Love in Xxchange: Miles to Go (8 page)

Okay, so maybe that hadn’t been the best plan ever, but Bo hadn’t been able to come up with anything better. He was blaming the crappy plan on the pain meds. Dumping his bottled water on Max had been a true act of desperation, and possibly just cruel, but it had been effective. Hopefully.

Bo lay on the dry bed and waited for the medicine to kick in. He was hurting all over, and Max had managed to knock the shit out of him, catching him in his sore ribs. It was worth it, though. Bo didn’t know if it was the drugs, the pain or what that had kept him from noticing Max’s sexy little body last night. He must have been close to dead, that was all he could figure, because there was no other way he could have ignored such a hot guy.

Max wasn’t tall at all, but he still had an inch or two on Bo’s own five feet seven inches.

When Bo had noticed the man before—sizing him up the first time they’d met, because that’s just what Bo did to men—he’d thought Max had an attractive, compact yet slender form.

He’d kind of been wrong.

While Max did indeed look thin but toned, the truth was the guy was unbelievably cut.

He wasn’t bulky at all, just exquisitely detailed. Max’s chest was covered with a thick dark pelt of hair, which turned Bo on in nine different directions. His pecs were still discernible, looking taut and tempting and topped with peachy-pink nipples. The groove running MILES TO GO

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between his abs was deep enough that Bo knew he could drink from it—and he’d do his best to give that a shot, just as soon as he was feeling human again. And he really wanted to feel those hairy, muscled thighs wrapped around his waist—or his neck, hell, Bo wasn’t picky. If he had been, chances were that fucker wouldn’t have got the chance to stomp the shit out of him. But, no, Bo had been so lonely, and yes, horny, so he’d gone to a gay club in San Antonio, looking for something. The fact that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Max had been part of it. Bo had been interested in the man since they’d first met. He had been careful during that first time they’d hung out, flirting a little and testing the water. Max had seemed totally oblivious to Bo’s attempts to flirt, and that had been okay after a while because Bo had really just enjoyed the guy’s company. A lot. Enough that he’d found himself thinking about Max often, more than he ever had any other guy. Of course most of the other guys in Bo’s life had been one-night stands whose names he didn’t bother with trying to remember. He didn’t exactly really know them.

But there was something about Max…Bo had thought he’d give it another try that night at Cowboys. He had held out great hopes for once in his life not for a quick fuck, but for something more, something that would last longer, be more intense. Between thinking about the way Chance and Rory seemed so perfect for each other, and the way he’d just whored around and studiously avoided anything serious, Bo realised he really, really wanted a relationship, one that was special and would last. It scared him, but he wanted it. Bo was tired of running from commitment, running from himself, running from his past.

Of course his plans to seduce Max into loving him had backfired at Cowboy’s. First off, Max had seemed as oblivious to Bo’s charms as he had been before. The little flushes and stutters Bo had come to realise were from nervousness, not a raging attraction to Bo. Still, Bo had watched Max closely and noticed the man didn’t check out anyone else—not the women in the place, and there’d been a couple who were pretty attractive, and not the men, who Bo would have catalogued as okay but not particularly impressive.

Especially not once Max had walked in. There was just something intense about Max despite his easy-going smile that drew Bo to the man. It made Bo want to giggle and act all coy like some teenage girl or something. It was that fluttery nervousness that had almost brought the dinner at Cowboy’s to an end before it truly got started. Bo really hadn’t meant to laugh at Max, he hadn’t, but he had been so fucking nervous, and he’d laughed like a fucking idiot, and that right there had been the end of his plan to seduce Max. It had been all MILES TO GO

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Bo could do to prevent Max from leaving at that point. Bo had been willing to do anything to keep Max there, but he was pretty sure throwing himself at the man’s feet and begging would have only embarrassed Max more.

So Bo had been on his best behaviour, and once they had got past that uncomfortable situation, they’d got on like best buddies for life. Which hadn’t been exactly what Bo wanted.

Friends were all well and good, but he’d wanted that lover bit thrown in there too. And so he’d come up with the idea of having Max come to San Antonio and visit him. He’d figured that would give him time to work on Max, see if he was interested or not, because Bo hadn’t been able to squash the hope that Max was interested and just really shy about showing it.

But Max had turned him down flat, using an excuse Bo didn’t quite buy. He’d tried to shrug off his hurt feelings; it was after all entirely possible Max was a hell of a lot more dedicated to his job than Bo ever would have been. In the end, the answer was the same—

Max wouldn’t or couldn’t come to San Antonio, and Bo had gone home and nursed his wounded pride along with that strange burning in his chest. That particular sensation got worse every time he thought about never having Max, and by the time Bo realised he didn’t have some weird-ass heartburn induced by thoughts of Max, he’d already been trying to dance off the funky mood that had hounded him for days.

Even once he realised he was sort of really fond of Max, Bo hadn’t stopped dancing.

What was the point? Wasn’t like Max was interested in him, but maybe Bo could find someone who was, at least for a few hours and pretend it meant more than just getting off.

Pretend he wasn’t settling, something he’d been doing for years but only then realising, thanks to his attraction to Max. Bo had set about putting on his most flirtatious manner, but every time it got right down to it, he’d felt off in some way he couldn’t quite describe.

Picking up tricks hadn’t ever bothered him before.

Bo had finally got fed up with his own newly developed morals or conscious or

whatever the fuck it was that was keeping him from getting laid, and he’d thoroughly stomped down everything but his body’s need for release. He told himself to quit being so picky, to just take the next offer he got, but he’d already turned down most everyone who’d been interested.

When Bo had just about given up on finding
someone
,
anyone,
and was seriously considering leaving, he’d seen the man watching him. It hadn’t taken more than a smile from Bo to have the big blond striding towards him. Bo remembered the shudder that had rippled MILES TO GO

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over him then. Had it been a warning rather than the desire he’d taken it for? Probably, but Bo had been desperate to forget how alone he was.

As soon as the big blond was close enough, Bo had noticed the cold look in the guy’s eyes. He had figured it for the disdain a lot of closeted men felt for their one-offs, or for themselves for seeking out another man. Well, he’d been wrong about that shithead, and it’d almost cost him his life. There was no use dwelling on that mistake.

There was another mistake he was thrilled about, though. Bo had been wrong about Annabelle and Max getting down and dirty. There was no way she’d have been so calm about walking in on Bo stroking off Max this morning if she was Max’s lover. And Max had definitely liked the feel of Bo’s hand on his dick.

If Max had liked that, then he’d love the other things Bo wanted to do to him. It was just too bad that Max would never love him. Nobody ever had, not really, which was why Bo was alone and miserable and looking for comfort in dark alleys and dangerous bars. He knew that, just like he accepted he was unlovable.

For all he knew, that might be because
he
wasn’t capable of returning that tricky sentiment. Bo wanted to, he ached for that, to give it and receive it, more than he ached physically. It just wasn’t possible.

But, for a little while, he could lie in this uncomfortable bed and imagine what it would be like to have Max love him. That’s exactly what he did, letting those fantasies coax him into a dream-filled sleep.

MILES TO GO

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Max didn’t know whether it was the rude awakening a few days ago, or the dream he’d had right before being doused with cool water, or maybe a combination of both. Either way, he’d had a difficult time concentrating since that rather chilly event. It didn’t help that every time Annabelle looked at him, she had a smirk on her face that brought a flush to Max’s skin.

And he was almost certain she’d muttered that he had a ‘really nice package’. Max was too afraid to call her on that. Between trying to avoid Annabelle and staring off at nothing, feeling alternating moments of mortification and arousal at the memory of having Bo scrubbing at his dick, Max was thoroughly behind in his work.

Then there was that damned dream he’d had the morning he’d ended up with a

sopping wet crotch. Images from that dream kept popping up every chance they got. Visions of sliding his dick into Bo’s beautiful ass, burying his shaft so deep the man could taste it, would flicker through Max’s mind at the most inconvenient times. He’d dropped Rama’s saddle then promptly tripped over it—and he’d
swear
that horse snickered at him for it—

when a wave of sensual heat had rolled over him.

He’d just been minding his own business, doing his job then his brain had tossed up a vision of Bo’s ass thrusting back against his groin, grinding and rubbing until Max had nearly come in his jeans. If he hadn’t dropped the saddle, he’d probably have dropped his load. Taking a tumble was only marginally less humiliating than having his cock spew like a horny teenager’s.

Now it was full-on dark, and Annabelle had gone to the bunkhouse to check on Bo.

She’d given Max a wink when she told him she’d be dining at the big house. Max wasn’t sure what that wink was for. He wasn’t used to being around women much, and if Annabelle was a fair example of the opposite sex, they were just as confusing as hell. Maybe he should drag his heels and hope she’d be gone before he got back.

Max discarded the idea as cowardly as he made his way home. Wasn’t like Annabelle was going to jump his bones—she just liked to tease, and that was something Max didn’t have a lot of experience with. The fact that he really wanted to see Bo, only to make sure the man was doing better today, was an incentive to hurry he wished he didn’t have to MILES TO GO

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acknowledge. It scared him and thrilled him every time he saw Bo, and Max wasn’t quite sure what to do about that.

Truly, the only time he didn’t feel like a ball of ragged nerves around Bo was when they went to bed. After that first night together, Max had decided it’d be better to push the twin beds together. More room for them both if Bo had another nightmare and Max ended up in bed with him. Not that it made any difference. They always woke in the morning tangled together some way or another, usually right on the seam where the two beds pressed together. It was the most uncomfortable spot to sleep on, but worth it to feel Bo’s warm body draped over his.

The porch light was on, which meant Max had to bat away a slew of June bugs and

moths. There were other flying critters that he didn’t bother trying to identify. Some things were best left unknown. The tarantula Annabelle had nicknamed Fred was hanging on the lower part of the screen door. Those hairy things were creepy as all get out, and even though they weren’t poisonous, Max was certain he’d have a heart attack and keel over if one ever bit him.

Carefully edging his way to the door handle, Max kept a close eye on Fred as he slipped inside the house. Tarantulas could jump, and Max didn’t trust Fred at all. He’d take the can of Raid to that spider—not to spray it, but to beat it to death with—if he didn’t think Annabelle would have his balls for it.

Max breathed a sigh of relief when he closed the door behind him. Fred was still on the outside of the screen. He didn’t have to worry about death by freaky spider tonight.

“Rough day?” The words were spoken with a painful sounding rasp.

Max yelped in surprise. Bo was sitting on the battered couch just inside the bunkhouse.

This was the first time the man had really been out of bed, and he’d damned near managed to accomplish what Fred hadn’t. Max’s heart was pounding in his chest like it was trying to rip free from his body.

“You could say that,” Max replied a little breathlessly. Bo was shirtless, which accounted for Max’s asthmatic impersonation. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen the man in such a state of undress, and it always did this to him. Even badly bruised, Bo was still the most attractive person Max had ever seen.

Guess that explains why I was never much interested in girls. Women, excuse me, Ms Steinem.

Doesn’t explain why I ain’t felt like this about any other men though.
Max had thought he was MILES TO GO

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asexual at the best of times, and a flat-out freak at the worst. He knew his childhood had screwed him up, especially his sexuality. After all, how many men reached his age and were still virgins?

“‘C’mere,” Bo scraped out, patting the cushion. A thousand crack-fuelled butterflies burst free in his stomach. It was one thing to cuddle with the injured man in the middle of the night, feigning sleep as an excuse to hold him close. This was more personal, a more conscious choice, and Max wasn’t sure it was a smart one. That didn’t stop him from tossing his Stetson onto the recliner and dropping down a few inches away from Bo.

“Looks like you’re doing better today.” Max swallowed his nerves and looked at Bo, noting the stark bruising on his neck and face. At least the swelling had gone almost all the way down. “Probably good for you to be moving around a bit.”