“A few things,” he replied, sliding his eyes over his body. “Gray, extra-tall, thin cotton.”
John chuckled, shaking his head. “Not so fast, Lawson. We have plenty of night left for that.”
“I thought we said no sleepovers.”
“There’s an exception for every rule. You had a tough day, and you’re not leaving until you feel better.”
He already did. Just being around John was enough.
He never wanted to leave. But he figured he’d keep that thought to himself. He’d already revealed enough, and the last thing he wanted was to scare John away.
“We certainly do make a lot of exceptions to your rules,” Wyatt drawled, pulling out one of the albums.
John tossed the kitchen towel onto the island, refilled his glass, and strolled over to Wyatt’s unattended glass, topping it off. “I never heard your reason for becoming a doctor.”
He hummed and then sighed.
“That doesn’t sound good,” John remarked, eyebrows arched.
“It’s not as good as yours.”
“We don’t compare in this house,” he said evenly, and took a seat on his plush couch, legs pushed out in front of him and crossing at the ankles. He sipped his wine, resting the stemless glass on his stomach, hands folded around it, patiently waiting.
“I sorta fell into it,” Wyatt admitted with a shrug.
“Fell into it?” John asked curiously, without an ounce of judgment.
“It’s a long story.”
“And as I said, we have all night.” John patted the couch, “Come here.”
He did, sliding into the firm comfy couch beside him, setting his wine glass on the wooden coffee table. John rotated to face him but maintained the distance, clearly wanting to hear his story. Wyatt didn’t like that they weren’t touching, so he pulled his leg up on the couch, brushing his knee against his. It wasn’t hard to imagine a Sunday morning curled up on this couch, cuddling with him.
He let out another sigh, focusing. “I told you about the dude ranch. The men I worked with were mostly ranch hands and handymen to get through the season. Good ones would come back. Bad ones would drift onto other ranches that didn’t know them. My dad preferred hiring the same ones. You remember that story of the man my dad found me with?”
John nodded, “It was pretty unforgettable.”
“His name was Mateo. Strong, silent type, and really good with the horses. He had a way with them. He’d talk to them at the end of the day, his voice drifting them off to sleep most nights.” Wyatt hesitated, flushing. “He was the first man I ever fell in love with. I was nineteen. Fuck, I’ve never told anyone that.”
John’s fingers squeezed his knee, his soft gaze holding him.
“The first time he touched me was out on a trail that we were prepping for the new season of tourists and visitors. He kissed me right here,” he placed two fingers on the back of his neck behind his ear. “I remember it was soft, and then his hands were on my body, everywhere, touching me as though he had every right to, and it was so…” He drifted off, remembering the smell of the dirt, sweat, musk, horses, Mateo. “…hot. It didn’t feel wrong. I felt safe with him, and I had never been so aroused in my life. I wasn’t experienced like he was.”
“Was he older?”
“Early thirties.”
John nodded, smiling. “So, is that where your thing for older guys started?”
He considered this and shook his head. “After him, I went off to college and had sex with guys my age. It was different. It was more just to get off, and it felt a bit selfish. Don’t get me wrong, I had fun, but the sex wasn’t as exciting. Then med school happened, and I kinda got lost for a while. And then I came to yourhospital and realized the senior resident with the gray in his beard and kind eyes was someone I desperately wanted to hear cum for me.”
John’s cheeks flushed, and he pinched his inner thigh. “You’re getting off topic.”
“Sorry,” he tossed him a cool smile. “So, Mateo and I had a good season. A really good season. And then it ended, pretty abruptly after my dad found us. I left the ranch and stayed with my aunts for a while, trying to figure out my life. One day, I got word that a ranch hand and a horse had gotten hurt.” A wave of emotion washed over him like it always did when he told this story. “It was Mateo. The horse got spooked on a tough trail up a mountain pass, fell, and crushed him. Broke his spine and right leg. The horse had to be put down on the trail—they couldn’t save her.”
“Jesus. I’m so sorry,” John murmured.
“I visited him a few times in the hospital. His doctor…” Wyatt shook his head, anger filtering through his bloodstream. “His doctor told him he’d probably never ride a horse again, and something broke in Mateo. He went into surgery and never came out.”
