed the paper towels, stuffing them in the can. “I never would have realized that without your valuable insight.”

Keegan sighed. “Do you have to twist everything I say into an insult? I’m not your enemy, Isaac.”

Izzy saw red. He pushed into Keegan’s space so fast that Keegan’s back hit the exit door. With his fists twisted in Keegan’s shirt, Izzy used his height to his advantage, glaring down at him. “Stop pretending you know me,” he snarled.

Keegan’s hands were hot, tight bands around Izzy’s wrists, but he otherwise didn’t make a move to defend himself, and his expression stayed infuriatingly neutral. Izzy hated it. Izzy was burning up—the anger, frustration, and arousal making his blood race. He wanted Keegan to lose his cool too. To give Izzy something that proved he wasn’t alone in his desperation.

What buttons did he need to push to make Keegan snap?