Strung Up: A Blacktop Cowboys® Novella Read Free Page B

He’d angled his head down, obscuring his face. But with that build and that posture, I knew I was looking at a rodeo cowboy.
    Something seemed familiar about him.
    That’s when I noticed the poker chip in his left hand. He passed it through his fingers over and over again. I recognized that nervous tic.
    My gut tightened. I took a few more steps forward, alerting him to my presence.
    He palmed the poker chip before he slowly raised his head and looked at me.
    Then I was staring into that face. That handsome fucking smug face.
    A face I used to dream of.
    A face I hadn’t seen in four years, since Sutton and London’s wedding.
    I waited for the dismissive sneer to distort that perfect mouth.
    A mouth I’d dreamed of nearly as often as his perfect face.
    But no sneer formed.
    His compelling eyes met mine.
    I saw his recognition in those arctic blue depths. Followed by wariness. But no hardness. Or the mean glint I’d unconsciously steeled myself against.
    He didn’t move.
    Neither did I.
    I found my voice. “Breck?”
    “Hey, Cres.”
    “What are you doin’ out here?”
    “Same thing you’re doin’, I reckon. Avoiding the crowd.” He paused and dipped his chin to the empty space beside him. “There’s room if you wanna take a load off.”
    I waited for the innuendo.
    None came.
    Everything inside me cautioned me to beat a fast retreat.
    Not everything. My long-dormant libido urged me to stay.
     

Chapter Two
    Breck
     
    I watched Creston Grant trying to decide whether to stay or go.
    I didn’t blame him for his indecision.
    The Breck he remembered? Total fucking tool. As well as being a world-class asshole, a condescending prick, a sharp-tongued dickhead, and a douchebag.
    Yeah, I’d been the posterchild for how not to win friends and influence people.
    Little wonder I was back here hiding, wondering what the hell I’d gotten myself into again.
    Cres heaved a sigh and shuffled forward. Then he turned and planted his backside next to mine—but not too close to mine.
    I quietly exhaled.
    He didn’t speak right away. I remembered that about him—he weighed his words carefully before he spoke. At first I’d believed it was a family trait he shared with his brother Sutton, the stereotypical quiet gruff cowboy. But then I discovered the reason for his caution—his sexual orientation. I might be in a different situation if I’d acted more circumspect.
    But I also remembered finding a fissure in that tough outer shell of his. And how easy it was to apply the perfect amount of pressure until that fissure widened into a crack—a crack I used to open him up fully to all the naked possibilities between us. I should’ve felt guilty; Cres was a decade younger and hadn’t built up defenses against a guy like me. Yet, of all my conquests, Cres Grant had been the one I’d regretted letting go.
    “I’m surprised to see you back here alone,” he said, interrupting my silent contemplation. “I thought you preferred to be in the thick of things.”
    “I used to.”
    “What changed?”
    “Everything.”
    “That’s cryptic.”
    “It is what it is.”
    From the corner of my eye I saw Cres turn his head and squint at me. “So why are you here, Breck?”
    “Here in Colorado at the grand opening of Grade A Rodeo Academy?”
    He nodded.
    “Sutton, London, or Mel didn’t fill you in?” I asked.
    “Nope. I’ve been out of the loop since…” He paused. “For a while.”
    I shoved the poker chip in my front jeans pocket. “I remember you tellin’ me you didn’t follow rodeo even when your brother dominated the leaderboard.”
    Cres shrugged. “Not my thing. So you’re here as a guest?”
    “Nah. I’m a staff member.”
    He frowned. “I didn’t hear your name called or see you go up to the podium when Chuck and Berlin introduced the staff.”
    “That’s because I asked to remain anonymous.”
    “Right. Because you’re still way too fucking cool for all this bullshit.”
    His response wasn’t