Then again, Cord didn't feel like just another client.
The studio was too quiet now. I needed to move, get back around people before I started overthinking a great fuck with a hot guy.
Outside, the October air cooled my heated skin. A breeze caught my hair, so I pulled the elastic out and let it fall loose around my shoulders. The Ranch looked beautiful at night, string lights casting warm gold across the pathways, the stucco walls glowing soft in the darkness. Water features trickled somewhere in the gardens, mixing with distant laughter and music. I followed the stone pathway that connected the yoga studio back toward the main complex, flowering vines releasing their scent as the evening cooled.
Walking back to the employee building, I passed the main pool where a few people were still hanging out. The mosaictiles glowed turquoise under the water lights. Some of the other companions were in the hot tubs with clients, steam rising off the heated water and catching the string lights overhead. Private cabanas lined the far side, their gauzy curtains backlit and shifting in the breeze. The Ranch always felt different in fall, quieter, more intimate.
“Evening, Dusty,” Clark called out from near the pool bar. He was one of the companions heading toward the secluded villas in the back, down the path that disappeared beneath the massive oaks. “Good session tonight?”
“Yeah, great,” I said, and couldn't stop myself from grinning.
“Lucky guy,” Clark said with a knowing look before continuing down the winding pathway toward the private accommodations.
The employee residence sat past the main complex, tucked behind landscaping that gave us separation from the guest areas. It looked like regular apartments from the outside, same Spanish Colonial architecture as everything else here, until you noticed all the attractive men wandering around in various states of undress. I nodded at familiar faces as I went through the lobby, servers finishing dinner shift, companions heading out for late evening appointments, maintenance crew wrapping up their day.
I grabbed a salad from the staff cafeteria. “Good evening, Jasper,” I said to the night manager.
“Take care, Dusty,” he replied with his usual warm smile. “Good to see you home.”
Home. That word always hit me sideways. This place had been good to me, paying for my art supplies, giving me space to figure out what I wanted. But it wasn't forever. Just a few more weeks, and I'd be heading home to West Texas to open my gallery in Marfa.
The thought made me smile. November felt like forever and no time at all.
I found Ramon in our shared kitchen, finishing what looked like spaghetti and meatballs from the staff cafeteria. We'd been roommates since we both started here, part of the original group hired by Vincent and Ibrahim when they opened this place.
“Hey,” he said, looking up from his plate with dark, friendly eyes. Ramon had the kind of easy handsomeness that made clients request him constantly—wide shoulders, warm brown skin, and that bright smile that could put anyone at ease. His Jamaican accent had softened over the years but still came through when he was relaxed like this.
“How'd your evening session go?”
“Good. Really good.” I grabbed my salad and sat across from him. “You?”
“Busy day, can't complain. Had this CEO from Dallas who carries all his stress in his shoulders. Took me an hour just to get him to stop talking about quarterly earnings.” Ramon worked in the spa as a masseuse, and often had better stories than I did.
“Sounds therapeutic,” I chuckled. “I had an interesting day. Met Cord Morales. Friend of Vincent's.”
Ramon's fork stopped halfway to his mouth. “Wait, what? Cord Morales? The football player?”
“You know him?”
“Hell yes, I know about him. Dude's been coming here for maybe two years, but only during off-season. You two never crossed paths because you're always off in the summer months, doing white water rafting stuff with your brothers.” Ramon set down his fork, interested now. “There were stories about his last visit here. Wild nights in his room. Not saying they were true, but he made an impression, even for The Ranch.”
“He seemed...” I searched for the right words. “Hurt. Not just physically.”
Ramon's expression grew serious. “Yeah, that makes sense. It was all over the sports news a few weeks ago. He got targeted—alate hit that's only meant to hurt a player. Some asshole smashed his helmet right into Cord's shoulder.”
My stomach dropped. “Jesus. Why?”
Ramon shook his head. “No one's said it straight out, but word is it was because he got outed recently. His wife caught him with another man during their divorce, told everyone he likes to get fucked. Messed with some of his fanbase, but his team stood behind him.”
The pieces clicked together. The pain I'd sensed in Cord that went way beyond physical injury, the way he'd needed to test his limits, prove he was still whole. What I'd read as intensity was someone trying to put himself back together.
“That's rough,” I said.
“Even worse. That jackass who hit him got a slap on the wrist while Cord's whole career might be over.” Ramon carried his plate to the sink. “No wonder he's here now. At least Vincent and Ibrahim know how to keep things quiet.”
I nodded, thinking about those dark eyes that had looked into mine with such need. “Well, hopefully I can help him feel better while he's here. We're doing some modified yoga work for his shoulder.”
Ramon grinned and bumped his hip against mine as he started washing dishes. “Just yoga, huh? That why you've got that glow?”
