Bucked: Studs in Spurs, Book 2

by Cat Johnson

  Avoiding a confrontation wasn’t the only reason Mustang had for wanting to go to the Beckett house the next day. He glanced at Sage, her cheeks still pink and her eyes bright from the intensity of their kiss.

  Mustang nodded. “Tomorrow’s perfect.”

  Chapter Seven

  It didn’t take long for his father to bring up the subject of the job waiting for him at the prison. A whole day.

  Actually, that was longer than Mustang figured it would take. He’d assumed the topic would be raised immediately after he got released from the hospital. The most likely reason it hadn’t been was Sage’s presence. Then tonight Mustang had pulled a disappearing act and gone to her house. It didn’t stop his father from hitting him with the question the moment he got home though.

  He knew he should have stayed later instead of leaving right after Grams’ dessert of fried bananas and ice cream. The food at Sage’s house had been as tempting as their one and only kiss. Even if he didn’t get the opportunity to repeat it, the heat of the memory was almost enough to make him forget the shitty promise he’d finally made about the job.

  Mustang had given in to his father’s pressure and agreed to the one thing he thought he’d never do. After he saw the surgeon again next week and got the okay, Mustang would start the daily commute to Huntsville Prison.

  His arm felt okay, considering, so of course he’d get the go-ahead to start light work. Wouldn’t that be fun? He and his father. Commuting together. Working together. Mustang resisted the strong urge to beat his head against the wall at the idea. Instead, he stared at himself in the mirror above the wooden bureau in his childhood bedroom.

  “Three months,” he told his reflection. By then he’d either have made enough money working to cover the payments on the trailer until he could get back into competition, or he would have strangled his father on the highway somewhere between Magnolia and Huntsville.

  Either way, he was out of here after twelve weeks. Shit. Calculating his time in weeks still sounded worse than it did in months no matter how often he tried it out.

  It didn’t matter. He could do it, he would do it. A man could withstand anything for a limited amount of time. He proved that every time he rode a ton of bucking bovine to the buzzer.

  Thoughts of riding again caused Mustang to sigh. Missing life on the road with the pro circuit, he eyed his cell phone on the dresser. He supposed he could call Slade, though that would only make him miss it more.

  Calling Sage now was probably out of the question too. They’d just seen each other less than an hour before.

  How pitiful was he? Debating on whether to call a girl. Usually he was in and out, literally, but Sage was different. She was a friend as well as a girl who made him stand up and take notice. As his head warred with his dick, he wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. Could a woman be both to a man?

  His brain was too tired to think anymore tonight, even though it was still early. Time to get undressed and hit the hay. What else could he do? Sit on the couch between his mother and father and watch television like when he was a kid? He definitely should have stayed later at Sage’s.

  Too late now.

  Pulling his wallet out of his jeans pocket, Mustang tossed it on top of the bureau. It skidded across the wood, coming to rest against the base of the lamp as a white card slipped out of the fold. He frowned. Whose business card would he have in his wallet?

  Mustang read the name and smiled. Guy the sports photographer. He’d forgotten all about him. What had Chase said that job paid? A couple of hundred an hour or something like that. Hell, that was way better than what he’d get being tortured by his father at the prison. But shit, this guy was in New Jersey.

  He knew he should have stayed on the East Coast. Maybe Mustang could contact him and set up some shoots in a week or two. If the guy promised him a guaranteed income, maybe he wouldn’t have to work with his father at all. He could recuperate for a few weeks then drive back to Jersey.

  Mustang grabbed his phone, vowing never to admit to either Slade or Jenna how dependant he’d become on it.

  It was pretty late in New Jersey for a business to be open, but he could leave a message. The photographer could call him back in the morning. He punched in the numbers and listened to the ring. Mustang jumped when a live voice rather than a machine greeted him.

  “Guy Little.”

  He stumbled over his tongue at having to talk to a person when he was expecting to leave a voicemail. “Hey, um, yeah. I have your card here. About the sports modeling.”

  Modeling. Who would have thought he’d ever willingly do that? But hell, he was a decent-looking man, even with the assorted scars. Why not make some money off it? Desperate times called for desperate measures.

  “Great. Tell me a little about yourself.”

  “Um. Okay. I’m a bull rider. Um, just about six feet tall. A hundred seventy pounds, give or take. Light brown hair. Blue eyes.”

  “How old are you.”

  “Twenty-six.” Was that too old for a sports model? Mustang didn’t know. In fact, he knew shit about this whole deal.

  “Okay. Good. Tell me, do you have a problem with nudity?”

  Mustang stopped dead mid-pace across his room. “Mine, or someone else’s?”

  Maybe they were going to have some scantily clad female in a thong hanging on him while he was dressed in his gear. That would be cool.

  The man laughed. “Yours, but I like how you think.”

  “What? Wait, I’d be naked?”

  “Partially. We do artistic nudes.”

  Whatever the hell that meant.

  He’d said partially. They probably just wanted some pictures with his shirt off. That was fine. His muscles weren’t huge but he was fit. He’d have to figure out how to hide the incision from the operation though.

  “That’s all right, I guess.”

  “I’d want some with you dressed in your bull-riding stuff too. Do you own a pair of chaps?”

  “Sure.” More than one actually, thanks to the new pair he’d won in a bet against Slade last year.

  “And boots and a cowboy hat?”

  “Yeah.” What self-respecting Texan didn’t own boots and a hat? Then again, this guy was in New Jersey so Mustang gave him a pass.

  “Great. Bring that all with you when you come in.”

  “Well, you see, that’s the problem. I’m not in New Jersey anymore—” Mustang rushed to add, “—but I can get back there if you just give me some time.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “Texas?”

  “That’s fine. I’ve got a photographer who works with me out there. Can you get to Houston?”

  “Hell, yeah. No problem.”

  He heard the sound of papers rustling. “Perfect, I’ll have him call you. His name is Joe. Let me get your name and number.”

  “It’s Mustang Jackson.”

  The man laughed. “Mustang, huh? Perfect. I love it. Should he call you at this number or a different one?”

  Mustang’s spirits soared. This could work. This crazy scheme could save his sanity and prevent him from having to work with his father. “This number is good. Uh, can I ask you what the pay is?”

  “One hundred and fifty an hour, flat fee and you’ll have to sign a full release. You have a problem with that?”

  “No, that’s fine.” He had to sign releases all the time saying he wouldn’t sue the arena if he got hurt riding. That was pretty standard. Though how he’d get hurt modeling he didn’t know.

  “Okay, we’re set then.”

  Yes, they were and he couldn’t be happier. After saying goodbye and disconnecting with Guy, Mustang glanced down at the phone in his hand and couldn’t resist sharing his happiness. He found Sage’s cell-phone number easily in his very short contact list and called, waiting for her sweet, “Hello?”

  Mustang grinned just from the sound of her voice. “Hey, Little Bit.”

  “Mustang. Hi.” He could hear her smile.


  “Guess what?”

  “What?”

  “I got a job modeling.” He would rather die than admit what he was doing to any of the guys or to his parents, but for some reason telling Sage felt right.

  “Modeling?” Her voice rose to a squeak.

  He laughed, really laughed. Deep from his belly. “Yup and don’t sound so shocked. I’m a good-looking guy. Aren’t I?”

  “Yes, and so modest too.” She laughed.

  “Actually, the photographer’s never seen me so I may be sent packing before he even takes one picture. Besides, it’s for a sports website, not GQ Magazine or anything fancy like that.” Mustang stretched out on his bed, relaxing. It felt good to have the pressure of the sling no longer weighing around his neck.

  “I don’t know. You could be in GQ if you wanted, I think. I saw you dressed up for the prom.” Sage’s voice softened.

  Mustang held the phone closer to his ear so he could enjoy every nuance of every sound. “Yeah, I guess I do clean up pretty good.”

  “Mmm, hmm. You do. I remember you in your tuxedo with your black cowboy boots.”

  He laughed again. “Those new boots cost me a fortune and all your sister did was complain I wasn’t wearing real shoes. She wanted me to get those stupid lace-up black things they had at the tux rental place.”

  “I liked your boots. You looked perfect.”

  Mustang’s breath caught in his throat at the sincerity with which she’d delivered that incredibly touching compliment. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I should let you go. You probably have stuff to do that I’m keeping you from.” Though the last thing he wanted to do was hang up with her.

  “No, not really.”

  He heard the lie in her voice. She’d always been the worst liar. “No homework? You sure?”

  “Well, maybe a little.”

  “I thought so.” Still, he didn’t say the words good bye.

  “Mustang?”

  “Yeah?” His voice sounded husky in his own ears and he cleared his throat.

  “I really liked our kiss the other night.”

  His pulse sped. “Me too.”

  One more statement like that out of her and he’d be over there and sneaking into her bedroom window in a heart beat.

  “Do you want to come over again for dinner sometime this week? Maybe tomorrow or the next night?”

  “Yes.” Tomorrow and the next night and every night after that…until he left. The thought of leaving and not being able to see Sage twisted his gut. He swallowed hard.

  He was in deep shit.

  Chapter Eight

  “Great. Can you open your shirt?” Joe spoke without lowering the camera, but Mustang was getting used to that after the dozens of shots the guy had already taken.

  “Sure.” Mustang used his right hand to unbutton the shirt, pretending that his left arm was just fine.

  He’d taken off the bandages, covered the incision in clear surgical tape and not worn the sling to the photo shoot hoping the photographer wouldn’t notice.

  Even if they made him take his shirt totally off and decided they couldn’t use him because of the scar, they were too far into it already. He’d still get an hour’s pay. Well worth the drive to Houston.

  Striking a few poses, he was still feeling a little awkward. He was used to being photographed, but at sporting events. There they took action shots. None of this posing and “turn slightly to the left and stare at the floor to your right” crap.

  “Perfect.” Joe lowered the camera and fiddled with something on it. “Let’s try a few without the jeans.”

  Mustang whipped his head around. “Excuse me?”

  “Just the chaps, no jeans.”

  “You mean you want me in my underwear with my chaps?” Which underwear was he wearing, anyway? He hoped not the ripped pair. And why the hell did the guy want a picture of that? That wasn’t attractive.

  Joe laughed. “No, Mustang. No underwear. Just the chaps.”

  “You mean…with my business hanging out?” He frowned.

  The photographer smirked. “Your business. I haven’t heard it called that before but yeah, that’s what we want.”

  People on a sports website wanted to see that? “Where are these pictures going again?”

  “The site’s not up yet. Didn’t Guy give you the web address?”

  “Yeah. It’s on his business card.”

  “He told you there’d be nudity, right?”

  “Yeah.” Guy had said artistic nudity. What the hell was artistic about his dick? Joe waited expectantly until Mustang continued. “I’m just not sure why anyone would want to see me naked, is all.”

  Especially on a site dedicated to sports.

  “You’d be surprised. Believe me.” Joe shook his head.

  Mustang really needed to get a computer and learn how to use it, especially if his cock was going to be out there in public on it.

  “How many more hours do you think we’ll be shooting?”

  “At least another hour.”

  Three hundred dollars minimum. Just for some pictures. He couldn’t pass that up. Mustang sighed and started to unbuckle his pants. Then he had a thought and pulled his hat down lower over his eyes. “You think maybe we can put a fake name up there on the website though? So no one knows it’s me?”

  “You mean Mustang is your real name?” The shock showed clearly on Joe’s face.

  “Yeah, well, I mean it’s the name I ride under and everyone knows me by that name. So maybe I shouldn’t be doing this under the same name.”

  “Don’t worry about it. They’ll make up something good for you.”

  “Okay.” Feeling better about that at least, Mustang started to unbuckle his chap straps, all while Joe looked on. That was creepy enough, but not half as bad as when he pushed his jeans and then underwear down to his ankles.

  Mustang suddenly had the urge to cover himself with both hands and run naked for the hills.

  He buckled his chaps back on as quickly as he could, happy for any sort of coverage, even though the damn things didn’t cover any of the important stuff. Not in the back or the front.

  “Take the shirt totally off too. It’s covering you up.”

  Shit. Unhappily, Mustang did as he was told. He didn’t give a damn anymore whether the photographer saw his incision or not. Right now he was more worried about the fact that the man was zooming that big, long lens in on his dick.

  When he thought things couldn’t get any worse, Joe said, “That’s great. For these next round of shots, can you get yourself hard? There’s some baby oil over on the table, if you need it.”

  Holy crap. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

  ***

  Mustang drove home with three hundred dollars cash in his pocket and shaking hands. He could barely concentrate on keeping the trailer on the road as he argued with himself. So he had been pretty much naked in a room with a strange man. Big deal. The guy hadn’t touched him or anything. Men were naked together in locker rooms all the time.

  Though it was frigging creepy to have Joe studying him through the lens of that camera and—God help him—directing him about what to do with himself.

  Shit. He felt…violated. He considered if he’d feel differently if the photographer had been a female. If a hot woman with a camera had been focused on him, telling him to rub his cock and get it hard for her, yeah, that would have been hugely different.

  He sighed. Three hundred was just a drop in the bucket of what he needed to cover his expenses over the next few months. His dreams for a big, high-paying modeling career were shot after today. If this was what modeling was like, they could keep it. A hundred and fifty an hour wasn’t worth it.

  Now he’d have to work with his father and live with the memories of standing in nothing but chaps while he stroked himself into semi-erectness in front of a man. It was no wonder he hadn’t been able to get totally hard. He wasn’t into men. Add to that the air
conditioner cranking on high so the room was frigid. Who the hell could have gotten it up in those conditions? It was a miracle he’d been able to get even partially hard.

  Great, naked and almost impotent for all the world to see, all for a measly three hundred dollars. The fine imposed on a rider for challenging the judges’ decision in competition was more than that.

  A chill ran down his spine at the memory of it all. He needed a drink, or even better, to sink himself into a nice, soft woman. Sage crossed his mind and he quickly dismissed the idea.

  Mustang passed the turnoff to Sage’s house and glanced at it wistfully. Hell, Sage was a good friend and he really needed to talk. He tapped the brake with his foot and considered swinging the trailer into a U-turn.

  She would be sitting down at the small old table in the corner of the kitchen. The one they used when they didn’t have company. She probably had her legs curled up and her feet tucked under her like a little kid. That had been her favorite position to eat in when they were younger. When he’d eaten over this week he noticed she still did it.

  What would Grams have put on the table for dinner? Something light since it was hot today. Pico de gallo maybe, made with cool cucumber and melon and drenched in tangy fresh citrus juice and spicy hot pepper.

  His mouth started to water and he yanked his mind away from the thought of Gram’s cooking and hit the gas. He couldn’t think about food without his stomach protesting since he’d skipped eating before he’d left for the shoot. He didn’t want to think about the shoot either.

  His mind traveled back to Sage, the one subject that he thought would be safe, until the fantasy of her there at the photo shoot helping him get hard sprung into his mind.

  Damn. He definitely couldn’t go knocking on her door now. He needed to get home and take a shower. Wash away that oil Joe had him spread all over himself for those pictures and the memories that went along with it.

  Mustang took the next turn onto his parents’ street as his cell phone rang. He knew instinctively who it was before a glance at the caller ID told him.

  “Hey, Little Bit.”