My already dizzy thoughts spun faster. “I don’t…I don’t know. No, I suppose not. One kiss does not a date make. I was joking. Which is something I rarely do because anytime I tease someone it ends up…badly.”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “You’re bumbly when your Clint Eastwood High Plains Drifter persona drops.”
“I haven’t gunned down any desperados in ages.”
He chuckled. “See, you’re quite funny when you stop worrying about being funny.”
“I wasn’t worried about being funny.” He cocked a golden eyebrow. I took a sip of coffee. “Maybe I was but not…would you stop smirking?”
“Sorry, but the more bumbly you become the cuter you are.”
“Are you sure you didn’t crack your head during that tumble from the four-wheeler last night? I have been called many things, most foul, but never cute.”
That was when he stole another kiss. It was just a quick press of his lips to mine, but it rocked the damn world, or at least the stable. Somehow my left hand slid into his mussy hair as he grabbed hold of my hip with his free hand. We nibbled and tasted, balancing coffee mugs and an ever larger attraction. I wanted more. Needed more. There was loose hay right above us. If we snuck up into the loft and threw ourselves into the mound of chaff and busted bales, we could have a fine roll in the hay. My cock rose like a rocket as he cinched me closer, licking along the seam of my mouth then slipping inside.
We ended up against a wall, my back slamming into it soundly, Bishop’s arm like a steel band around my back. Coffee spilled over my hand. Did not care one bit. He bit down on my lower lip. A jolt of lust streaked to my aching balls. I fisted his hair. He groaned into my mouth. Then Tiberius rubber lipped the side of our faces. Bishop froze, his eyes wide open, his lips puffy and pink.
“He wants a kiss,” I breathlessly teased. Bishop’s head slowly turned toward my horse’s soft muzzle.
“He wants to eat my face,” he whispered, his anxiety clear.
“That horse has never once eaten a face. He will pinch an ass on occasion if you’re too slow with his grain.”
He sniggered a bit then hesitantly let go of me and touched Tiberius’s nose. A quick poke of a finger then he danced back a foot or so, leaving me leaning against the wooden wall, hard as a cement block yet smiling like a damn fool.
“There I pet him. No, don’t argue. A finger counts as a pet. Now we can date.”
I blinked at him and felt myself being pulled deeper into the whirlpool that was Bishop Haney.
“Is that what we’re doing?” I parroted and he shrugged a bare shoulder.
“This thing with us,” he said, paused, and then took a hit of coffee as if it were bourbon. I knew how he felt. “It’s crazy. I’m not sure where to go with it. I know that I want you.”
“That can be all it needs to be,” I tossed out, my stomach dipping a bit even as I made the half-assed announcement. I’d never really been one for casual relationships. Yes, I did hookup on occasion, but that was to relieve an itch. This was something far different than a fast fuck in a bathroom stall.
“I’m not sure I want it to be just that. I’m not sure what I want. No.” He jerked his chin up. “No, that’s a lie. I know that I want to get that damn dinosaur out of the ground. I know I want people to stop stealing my finds! I know that I want to kiss you again. You, not you,” he said as he pointed to me then Tiberius. My horse gave him a happy short neigh then pawed at his stall gate. He wanted some hay and grain. And here we stood, two dumb humans, kissing and talking about dating when he was one meager breath away from expiring from hunger. “And I know that I’d like to take you to dinner some night. Somewhere nice where there are no piles of dung or dusty bones or jabbering undergrads. But I can’t leave the students alone at the dig site. Not after what took place last night.”
I ran my fingers along the seam of my pants, giving my head and heart a second to catch up with what he had just said.
“It’s been years since I dated a man,” came tumbling out of my face. I felt like a moron.
“They say it’s just like riding a horse.”
“You mean a bike.”
“Horse, bike, surfboard. The point is that it would just be a dinner.”
“Dinner,” I mumbled. Tiberius pawed at his stall door again. “I could cook dinner.”
He studied me over the top of his terribly smudged glasses. “You cook?”
“I do, yes, rather well as a matter of fact. My ex was a Michelin starred chef at Humphrey’s in Chicago. I picked up a few tricks from him. It’s been years since I cooked for a man as well but horse, bike, surfboard, right?”
“Right! Dinner at your place sounds good. I can escort the kids to their own cabin then join you. If you’re sure?”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I think I am.” A bubbling fountain of happy erupted in my chest. “My feet are cold. I need a shower and some food before the hungry bunch get up. We have a fucking mess to clean up. Honestly, just thinking about what happened last night infuriates me all over again.”