First Rodeo (The Cowboy and the Dom Book 1)

by Jodi Payne

  Thomas snorted. “That might have been more detail than I necessarily needed.”

  “I’ll be there this weekend, kid. There’s something on the schedule they want me on hand for Saturday night.”

  “They put events they need an EMT for on the schedule?” Thomas looked at him. “Are you working Saturday night?”

  “Yessir. I’m working the fight crowd apparently. I’m not fighting in the ring.”

  “Nope. You’re not ready. I get to make that call, kid.”

  Sam snorted. He got to make that call, and the fact was? He wasn’t ready. Nowhere near.

  “Sam tells me he is only there temporarily, that he’s planning on making his freelance research work more lucrative.” He saw the look that passed between Thomas and Angel, and he knew what Thomas was asking.

  “That’s the plan and the prayer. I just need to make it work.” He went for comforting. “I got this. I can hold my own. I have been hit by a two-thousand-pound bull, and this time I can hit back.”

  “So what did you two bring?” Angel looked over Thomas’s shoulder, changing the subject like a champ.

  “Apple pie and rolls. And Mark called and asked for hummus.”

  “Hummus? Was that on the table at the first Thanksgiving?”

  “I don’t know. You were there—you tell me.”

  “Bean mayonnaise,” he muttered, loving the banter between the two men. Playing seemed tough for Thomas, like he didn’t use that muscle often.

  Angel laughed and clapped Sam on the back. “Right? All right, I got my beer. I’m going to go surf the food bar. I’ll be sure to try your hummus.”

  “Funny. We’ll catch up. Thanks, Angel.” Thomas took a sip of his wine. “Mmm. A good one. So you tell me, Sam, jump in and meet some people? Stuff our faces with starters?” Thomas took his hand again.

  “Let’s meet folks. I’m looking forward to meeting your family.”

  “Perfect. I’d love to show you off a little and let people get to know you. Make sure they’re not just thinking about you as James’s little brother, you know? I’m hoping they’ll eventually become your family too.” Thomas gave him a tug.

  He followed along, meeting one man after another. Most everyone paid their respects. He heard lots of stories about James and got a couple three shocked looks. All in all, it felt pretty damn good to be here and to be able to breathe.

  “Is Master Thomas dressing you now?” A guy popped up at his elbow, and it took him a second to recognize Mark in a sweater and without the leather harness. “That shirt is totally hot on you.”

  He glanced over to where Thomas had just been beside him, but someone was dragging the man toward the bar.

  “He gave it to me, yeah. It’s a little different, that’s for sure.” Master Thomas, huh? He was going to have to think about that. Later. In the dark. Not now.

  “How are you two getting along together? It’s nice to see Master Thomas happy again. You’re a newbie, right? You must be a very good boy. And a quick learner. What’s your thing?” Mark winked at him.

  “Western art.” He knew what Mark was asking, but he didn’t have an answer, so playing dumb was easier. He didn’t have any answers. He sure as shit wasn’t sure he’d learned much—other than the fact that he’d take a beating to be able to stay near Thomas. “And yeah, I hate to see him sad.”

  “It’s okay. You don’t need to tell me. I get it. But whatever it is, you’re doing something right. Master Thomas sure seems to like it. I get that you’re private, but if you ever want to ask a question or go compare notes, I’m totally up for that.”

  “Sam!” Thomas was waving him over from the bar.

  “Oops. You better go. Really, really like that top.”

  “Thank you. I’d like that. We could have coffee.” He found Mark a smile but took his leave, because he wasn’t ready to admit that he was more confused now than he’d been at the beginning.

  “Sounds good! Master Thomas can get you my digits.”

  “Hey.” Thomas slipped an arm around him as soon as he was in reach, pulled him in, and kissed his temple. “Look! Queso.” He got a grin and a wink. “I might just stay right here for a while.”

  He had to laugh. James had been obsessed with queso. Loved it. Of course, what was not to love? Cheese, Rotel—magic on a chip. “I’m in.”

  “It’ll be dinner soon. I’m usually seated at Clint’s table. Are you getting hungry?”

  He nodded. “Looks like a great spread. Smells like Thanksgiving.”

  His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he checked it. Bowie.

  Happy Tday baby brother.

  You too. Love you.

  Ditto

  “Everything okay?” Thomas rubbed his back between his shoulder blades.

  “Just Bowie happy Thanksgiving-ing me. He’s off saving the world.”

  “Well, I can be thankful for that. I couldn’t do it. The twins are deployed someplace right now too. No idea where, but Katie texted me. My baby sister. She went home Wednesday.”

  “It’s like a minefield, isn’t it? Family.” He couldn’t think too terrible hard on that, because there was a shit-ton of hurt he could only bear to look at when he was locked away alone.

  Thomas nodded, looking thoughtful; then he smiled at Sam. “That one is. This one isn’t. Should we go figure out where we’re sitting?”

  “Surely. Just don’t put me where I’ll bump elbows.”

  Thomas snorted. “Sure thing, southpaw.”

  They found their seats, set their drinks down, and got in the line that was forming at the buffet.

  “Hey, Thomas! Good to see you back. Doing okay?”

  “Fine. Hungry, Butch. You?”

  “I could eat. New boy?”

  Thomas didn’t directly answer that question, and Sam couldn’t tell if Thomas just didn’t want to go there or if not answering meant yes. “This is Sam. Sam, Butch.”

  “Pleased to meet you, sir.” He held out one hand to shake. Lord have mercy, there were a ton of men here that didn’t have kin that they could be with.

  “And you.” Butch shook, then looked back at Thomas. “Are you making plans to bring him to New Years?”

  “Oh, I doubt it. I think it’s a little early for that yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “Butch.”

  “He’s adorable. You should bring him.”

  Thomas turned to Butch. “Enough.” Thomas was a good six inches shorter and half as wide, but that didn’t seem to faze him, and his posture wasn’t allowing for an argument. “Let’s enjoy our turkey.”

  “You got it.” Butch didn’t flinch but didn’t say anything else either.

  Thomas turned around again and took a step closer to him, practically bumping hips. “You won’t make fun of me if I have a plate full of potatoes, will you?”

  “I won’t. It’s turkey day. No judgment.” It was the fun part—eating what you wanted. He was mostly hoping for a deviled egg. He loved those.

  And he’d be working New Years, no question. Busting his hump bringing up kegs and breaking up fights.

  “That’s my philosophy.” They loaded up their plates, and Thomas grabbed a bottle of wine and brought him a fresh beer.

  “Hey, what does your work schedule look like this weekend?” He noticed that Thomas took a bite of the potatoes first.

  “I’m off ’til seven tomorrow. Then I work a full shift, then the fight on Saturday, off on Sunday.”

  Thomas frowned. “And that will be your normal weekend schedule? Or close to it?”

  “Yeah.” He sighed softly. He was going to miss his Saturdays with Thomas. Sometimes they were the only good parts. He needed to just push harder. He could take his laptop to a coffee shop and put in a few more hours. If he got to the apartment by noon, he could get a solid five hours sleep…

  “All right.” Thomas put a hand on his thigh. “We’ll make it work. What time do you get off shift Sunday morning? And when do you need to be back on Monday?”


  “The bar closes at four. There’s no deposit on Saturday night. I’m back at seven Monday night.”

  “And you have to get some rest. You need to do your freelance work.” Thomas cleared his throat. “Well. Could I ask for a couple of hours of your time on Sunday evening? Here?”

  “Please. I’m doing this so I can be here with you, for chrissake. It’s going to suck if I never get to see you.” Wait. Wait, did he say that out loud?

  “Oh.” Thomas put his fork down and gave him a sidelong look and a smile. “If you’d have told me that sooner, it would have saved me a great deal of anxiety.”

  “I’m sorry, honey. It ain’t easy for me sometimes, telling.”

  “I know. But you try, and you’re honest. I can’t ask anything more of you than that.” The hand on his thigh shifted up over his hip as Thomas leaned closer, and the fingers tucked into his back pocket. “It wasn’t my place to tell you not to go, but I was considering selling my soul to get you to stay.”

  “Your soul’s safe.” God, he sounded like a crow, but Thomas’s hand in his pocket was the most erotic thing on earth, and his entire body felt alive in the best way.

  “So is yours.” Thomas’s eyes were clear and looked right into him like the man would know. He got a kiss so hard and quick it left him blinking; then Thomas went back to his supper.

  God, he missed having his hat right now.

  Of course, if he had it with him, it would be in his lap, covering the bulge in his jeans.

  The conversation over supper was friendly and light, with lots of laughter and good stories. People made him feel welcome, drawing him into the mix, asking questions, filling him in when he needed it, just as if he belonged there.

  There was so much food at dinner it was a wonder anyone had room for dessert, but everything on that table was pretty well demolished by the time the nightcaps went around. Little shot glasses of something strong and sweet that Thomas knocked back with a shiver. “Whoa.”

  “That’s a concoction.” His lips tingled.

  “I don’t drink stuff like this except…well, ever really. Feels good going down, though. Warm.”

  “I’ll buy you shots at the bar one night. Gina and Darla have some neat ones they’ve come up with.”

  “You might have to send me home in a car or kick me under a table and let me sleep it off.” Thomas laughed. “I’m good for one. If you expect me to continue after that, I can’t take responsibility for my behavior.”

  “Me too. I drink water in my longneck after one at work.” At Thomas’s surprised look, Sam shrugged. “I’m over the legal limit at two. I got no padding, and I’m not a big guy.”

  “Years ago, Clint wouldn’t let me use a flogger until I gained ten pounds. I have to go to the gym and do the protein powder thing or I look like a string bean. I’ll show you some pictures next time you’re at my place—you’ll laugh.”

  “I’d like that.” He was solid as a rock, and he knew it. It was one thing that him and Bowie had in common. James had been the skinny one. He was as built as his big brother, just half the size. Same rank, different weight class.

  “Would you like to dance?” Thomas pointed toward the ceiling. “Music.”

  “Why not?” Today had been his day for firsts. It seemed the thing to do.

  “Why not, indeed.” Thomas stood up and held the back of his chair, the gesture sincere, not campy. “My lead, though. My invitation. And don’t worry, I expect to get stepped on.”

  “Right.” He chuckled, tickled shitless that Thomas remembered their conversation. “I’m not bad at moving. I’ll figure it.”

  They headed for the open area where the buffet used to be and had somehow disappeared during the nightcaps, and Thomas led him right into the middle of the crowd. Whatever Thomas was up to started off on the wrong foot and too slow, but Sam caught on without scuffing anyone’s toes.

  They didn’t need whatever lighting had been put on to make the dance floor glow. Thomas’s smile could have lit up the floor by itself.

  He had his hand on Thomas’s waist, and he stayed close, letting himself have a ride, trusting in Thomas and his own body to get them through. Thomas telegraphed just fine, so he didn’t have to think, just feel the way they created a heat between them.

  “Why am I not surprised that you’re having no trouble with this? I love how you just…do things. Try things.”

  “I was made to ride, yeah?”

  Thomas lost his lead for a second, and they went all off-meter. “Whoops. Sorry. I…thinking. Shouldn’t think and dance.”

  “No worries. You cool?” You bored? Tired? Too much wine?

  “Far from it.” Thomas had the lead back, though, that hand strong at his back. “I mean, look at you. Am I supposed to be?”

  Oh, now that made him blush. “Listen to you.”

  Thomas grinned at him. “I will say that sweater looks fantastic on you, but I know it’s not your style.”

  “This is tight. You can see my heartbeat, I bet. I like how it slides, though. I can see why you’d wear it. It wears like being loved on.”

  Thomas laughed and shook his head. “If you say so. It must feel good. You wear it like you know you look good in it.”

  “Thank you, sir. I appreciate it.” He did look good. He worked for it, even if his six-pack was kind of purple and green right now.

  They danced a little while longer, before they helped clean the place up, clearing trash out to the dumpsters and pushing tables back where they belonged, and everyone pretty much said good night at once. The longest line of cabs he’d ever seen was waiting outside the club as men left and one by one drove away. Thomas hustled him into one and closed the door behind them, then told the driver to take them to Union Square. His place.

  “Thank you for today. It’s been something else.” Something good. Something that he’d remember when he was old and gray, like his first short-go or when his thesis advisor called him gifted or how big the water looked from the Galveston seawall.

  “It was a day to be grateful for, wasn’t it? Thank you for sharing it with me.” Thomas gave him a tug and settled an arm over his shoulders.

  There was a little part of him that couldn’t believe this was real, but it was happening, real or not.

  They made it back to his apartment in record time, the streets quieter than usual. It was cold when they climbed out of the cab, and Thomas stayed close, keeping the wind off him.

  “You think it’s going to snow? It’s sure chilly.”

  “That would be unusual for Thanksgiving, but not unheard of.”

  “You want to come upstairs and have a cup of coffee, honey?”

  Thomas moved in close. Closer than really seemed ought to be allowed on the street. “No, sweetheart. Sam. Sorry. No, I think I shouldn’t. You’ll forgive me, won’t you?”

  “Surely.” He could go upstairs and curl up and jack off, take a nap before he found a place that was open for Black Friday that had Wi-Fi. “Thank you for today again. It was fine.”

  Thomas tipped his chin up and kissed him. It started out like earlier, just slow and sweet, but then it became…more. But it seemed like just as he was about to hit on what was different, Thomas ended it and took a step back.

  “I better…you were wonderful tonight. I’m just…tired. You know? Thank you.” He got a self-conscious smile, and Thomas started down the stairs. “Good night, Sam.”

  “Good night, honey.” He smiled and watched Thomas go, just in case that last shot was really too much, but he made the stairs just fine.

  He headed inside, whistling softly under his breath. He climbed the stairs, smelling the remnants of turkey dinners.

  Sam reached to unlock his door when a shadow appeared behind him, and he spun, caught short by a hand on his coat. “What the fuck?”

  A sharp blow cracked him, right under the ear, and he let himself drop, fist shooting out, catching whoever the fuck it was with a hard damn blow. “Back off, asshole!”

 
The hallway swam, and he was scattered, but he wasn’t down, and he wasn’t helpless.

  It would help if he could see clear, but all he needed to do was get his back against the door and…

  He hit out again, connecting once more, and he heard a deep curse ring out; then the guy ran with James’s coat.

  “Motherfucker!”

  He slumped down against the apartment door, trying not to—what? Cry? Run outside and try to find Thomas? Hurl? All of the above? Shit.

  “Dude. Dude, what happened? Dude, it’s me. Skip. You remember? Next door? What happened?”

  “Someone stole my coat.”

  “You got your wallet? Your keys? He follow you in? Who was it?”

  “Skip. Man. You’re killing my head.”

  “Sure, Tex. Sure.”

  “Skip Smith! You get away from there.”

  “I didn’t do it!”

  “I know. He took off down the stairs. It doesn’t look like you’re helping, though.”

  Uh. Woman’s voice. Young. Not the old lady in 4B…this was the blonde from one floor up.

  “Someone took his coat, Haley.”

  “Hey.” Haley got down on his level. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, he knocked my noggin. Good thing I’m hardheaded.” And no one stole his phone or his wallet. “Happy Thanksgiving, y’all.”

  “Skip, maybe you should call the cops. That could have been any of us.”

  “Haley, I am not calling cops.”

  “Why? Was it one of your friends, Skip?”

  Skip disappeared back into his apartment and slammed the door.

  “It’s…Sam, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am. You okay? Nobody hurt you?”

  “No, I’m fine. I saw the guy’s back, but I don’t think that will be very helpful. Just dark, you know? Hair, clothes, just dark, like that guy that…I think it might be time for me to move.”

  “Yeah.” Him too, except, what if it had been James’s killer. What if he’d had James’s murderer close enough to punch and he lost him? Oh God.

  The hallway lights began to swing wildly for a second, and he had to fight his urge to scream. Instead he stood up. “Let me walk you up. I’ll stay at the stairs. I just worry.”