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His passion came through on the subject, and Kieran was envious. He’d always felt aimless and uncertain. What must it be like to wake up with a purpose each morning? Even his artwork had been more of a hobby. He didn’t get very far in his pondering before they arrived back at the ranch. Once more, the sheer beauty of the property struck Kieran. He spotted Finley in the paddock with a few horses when Rueben parked the car. His blond hair shone like a beacon in the sunshine, and Kieran had never wanted to go to the light more than he did right then. Rueben snickered when he pushed his door open, and Kieran knew he’d caught him ogling Finley.
“See you tonight, Kier,” Rueben said as he walked toward his cabin.
Kier?No one had ever shortened his name. It was Kieran or some expletive. When he climbed out of the truck, he felt Finley’s eyes on him. The desire to look back and offer a simple wave was strong, so he kept walking. He tossed his clothes from the thrift store into the center of his soiled bedding, then bundled it all up and headed to the laundry room attached to the general store. He brought his paperback, sketchpad, a charcoal pencil from the art kit, and the deck of cards. Kieran wasn’t sure how many machines there were, and he couldn’t stand idle hands. Luckily, there were several washers and dryers, so he could use two machines at once and finish quickly. Ninety minutes later, he’d read a quarter of the book and played several rounds of solitaire. The notebook and pencil remained untouched. He hadn’t sketched in so long and doubted his ability. And worse, despite the amazing scenery everywhere around him, Kieran was only interested in drawing one subject, and he couldn’t allow it. Drawing a person felt as intimate to him as sex, and the last thing he could afford to do was obsess over perfectly capturing Finley’s incredible bone structure. But damn, the man was made to be sketched and appreciated.
As if Kieran had conjured him out of thin air, Finley walked into the laundry room with an overflowing basket of dirty clothes. He stiffened in the doorway and looked unsure if he should come in or not.
“Want me to come back?”
“No,” Kieran replied truthfully. The ranch was Finley’s home, and he didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable. “There’s plenty of room.”
Finley carried his burden to the washing machines and set it down with a thud. A light blue jockstrap fell off the top of the pile and landed on the floor. Kieran’s fingers itched to pick up his pencil and sketch Finley laid out wearing nothing but the skimpy scrap of fabric. Christ, that bubble butt framed by pale blue strips of fabric… That wasn’t all he was itching to do. The urge to pick up the jockstrap and sniff it nearly bowled him over. What the hell was wrong with him? Sure, he’d deprived himself of sexual stimulation and relief, but he was worried about himself.
“Oh god,” Finley groaned as he leaned over to pick the jockstrap up off the concrete floor. Kieran imagined him saying those words while beneath him in bed. “I do or say the most embarrassing things when you’re around.” Finley quickly turned his back on him to load the washer, allowing Kieran to adjust his crotch.
The buzzer on his dryers went off, and Kieran launched out of his seat like a rocket. Christ, he had no chill. Kieran took the clothes from one dryer and added them to the one with the sheets, then wadded everything up again. Would Finley want to know why he was washing his sheets already? Would Kieran answer honestly if he asked?
“Want to borrow my basket?” Finley asked.
Kieran tucked his bundle of clean clothes under one arm and said, “I got it, but thanks. See you later.”
“Wait!”
He jerked and spun around, nearly colliding with Finley, who held the stuff he’d left on the table. “Oh, yeah,” he said, accepting the neatly stacked bundle. “Thanks.”
“Sure.” Finley didn’t look quite certain what to do with his hands and tucked them into his front pockets. “Did anyone tell you about poker night?”
“Rueben did.”
“Well, I hope you join us.”
Us?Rueben had said Finley didn’t play. What had changed? “Yeah? You any good?” Was this what happened when a person basically quit talking for nearly two years? He’d never been a great communicator, but this was ridiculous. “At poker,” he added lamely.
Finley’s eyebrows arched toward his hairline, and an impish smile curved his full lips. “Damn good.” The heat shimmering in his gaze said he was definitely not referring to poker.
A persistent voice insisted he should stay the course and search Cash’s house. It started loud but reduced to a barely audible whisper as Kieran’s blood ran south and his mind flirted with the gutter. “Guess you’ll have to show me what you got.”
“Guess I will.”
“See you at seven,” Kieran tossed out after he left the laundry room.Stupid, stupid, stupid.Then he recalled the heat in Finley’s gaze and that skimpy blue jockstrap on the ground. He wouldn’t take it back even if he could. He’d search the house another time.
Finley stood rooted to the same spot for several moments after Kieran disappeared from sight. Were they flirting? It sure felt like it. Was six months away from the dating scene long enough to forget the basics? Maybe that was why he’d stumbled all over himself since Kieran had arrived on the ranch…yesterday.Finley had to keep reminding himself that he’d only known the guy for twenty-four hours. Their acquaintance wasn’t nearly long enough to justify the hold Kieran had on his thoughts and emotions. Finley had always believed one should strike while the iron was hot, but this was ludicrous, even for his standards.
He forced himself to focus on the task at hand and turned back to the row of laundry machines. His gaze landed on the blue fabric on top of the clothes pile. Heat crept up his neck as his brain replayed the jockstrap incident in slow motion. Thethunkof the plastic basket hitting the concrete, followed by the mound of clothes teetering before settling again. Then that insignificant scrap of blue fabric with a mind of its own toppling to the ground like a bright blue flag in a sea of gray machines and concrete floors. He’d been mortified until he saw the hungry expression on Kieran’s face.
Hell yes, they’d been flirting, and wasn’t that what he wanted when he’d orchestrated their run-in? The washer and dryer at the old homestead were in use, but he could’ve waited for them to become free. It wasn’t like he had big plans later. But Finley had chosen to drag his overflowing basket of clothes to the crew’s laundry room because he’d seen Kieran go in there earlier. He tried to convince himself that it was just curiosity and not him giving in to the magnetic pull he felt toward Kieran. But he’d never grow and change bad habits if he continued lying to himself, so he acknowledged the hard truths. He’d purposely sought out Kieran because he wanted to be near him, even though Kieran was giving him lukewarm signals, aloof ones at best. Yet there were moments when Finley witnessed something delicious sparking in his dark gaze, and he felt a resounding howl in his soul. A persistent voice whispered that Kieran needed him, that they needed each other. The question was: what was Finley prepared to do about it? He closed his eyes and inhaled a deep cleansing breath. He felt calmer and more focused when he reopened his eyes. The answer arrived swiftly and resolutely.Nothing.
Kieran’s arrival changed zilch. Finley’s love life was still on hiatus. He was determined to turn over a new leaf and only engage in healthy romantic relationships, but only after he sorted himself out. The pull he felt toward Kieran was nothing more than horniness. Finley snorted when he realized that the howling he’d heard was probably coming from his mournful libido. He was just horny, which explained the dildo incident that had left him sore enough to attract notice. It was also the reason he lied to Kieran about being good at poker just to have an excuse to be near him. He’d never played poker a day in his life. Though he knew enough about the game to know his fib was called a bluff, which Kieran would call during their first hand.
Finley could always claim his boast was about something else entirely, but that would lead him into dangerous territory. He should make an excuse to back out of playing and busy himself doing anything else. But would spending another Saturday night in solitude be the best way to combat his loneliness? Or should he start working on strengthening his resistance to Kieran by placing himself around him more often? Didn’t his mother have a meditation lesson on exposing oneself to temptations to build resistance? Avoidance hadn’t worked out for him, so Finley decided to try exposure in a controlled environment. He and Kieran would be surrounded by people at the poker game. What could be the harm? Other than humiliating himself when it became obvious he wasn’t a card shark.
The solution was simple. He’d overheard the guys use terms like “five-card stud,” “jacks or better to open,” and “progressive” enough to know they were significant. He typed the words into YouTube and found a host of tutorial videos on how to play the game and spot other players’ tells. Two hours later, Finley was confident he could bullshit his way through one evening. If he tanked, he could just blame it on luck, which wasn’t exactly going his way lately. As game time approached, his confidence faltered, and he redirected his energy into something useful. He located Ivan in their kitchen. The big guy had a cell phone in one hand and a takeout menu in the other.
“Mind if I take over food duties for the night?” Finley asked. “I thought we might expand the menu a little.”
Ivan arched a brow but handed Finley the menu. “You’recoming to poker night?”
“Yep.”
