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"Do you muster?"
"Of course. I fucking love it."
"What do you farm?"
"Cows."
"How many head?"
"Jesus, Col. Isn't it a bit early in the day to be talking about giving head?"
He chuckles. "Do you ever not think about sex?"
"No."
He chuckles some more, and I love breaking through his cranky exterior into the mushy inside. Relaxed suits him.
"Ten thousand cattle," I answer his question. "Most are in the southern fields now. We'll be moving them back north next muster."
If we haven't been turfed off our land by then…
"I see."
I lead him back past the school shed and beyond the main house. The day's already warming up, and it's only past eight. Col's wearing khaki pants, an olive-green button-up, and dark brown boots. It's striking that for a tourist from New York who got so excited about showing off his cluster busters at Bondi Beach, he looks like he fits right in here.
Hmm…I wonder if he brought his Speedo with him. Personally, I hate the thing, but I'd be very willing to rip it off him…with my teeth.
I point ahead to two houses. "Emma lives in the house on the left, mine's on the right."
"You don't live in the house we're in now?"
"Nah. That's where Katrina and the kids live…when she's around. It's the biggest house so it makes sense they have it. I grew up there, though. Kolby's bedroom is my old room."
"That must be nice, having that sense of continuity."
"It is. It strengthens our bond in a way, sharing that familiarity." I feel a little silly saying it out loud, but when has that ever stopped me before? "Is that dumb?"
"Not at all. It's really sweet…and important."
"Speaking of sweet and important."
"Yeaaah?" He drags the word out, as if he’s sensing I'm about to switch things up but unsure which way I'll go.
"I believe I owe you a blow job."
"You don't owe me anything."
"But can I? Please, please, pretty please?"
Col laughs. "You're an idiot."
"An idiot who gives great head."
"All right, then. If it'll shut you up, you can blow me."
My phone vibrates again. I take it out of my pocket and switch it to silent. "No more interruptions," I say as I take Col into my house.
My place isn't much, a typical two-bedroom Queenslander built in the late 1800s, with a wraparound verandah. The plumbing got updated in the 1960s, and a few years back, some mates and I stripped the old girl, gave her a nice new coat of paint, and redid the kitchen, too. It's small and simple, but it works for me.
