New Tricks

by J. D. Light

  He paused at the door, and I tore my gaze off of his pants and stepped around him, my shoulder brushing his slightly and sending that same heat through my arm that had sparked through me when I'd touched his hand earlier.

  I pulled my keys out and unlocked my front door, raising an eyebrow at him when he frowned, watching me.

  Did he not understand the concept of door locks, or was he of the misconception that people didn't get robbed in the country, because they could? It happened more often than people thought.

  "Do you live alone here?" He asked, once we were inside.

  "Yeah," I said, giving him a small smile. "My son lives in the dorms at his school. He said he didn't want to commute forty-five minutes to school and he was sick of my ass." I rolled my eyes just thinking about my goofy adult child who would probably be graduating in May and would be floundering out in the world on his own. "My wife passed away when she had Wellston. She slipped away in the night. They think she might have gone into cardiac arrest, or just bled too much."

  We hadn't technically been married. We'd been discussing the possibility of it, but hadn't even definitively decided yet. We hadn't even really been dating when she'd gotten pregnant. We'd been discussing the possibility of that too.

  I chuckled when I thought about it. That girl had been one of my closest friends, and I knew if we'd been given more time, we'd have had a fun life together. It might not have been a wild passionate type of love, but it would have been full of laughter and friendship.

  Jefferson raised an eyebrow at me, and I realized he'd asked me about my wife and I'd basically told him she was dead and started laughing.

  There you go, By. Make the boy feel nice and safe by acting like a crazy person who laughs when his loved ones die.

  "Sorry, I was just thinking about Tiff. It's been close to twenty-three years now. It's easier to remember the good times we had than the pain of losing her."

  It still hurt. I hated that life had been taken from her so early. That Wellston had grown up without knowing what a great woman he had for a mother, and how excited she'd been to hold him, and at least she'd gotten to do that.

  He smiled softly, blinking at me. "Did you say you have a son in college?"

  "I do. He's changed his major a few times, I don't even know what he finally decided on, but last I heard it was psychology. He told me he needed all the help he could get after growing up here."

  He chuckled. "Well, it sounds like you have a happily dysfunctional family." His eyes widened and he shook his head quickly. "I meant that as a good thing. My parents and I have the same type of relationship, but I never doubted they loved me. I'm sure it's not the only way to raise kids, but I was always happy. I'm sure your son was happy too."

  His rambling was fucking cute. "It's okay, Jefferson, really. We are definitely happily dysfunctional. That's a good way to describe us."

  "I'm sorry. I'm pretty bad about sticking my foot in my mouth even when I haven't been up so long." He rolled his eyes shifting back and forth on his feet and looking around. "Ray and his boys weren't like that. Everyone was so strangely polite. It works for them, so that's great, but there wasn't any teasing. It was almost like complete strangers who looked alike. Ray and Branson were the worst. Ray treated him like an employee and nothing else. There just didn't seem to be much camaraderie. It's a little better with Martin, but I think it's because Ray doesn't want him to leave again."

  "Martin? Is he the reason you had to leave?" I asked, not thinking.

  When he'd told his story earlier and cut himself off, I'd been sure he was about to tell me his parents didn't know he was gay. Not that it mattered to me. Hell, my son was gay, and though not many people knew, because I'd never really had any relationships over the years, I myself was bi, or possibly pan. There were new phrases for everything these days, and I was doing my best to be supportive and keep up, but anytime I tried to do research on certain words, I'd stumble across something new I'd have to look up and I'd end up stuck to the damn computer for hours and somehow end up watching videos of people making all kinds of things with hot glue.

  I'd tried to make a phone case once, but I ended up dropping a giant ball of industrial-strength hot glue on my leg and still had the fucking scar to prove it.

  "What?" he gasped, taking a step back, eyes wide and face gone pale. "No." He shook his head hard, and I could see the panic rising in his face. "Why would you think that?"

  "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Sorry," I said, raising my hands like I was talking to a twitchy horse. "Your voice just changed when you said his name. I thought he might have something to do with why your relationship that wasn't a relationship fell apart. I shouldn't have even asked. It was a slip up."

  His shoulders sagged in relief, and he closed his eyes, licking his lips. "Oh. Like, you thought he might have broken me and… broken us up."

  "Sure."

  He didn't answer, and the silence in the room grew heavier. Finally, I remembered the whole point to dragging the sexy man to my house in the first place, and it actually had nothing to do with the things I would do to those lips he was going to chap if he didn't stop licking them.

  "Let me show you to the room, " I said, giving him as reassuring a smile as I could.

  He wasn't ready to trust me, and honestly, I couldn't blame him. If things had gone the way I was starting to think they went at the last place he worked. If he'd been tossed over a relationship with Ray's son, and the son had basically thrown him under the bus to save his ass, and Ray believed him even after the kid had worked with him for three years, then it was no wonder he was having a hard time believing I wasn't going to be the same.

  It was actually surprising he'd even come to my house. He had absolutely zero reason to trust me. And maybe that was worse. If he was trusting a complete stranger like that, it meant he was desperate.

  I led him to his room… and that was the truth of it. It was his room, because I knew I was going to hire him to help me. If he'd worked at Ray's for so long, I knew he had to be a hard worker. Ray was known for firing people without even a warning if they didn't meet his standards, and if the man had Jefferson as his go-to guy for his horses, then that meant he'd trusted him.

  Plus… I needed to see joy on his face. I'd just met him, but I knew by the easy way he smiled when he didn't feel like the world was weighing down on him, that he was definitely used to being happy, and the few glimpses I'd had of that heart-stopping smile was enough to make me crave it. If I could help him get his happiness back, then I was going to do it, even if it meant losing my sanity at the same time.

  "Right through here," I said, standing aside in the doorway and ushering him in.

  His shoulders were wider than I thought, and one lightly brushed my chest as he walked by, sending tingles of awareness straight down to my dick. Thankfully, I was wearing my least-worn work jeans, so the material was still strong enough and tight enough to hide my bulge if I just…

  I readjusted myself as he turned toward the bed, walking over and setting his bag on the end.

  "This is great," he said on a sigh, his lids already looking like they were drooping pretty low. "Thank you so much, Byrum. I promise I'll work so fucking hard for you later."

  I nodded, biting my bottom lip to keep from groaning at the way he'd chosen to word that. I did not need to think about him working hard for me. As it was, I was going to be working hard for the rest of the afternoon, and probably in the evening too.

  How could I go from being pretty okay with only getting sex with another human once or twice a year when I had the time, to suddenly unable to think about anything else?

  "Sounds good. Now, get some sleep. There is a bathroom down the hall if you need it. I don't need much shampoo," I said, smiling and pointing at my nearly bald head where I kept my hair sheered super short, but my friend Wilder comes and pretends to help sometimes, and he likes some kind of floral shampoo that you are more than welcome to use, and there are towels in the cabinet. Help yourself
. If you need anything, my cell number is on the wall next to the broom closet in the kitchen. Don't hesitate to call, okay?"

  He nodded, swallowing hard, and I had to get out of there before he started crying. I'd want to pull him into my arms and hold him if he started crying right then, and the last thing either of us needed was for me to lay my hands on him in any way.

  ***

  September

  When the fuck was fall going to get here? It was the middle of fucking September, and every damn day this week, I'd been drenched in sweat.

  I peeled off my T-shirt, cringing when the sweaty material clung to my face as I slid it over my head. Curling my lip, I held the thing out in front of me, hooked precariously on my index finger and stepped closer to the fence, so I could toss it over one of the posts.

  There was a commotion over to my left that sounded like someone banging around on drums or something, and I turned quickly to find three of my hands standing there wide-eyed as Jefferson tried to scramble out of the large water trough that the three bred mares drank out of, slipping and sliding along the bottom as he tried to find purchase with his booted feet.

  I tossed the shirt over the post and ran over, grabbing his hand and lifting him into a standing position before helping him out of the trough.

  "Are you okay?" I asked, not sure whether to laugh at him, or yell at the three men still standing there like they were in shock. "What the hell happened?"

  Jefferson blushed bright red, not looking at me at all. "I'm fine."

  "He missed the step when he was climbing over the fence," Cutter said, stepping closer to Jefferson and squatting a little to look under his chin. "I thought he smacked his face on the fence, but I don't see anything."

  "I bith my thongue," he said, sticking it out and trying to look down at it.

  I reached out, grabbing his face and pulling him closer so I could see, making sure we didn’t need to make a mad dash––a forty-five-minute drive––to the hospital. Thankfully, though it was bleeding, it was still intact.

  He swallowed hard, and his tongue slowly slid back into his mouth, flicking back out to moisten his bottom lip, making it gleam in the sunshine. I glanced up, my eyes meeting his wide ones, suddenly realizing how close we were standing. He could probably smell every bit of the sweat on my skin. I could definitely smell the shampoo he'd started using since he found it in one of the little shops on Main Street.

  It was citrusy with a hint of something darker, and I couldn't even count the number of times I'd popped the bottle open while in the bathroom and taken a long deep sniff, getting hard each time, because I couldn't help but picture him standing in the shower, massaging it into his hair and then letting the suds rinse down the planes of his body.

  And he had a fucking beautiful body. I'd seen him without a shirt more than once in the three weeks he'd been here, and even though he was tall and thin, he had long, sinewy muscles that were lean from work and decent eating.

  He wasn't completely smooth, but his body hair was caught somewhere between light and dark, a few shades closer to brown than the dirty-blond hair on his head, with the slightly lighter ends from the sun, and his shoulders and back were freckled with a sweet dusting of tiny little spots that were only visible if you were standing close.

  Thankfully, he'd left his shirt on today, which was good, since I practically had him in my arms. I'd dragged his face close to mine, so I could inspect his tongue, which meant I was practically breathing into his mouth and him into mine. His hands had come up to grip my forearms and his warm fingers were digging into the muscle.

  Was I imagining the look in his eyes? There'd been a couple times, I'd thought he might be attracted to me, but he was a pretty closed-off person when it came to those things, and no matter how many nights we spent sprawled on the couch next to each other watching TV, or reading, or doing crossword puzzles or any combination of those things, plus some, he didn't talk about his sexuality, or who might or might not get his attention, and I'd never seen him give anyone, male or female more than cursory glance to acknowledge their presence.

  Manda tended to make him blush when we were at the diner, but I didn't think it was because he was attracted to her, since he tended to forget all about her once she left the table, not even sparing a fleeting glance in her direction as she ran around the place taking orders and pissing off the poor new kid.

  Someone cleared their throat, and I glanced up, catching the smirk on Cutter's face as he stood there watching us. I blinked, glancing back down at Jefferson and easing my hold on his face before stepping away.

  He blinked too, and whatever I'd been reading in his eyes before morphed into embarrassment, and he blushed hard, glancing away.

  "What were you doing, Jeffers?" Rudy asked, turning to examine the water trough and the fence before turning back to Jefferson. "You climb that fence all the time like a little monkey. The boss's tan lines mess with you?" Rudy chuckled when I glared at him. "He just hasn't gone without a shirt in a while. For a black man, he's kinda pale, isn't he?

  I huffed, rolling my eyes, but when I looked down, I had to admit, he might be right. There was a definite farmer's-tan type situation going on. Almost to the point where it looked like I was wearing another T-shirt, but not quite. I'd definitely seen worse.

  I glanced back up to find Jefferson looking too, but then his eyes widened, and he blushed harder, the color traveling down under the collar of his shirt and staining his ears a glowing red.

  "I just missed the rung," he said loudly, his eyes skittering in my direction and then away.

  Rudy crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. "Because you weren't watching what you were doing."

  Jefferson groaned, clearly wishing Rudy would shut up as Cutter and Sam chuckled, and I contemplated what Rudy didn't even realize he was implying.

  Had Jefferson fallen in the trough because he was watching me? And did it mean anything, or was he just not used to seeing so much of my skin, since I rarely took my shirt off while working outside, because I didn't like the way the dust stuck to my chest and back when the wind kicked up. Or, maybe he'd been looking at my ridiculous tan lines like Rudy had said, but if that was the case, then why was he blushing so damn much.

  "Okay, Rudy," Cutter said, reaching out to grab Jefferson's shoulder and give him a little jostle and a big, calming smile. "Leave him alone. We still have to give those two stud horses some penicillin and move Bowser since they can't seem to stop fighting through the fence. That cut on Wilber's leg might actually need a couple of stitches."

  "You gonna go change?" I asked, bumping Jefferson's shoulder with mine as Sam and Rudy meandered off.

  He glanced down at himself, shaking his head. "It's hot enough for a dip, but I'm not looking to be chafed," he said, picking at his clothes while curling his lips in disgust. "I'll be back in about five minutes."

  I watched him walk away toward the house, his ass snagging my attention and keeping it at the way his clothes clung to his body deliciously.

  "Are you falling in love, Boss?" Cutter asked, glancing my direction.

  I sighed, turning to head back over to where I'd been working before Jefferson had dived into the horse trough. "He's way too young for me, Cutter," I grumbled, my chest constricting just a little.

  "That's not an answer."

  Chapter Three

  "You should come, though," Byrum insisted, stretching his long body out on the couch next to me. "Wilder isn't technically family either, but he comes. It's not family dinner, it's Sunday dinner."

  This had been a pretty normal conversation over the last few weeks. Byrum always invited me to the Sunday dinners, and I always said no, feeling awkward about hanging out with Byrum and his son and best friend. I'd heard countless stories about both, and they seemed great, but they didn't know me, and I doubted either one would want me around anyway.

  "You and Wilder have been friends since you were in high school," I told him, taking the throw pillow he handed me and leaning
back against my side of the couch, pulling my feet up into the middle. "He's family."

  He frowned down at my foot as it inched closer to him on the couch. I'd found out just the week before that he wasn't particularly fond of feet, so I liked to accidentally touch him with them as often as I could. He smacked at it, glaring when I started laughing.

  "You can be family too." He grunted, grabbing my ankle when I started to move my foot toward him again. "At least think about it."

  I shrugged, wiggling my foot around until he let go and then quickly shoved my toes under his leg, making him sigh, but he didn't try to move my foot again. All it needed was a little warmth, and it wasn't like it was touching his skin, just his pajama pants.

  "You want to hear my plan?" he asked after a moment, turning slightly on the couch, oddly careful not to uncover my foot.

  I narrowed my eyes, not sure I did want to hear it. I was starting to understand this man, and it seemed like he always had a plan. It didn't matter how hard you prepared for it either. He was always three steps ahead of you.

  He was sneaky as hell, and I was always on the lookout for one of his traps. I didn't think I'd be quick to trust anyone after what's-his-fucking-face, but even with Byrum's sneakiness, and the fact that I was always on the lookout for what he might be up to, I knew he'd never do anything to hurt me, or manipulate me into doing something he knew I wouldn't like. Minutely out of my comfort zone? Absolutely. But not something that would truly make me uncomfortable.

  "Does this one involve me?" I asked, pulling my other foot up and shoving it under his thigh. He didn't even flinch, and I narrowed my eyes further, suddenly wondering if I'd been played.

  "No," he said simply, smiling excitedly.

  Was it inappropriate to tell your forty-three-year-old boss that he was fucking adorable when he smiled like that? Or was it possible he'd realize you had a massive crush on him and be bothered by the fact that you would think anything about him was adorable, because he was too old to be adorable?