Bulldozed (15 page)

“Coward,” he heard Dolly say, but he didn’t stop. Once outside, adrenaline took over. Right now he needed to put as much distance as possible between him and Smoke, and he ran until his legs hurt so bad it felt like they were going to break off, and his lungs burned with each gulp of air. He kept going as if he was racing for a solid gold buckle.

Eventually his thigh muscles trembled so much he had to stop running. Trey leaned against a building to catch his breath and looked around to see where he was. The cacophony of loud music jangled through the air, different songs blaring from the five different bars on the street where he found himself. Heartbeat of the nightlife. Maybe he’d get lucky tonight after all.

Once he caught his breath, Trey straightened up and pushed himself off the building. A drink. He needed a drink. He walked down the street, glancing into each bar he passed. All of them were packed, but only one of them was filled with only male patrons. He’d been around long enough to know what that meant.

He went inside and eeled his way through the dancers to get to the bar. Eventually a cute, bare-chested bartender came over to take his order.

“Beer and a shot.”

The bartender nodded approvingly, as though Trey had made an excellent choice.

When he returned with the whiskey and beer, the bartender blew him a kiss. Trey gave him a twenty and picked up the glass of whiskey. He felt brittle, as if he was made of glass. Maybe the booze would help. The amber liquid glowed in the light of the bar with the promise of amnesia, however temporary. He took a sip, letting the warmth of the alcohol burn a trail down his throat. A feeling of well-being eased through his body with the whiskey. He didn’t usually drink much, but tonight it sure hit the spot.

The bartender brought his change, and Trey emptied the glass. “Another.”

“What are we celebrating?”

“You are looking at a fucking winner,” Trey said.

The bartender raised his brows as high as they could go, but he went for the bottle.

THERE WAS
something he’d promised to do. Trey shook his head. Somehow he couldn’t remember, but whatever it was, getting drunk wasn’t going to help him do it.

Tonight was his last night with Smoke, and it was all fucked up. Their hookups were prime stroke-off material for him during dry spells. But it was more than that. Without realizing it, Trey had started hoping there was something more than sex between them. He’d been fooling himself.

Until he met Smoke, the stakes were too high to take a chance. He wasn’t even out where he lived. It was safer that way. But Smoke had done more than break down Trey’s carefully constructed walls. He was already inside the fortress.

But he had no claim on Smoke. In fact, whenever Smoke showed interest, Trey pushed him away, trying to keep control of his body and his heart, when in fact he’d already lost it all.

“So this is where you went. Why’d you cut out and leave me alone with that bore?”

Blearily Trey looked up to find Smoke standing next to him. “Oh. Hi.”

“Yeah, high is what you are, all right. You forget you promised to help me drive home tomorrow?”

“Don’t play golf. Only bull riding, fool.”

“I think you’ve had enough, fool.” Smoke sounded stern, but his lips were twitching.

“Never enough,” Trey mumbled.

“Who was that guy trying to pick up on you when I came in?”

“What guy?” Trey turned on his stool and almost slid to the floor from the sudden movement. Smoke grabbed his arm to hold him up. The stool next to Trey was empty. “No one there.”

“Not now. There was a man trying to climb in your zipper when I came in,” Smoke said. “What’s he owe?” he asked the bartender.

“We’re good,” the bartender said. “He paid as he went, but if you could kind of ease him out of here, I’d appreciate it. Cops don’t like public intoxication, and I didn’t realize how far gone he was.”

“How many did he have?”

“Only three beers,” Trey mumbled. He picked up his hat and put it on. For some reason it didn’t fit anymore. Smoke plucked it off his head, turned it around, and set it back down.

The bartender grinned at Smoke and nodded at Trey. “Wasn’t the beers so much as the shot chasers.”

“Three boilermakers?” Smoke laughed. “Okay, then, you’ve had more than enough. You’re getting the boot. Let’s go.”

Trey felt Smoke slip his arm around his waist and shivered with lust. His own arm was lifted and pulled across Smoke’s shoulders, and then he was hoisted to his feet. The sudden elevation made him dizzy, and he felt Smoke stagger under his weight.

“Where we going?”

“Home, cowboy. To bed and to sleep. And I hope you have one hell of a hangover tomorrow.”

A blast of cool night air revived Trey when Smoke opened the door and got them outside.

“Wait a second.”

“You going to hork up your guts?”

“Nope. Gotta tell you something.”

“Can you tell me while we’re walking?”

“Can’t chew gum and spill guts.”

“So you
are
going to hurl.”

“Not gonna hurl.” Trey cleared his throat and started to recite.

“Bigger than life behind the gate,

Black bull is waiting for me.

I ride alone to make the eight,

but his eyes can see right through me.

Uncover my darkest secret, exposed.

Turn my knees to jelly, kill my faith,

but I’m burning up with bull fever.

Those nights alone playing it safe,

I have to make this ride.

Closest to perfect I ever rode.

Like a wisp of smoke, the rope

slips through my fingers.

Don’t matter how damn hard I hope,

burn my dreams to cinders.

And that buckle can never be mine.

Eight seconds of most perfect grace.

I touch the vest over my heart,

still beating, but still apart.

Another comes to take my place,

I am his but he never can be mine.”

“Cowboy poetry, how sweet,” Smoke said in a tone of wonder. “A love poem. Where’d you get that?”

“I made it up.” Trey nodded proudly and staggered when he lost his balance again. “Do you like it?”

Smoke hesitated before answering. “It’s kind of terrible but also kind of touching.”

“I made it up for you, Roy ‘Smoke’ Carter.” Trey stabbed Smoke in the chest with a stiff finger. “Don’t say I never told you.”

“Told me what?”

“That I—how I feel—ah, fuck it.” Trey stared ahead at the interminable sidewalk. “Where we going?”

“Back to our secret room.”

Laughing at him! Smoke was laughing at him as usual. Filled with impotent rage and jealousy, Trey wanted to run again, but the world was tipping over sideways. At this point, Smoke could easily catch him. And he was kind of tired. He gave in to the inevitable. “Let’s jet.”

Smoke laughed. “Yeah, let’s.”

HIS OWN
moans woke Trey up. “God, how much did I have to drink?”

“I’m told it was only three beers. With chasers.” That was Smoke’s voice. That meant something embarrassing had happened.

“Whiskey?” Trey groaned again. “Was I dressed?”

“Don’t worry, you left your sequined bra at home, but you still somehow managed to drink yourself under the table for thirty bucks including tip.”

“Don’t usually drink much.” Trey sat up and wished he hadn’t. He clutched his throbbing head.

“Think you could eat some breakfast?”

“Not in public,” Trey whispered. He swung his legs out of bed and planted his feet on the floor. He was naked but in no mood to take advantage of it. He had to pee, and as soon as his head stopped spinning that’s what he would be doing. If it stopped spinning.

“I’ll get you something.”

“Coffee,” Trey croaked.

“Right. Probably a gallon or two. You want juice?”

Trey gagged and Smoke laughed.

He winced as sunlight blasted the room with ungodly light and waited until the door closed behind Smoke before getting up. When he staggered into the wall, he realized it would be very helpful to him in locating the bathroom and getting there on his own two feet.

One hot shower and two aspirin later, he emerged damply, if nakedly, into the room to find Smoke sitting at the table drinking coffee and reading the paper.

Trey was steadier now and able to dress without help. He sniffed his clothing from the night before and made a face. Cigarette smoke and beer. Luckily he still had one clean shirt. He tossed his dirty clothing into his bag and stopped when his hand hit something hard and shiny. A buckle?

“Here’s your buckle,” he said and tossed it at Smoke.

Smoke snatched it out of the air with one hand and tossed it right back. “It’s your buckle. You won, remember?”

“Don’t need no charity.” That was rather surly.

“You beat me fair and square. Don’t you remember? I assumed that’s what you were celebrating last night, although it seemed more like a wake when I came in.”

“Came in where?”

“The bar where I finally found you.” Smoke spoke slowly, as if he was an idiot. “It was pretty depressing, except for that guy sitting next to you who wanted to have a party in your pants.”

“I did not see any guy,” Trey enunciated carefully. He needed coffee, but it was on the table where Smoke was, and they seemed to be having a fight. They’d never had a fight before, and he wasn’t sure what they were fighting about now.

“I scared him off.” Smug. A smug look on Smoke’s face. And under it something else. Unsure? Couldn’t be. Smoke was never that.

Trey managed a complete sentence. “Smoke, I am not good-looking like you, and guys do not pick me up in bars.”

Smoke looked at him. “You’re an idiot. We met in a bar, and I picked you up. Drink your coffee.”

Warily Trey approached the table and fell into a chair. The first sip was incredible. The dark, bitter flavor flooded his mouth and gave him hope that he might possibly approach becoming human again sometime during his lifetime. “Not an idiot.”

“I got you oatmeal. I thought it might be bland enough to stay down.”

“Thanks.” Trey opened the container. Brown sugar, just as he liked. Raisins too. How did Smoke know?

Smoke let him eat in silence. Then he folded the paper and got up. “You’re an idiot because you are a fine-looking man. Not like there’s only one way of looking good, but you are dead fucking sexy, and you never see it when a man comes on to you. I’m going over to the arena now to get the stock loaded up. Whenever you feel up to driving, we’ll get started.”

The door slammed behind him. Trey rested his head on his hand. It wasn’t aching as much anymore. He could tell he’d done something to make Smoke mad, although he didn’t know what. Well, it served Smoke right, getting his own damn way all the damn time.

A thundering knock on the door jerked him out of a brief doze, and he jumped up to open it.

“Hey, Dolly. Hey, Alex.”

“We’re pulling out,” Dolly said jubilantly. Even hungover, Trey could tell she was still riding the high of her success and wished he was. “Just came to say bye to you and pretty boy.”

“He isn’t here,” Trey said.

Alex stepped inside and gave Trey a hug. “Thank you so much, Trey baby. Dolly scored again yesterday.”

He recoiled slightly. “Don’t want to hear about your sex life.”

“Idiot. She covered her bulls, thanks to you! Or don’t you remember that either?”

The slap on the back Dolly delivered would have made him stagger even if he hadn’t tied one on last night. “You’re a good coach, coach. Yesterday was one nice payday for me, and I haven’t seen one in a while. We’ll be talking bull riding again. Maybe someday I’ll even win a buckle!”

Memory flooded over him, and the thrill of watching Dolly cover her first bull in the men’s division came back to him. He grinned in relief. Here, at least, he was on firm ground. “Watching you was almost better than winning myself, Dolls.”

“Seventy-six in the short-go!” Dolly boomed. “An actual real-live score. I’m walking on sunshine.”

A statement that was an incredibly un-Dolly-like thing for Dolly to say.

“Say bye to pretty boy for us and thank him for lending you to us,” Alex said.

“Right.” Trey sat down and rubbed his temples.

“Hangover?” Dolly asked.

“Yes,” he snapped. He thought it was pretty obvious.

“Why’d you run out on us last night? Dolly wanted to buy you dinner.”

Trey suppressed a moan at the thought of beer. “Smoke had a date with angel-boy. Thought I’d better split.”

“Rowdy Stetzzzzzzz…. Oh, sorry, did I doze off? He’s like walking anesthetic,” Dolly said. “You’re an idiot, Trey.”

That made it three for three on the idiot vote. In a world where perfect agreement was rare, all his friends were unanimous on that one thing, at least for this morning.

“Man, you have got to learn to read a room.”

“I guess.” Trey roused himself enough to ask, “So why did Rowdy come on to me by the locker room yesterday? I thought he was after Smoke this whole time.”

Dolly pointed at him. “I’ll tell you what that sleazeball was doing. He couldn’t score with Smoke, so he tried it on you. Trying to split you guys up.”

“How the hell can you possibly know that?” His emotions were in turmoil, both from Rowdy’s approach and what Dolly said.

“Seen it before. Couple-wreckers.” She shrugged. “And I’d say Rowdy is one of them.”

“Well, the joke’s on him. Smoke isn’t my boyfriend, and he’s free to do whoever he wants.”

Dolly stared at him, disbelief written all over her face. “I’m not sure who’s the bigger asshole. Rowdy for the crap he pulls, or you for taking it lying down.”

“Don’t forget Smoke,” Alex put in. “He was too fucking polite to send Rowdy packing. Dolly had to do it for him.”

Dolly’s lip curled sarcastically. “Aw, he didn’t want to hurt the little twink’s feelings. Said the kid was young.”

“What did you do?” Trey asked, fascinated.

“Told him to go away.”

“I mean—how?”

Alex giggled. “Dolly doesn’t do subtle. She just told Rowdy to go away. Then he turned those beautiful angst-filled eyes with teardrops quivering on his lashes like morning dew up to Smoke, and Smoke finally manned up and said, ‘Yeah, I think you’d better go, kid.’ So he did.”