We spend the better part of an hour in the barn, feeding the horses, leading them out into their big grassy pasture, and finishing up with the best part: mucking out their stalls. It’s not hard work, and since there are only two horses, it doesn’t take long, but there’s a soothing rhythm to the work. I can see why Dylan finds the routine calming.
After shoveling out the used bedding, each stall gets fresh shavings that smell amazing. I can tell Dylan spends a lot of time out here. The barn is spotless, and there isn’t even a whiff of icky farm smell. “How do you stop it from getting all stinky in here?” I ask. “In my experience, horse barns don’t smell so fresh!”
He laughs, pointing to a big plastic bucket in the corner. “That stuff is like deodorant for the stall mats. Works like a hot damn.”
“Well, whatever it is, it works. It smells so clean you could practically eat off the floor in here,” I say. He gives me a weird look, wrinkling his nose in disgust.
“Ew. I’ll let you be the one to test out that theory,” he says.
I bark out a laugh, realizing too late how gross that sounds. “Mmm, maybe you’re right. I suppose I’ll stick to eating in the house.”
Dylan snorts in amusement. After finishing in the barn, I’m definitely ready to eat—and no, not off the floor in the horse stalls. Heading back into the house, we peel off our grungy clothes.
Sometimes, Dylan is tough to get a read on, but the hungry look in his eyes as he watches me unzip my jeans is unmistakable.
I slow my movements, and instead of stripping off my jeans, I leave them unzipped, and I lazily lift the hem of the T-shirt he loaned me, revealing my stomach one ab muscle at a time. He smiles wolfishly. After tossing my shirt in the washer, I sidle up to where he’s standing still, too distracted by watching me to keep taking off his own clothes. Standing directly in front of him so my bare chest almost touches his, I slide my hands up his body. He raises his arms like a little kid, and I pull off his shirt, tossing it into the washer with mine and then stepping even closer to him.
“Maybe a shower is in order before breakfast. We should make sure we’re all clean before we eat, right? It’s just good hygiene,” I say, trying to look innocent.
“Agreed,” he says.
“Mmmm” is all I can reply as I’m already pressed against him, nuzzling into his neck and running soft kisses from his collarbone to his jaw.
Once the shower is ready, we stand pressed together under the rain-head, not a millimeter of space between us, as hot water cascades over our bodies. Between the steam, the heat, and how relaxed I am, I feel almost like I’m inside a dream. We trade languid kisses and gentle caresses, cleaning each other unhurriedly. When we first stepped into the shower, I was horny as hell, desperate to get off again, but the rush of sharing this level of intimacy is almost better than sex. I feel so connected to Dylan it’s almost like our bodies are slowly melding into one under the heat and steam. His heart beating against mine in a steady, strong rhythm grounds me. His hands are gentle as he soaps my back, then turns us to rinse me off. Placing tender kisses against my temple, he wraps his arms around me, and we stand still, enjoying the feeling of our bodies pressed together. Resting my head against his shoulder, my eyes closed and breathing deeply, I let my mind drift.
“This feels so good. Thank you,” I murmur into his chest, and he tightens his arms around me. I’m safe here with him. That knowledge takes root deep in my gut and spreads throughout my body like a gentle wave. I’ve never felt so precious and treasured, so cared for… so lo—
Oh, no… Nope, there is no way. The L-word is not part of my vocabulary, and even if it was, this is basically our second real date. Whatever it is I’m feeling has to be simply lust. Some more intense version of lust that I’ve never felt before, because anything else is unthinkable.
For a moment, I stiffen, about to freak out and freeze up. But tipping my head back, I see his face, and the look of tenderness on it nearly drops me to my knees. Stretching up, I capture his mouth in a not-so-chaste kiss. He slides his hands slowly up my back to the nape of my neck and deepens the kiss, stealing the breath out of my lungs.
Fuck it.I refuse to let my loony, crazy thoughts fuck up this moment. Closing my eyes, I press back into his body, noting how we fit together like puzzle pieces. Just for a minute, I want to pretend it’s possible for me to fall in love with this incredible man and for him to fall in love with me. Despite my broken, fucked-up past, and despite the fact that I don’t even know what love is because I’ve never felt it, I just want to imagine this feeling never has to end.
Chapter 18
DYLAN
Aftershowering,wefallback into my bed, dozing leisurely for a while. Reed still seems exhausted—he was nearly asleep when we got out of the shower, so I don’t want to wake him. Lying naked beside him, however, is just a little too tempting, not to mention the fact that my brain has started to tell me I need to do something to get back on schedule, to get back to center. I don’t usually nap after working in the barn in the mornings, so things are a little off. I decide to get up and make us brunch, a normal enough activity that it will hopefully soothe my anxiety.
Sitting up in bed, I see that I must have forgotten to push the bedroom door completely closed because all three dogs have made their way into the bedroom and are scattered on their individual beds. Thankfully, they didn’t jump onto the bed and make themselves at home—something I allow way too often. But they seem to be on their best behavior for our guest at the moment. I wonder how long that will last.
Sliding out of bed carefully, I throw on some clothes and head to the kitchen to fill my need for caffeine and food. Once the coffee is going, I start pulling stuff out to make my special egg burritos for brunch.
As I work on breakfast, my mind wanders. I have a feeling I may be in way deep with Reed. It makes me nervous, but I try to hold on to what Jackson told me about how every relationship is uncertain at first, but if you can push past that part, things can get amazingly good. I hope that’s good advice because I am so far gone for Reed I can barely believe it.
I’m sliding the bacon into the oven when my personal cell phone rings. Glancing at the caller ID, I see it’s my mom.
“Hello, this is Dylan.”
“Hi, sweetie. How are you doing?” she says.
“Hi, Mom. I’m good,” I say. “I just decided to make bacon and eggs for—uh—breakfast.”Jesus, I almost blurted out that Reed was here. That would have made for a fun conversation. Not that I think she would care, but I don’t think she knows I’m bisexual since I’ve never brought a guy around. Seeing as Mason didn’t even know, chances are good she doesn’t have a clue either.
“Well, that sounds good,” she continues. “I wanted to talk to you about Thanksgiving on Thursday.”
“Right, sure. What’s the plan?”
“Would you be able to bring something for dessert? You can pick something up at the bakery. I’m going to make pumpkin pie, but I thought having pecan or apple would be good too.” My parents always host the big Thanksgiving family get-together every year. I’m not sure why; that’s just how it happened. Christmas gatherings usually rotate between the other families, but Thanksgiving is all my mom. As she gets older, it’s becoming a little harder for her to manage everything, so last year, we were finally able to convince her that it wouldn’t ruin the entire celebration if weboughtsome of the food instead of having her make every single dish from scratch. She does like to play hostess though, so even though she complains about it, I really don’t think she minds all that much.