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“Tuesday,” he whispered.
Kieran blinked. “Huh?”
“That’s my next day of kitchen duties.”
“Oh, yeah,” he replied, pushing back from the table. Finley stood up when Kieran did, though he didn’t know why, and when Kieran exited the dining room, Finley followed. Kieran turned and faced him at the front door. “I should stay and help you clean up.”
“No way,” Finley replied. He could see the protest forming on Kieran’s lips and needed to thwart him. He suspected Kieran had made the offer because he was reluctant to part ways too. Finley was teetering on the precipice like his stupid blue jockstrap on the mountain of laundry. One false move and he and all his effort would topple onto the concrete. “That wasn’t part of the wager.”
They simultaneously reached for the door handle and their hands collided and lingered. Finley snapped up his gaze to meet Kieran’s and saw the awareness flickering there too. They both took a half step closer, and Finley felt Kieran’s body heat radiating off him. The battle of needs and wants waged inside him until he couldn’t tell which category Kieran fell into. Did he want to kiss him or did he need it? Kieran took a deep breath, then stepped back and dropped his hand from on top of Finley’s.
“I had a great time, Eight Mile,” he whispered.
“I did too, Kier.”
“You’re as good as advertised,” Kieran replied with a teasing lift at the corner of his mouth.
“Not bad for my first time.”
Kieran narrowed his eyes. “You’ve got to be fucking with me.”
Finley quirked a brow and released the wickedest smile in his arsenal as he opened the front door. “You’d know it if I were. Sleep well.”
Kieran’s nostrils flared with his sharp inhale. “Sleep well,” he replied hoarsely.
Finley stood in the open doorway and watched him walk across the porch. When he reached the top step, he said, “Would you like to go to the art festival with me next weekend?”
Kieran stiffened but didn’t turn around. Finley hadn’t planned to say it, but he couldn’t exactly take it back. He could clarify that he meant the trip as a friendly excursion only.
“Yes,” Kieran said, then continued down the steps. “Goodnight.”
“’Night.”
Finley shut the door and leaned against the cool wood. What the hell just happened? And not just the parting bit. He’d cleaned house at poker, gotten out of kitchen duties for the week, and made plans with Kieran the following weekend. “What the hell just happened?” This time he voiced his thoughts out loud.
“Sounds to me like you ended your dry spell and have a date for next weekend,” Dylan replied.
Finley flinched and jerked his head toward the staircase where Dylan stood in a pair of boxers and a tank top.
“Not a date,” Finley told him.
Just two guys going to town to enjoy an art festival. Now he just needed to convince his heart.
Kieran’s gaze kept drifting from the hoof Finley cradled in his left hand to the perfect ass cradled by his too-tight denim. How the hell did he move as fluidly as he did without painful ramifications? Why couldn’t he quit staring at the man’s ass or stop fantasizing about him? Kieran had been there a week, and the only thing he’d accomplished was plowing his way through the bottle of Monkey Grease. To his defense, Cash had returned Sunday evening and hadn’t left since, eliminating the opportunity to search the big ranch house. The lack of circumstance should’ve made Kieran mad at himself for choosing poker with the crew over looking for his answers, but he’d had such a good time matching wits, a.k.a. flirting, with Finley that he couldn’t work up an ounce of regret. Instead, Kieran promised that he’d renege on the art festival trip if Cash left again the following weekend, but the ranch owner remarked at breakfast that he was looking forward to a quiet Saturday at home. Kieran wanted to be disappointed, but he was looking forward to the trip to Last Chance Creek with Finley.
“She needs her hooves trimmed,” Finley said, drawing Kieran’s attention back to the task at hand. Finley still held the horse’s foot in his hand, but he’d tipped his head back to peer up at Kieran, reminding him of the numerous fantasies he’d had of the man on his knees in front of him. His scalp prickled as his body started to heat. His expression must’ve tipped Finley off that his mind was elsewhere because he smirked and said, “Did you catch that?”
“Yes,” Kieran replied, though how he’d retained the knowledge was beyond him. He’d learned an overwhelming amount of information about horses over the past week. Harry had boasted that her oatmeal was excellent brain food and would stick to his ribs, providing vital energy for a physical workday. Kieran needed both things to keep up with his boss and his new responsibilities. Buttercup, the tawny horse, let out a noise that sounded like a snicker.Snitch. The horse whinnied and tossed her lustrous mane.
Finley looked up and volleyed his gaze between horse and man. “Why do I feel like I’m missing out on a private conversation?”
Kieran shrugged and stroked a hand over Buttercup’s muzzle. Finley sighed and shook his head before returning his attention to the horse’s hoof. “Do you remember how you can easily tell if it’s time for a trim?”
“You couldn’t draw a straight line from the coronet to her elbow,” Kieran replied.
“Technically, I couldn’t draw a straight line with a ruler, but you are correct. We need to let Rueben know so he can give her a pedicure.” Finley released Buttercup’s foot, then stood up to move to her other front leg. A soft hiss escaped his lips, and a wince flashed across his handsome features.
Kieran narrowed his eyes and caught a slight hitch in Finley’s step as he moved to Buttercup’s flank. It was similar to the one he’d witnessed the previous Saturday. Maybe wearing those tight jeans was cutting off the circulation to his nether regions or perhaps he needed the salve more than Kieran had. He saw the same wince when Finley squatted to inspect the next hoof.
