02-Let It Ride (14 page)

“Yeah, he’s been half in love with her forever, but”—another shiver rattled through him when Eric mouthed his earlobe, tugging it with velvety lips—“he figures she wouldn’t be interested in one of his brother’s ‘annoying’ roughneck friends.”

He pushed Eric’s shirt out of the way and went straight for one of those tight, exposed nipples, circling it with his tongue, sucking it into his mouth. The gasp that escaped Eric made him smile around the pebbled nub.

“And I thought he was the—Jesus, Bridge—smart one of the b-bunch.” Eric moved his hands to cup Bridge’s ass and pulled them tighter together, increasing the friction on his straining erection.

“I love that I just made you stutter,” Bridge whispered and moved to the other nipple, a swell of joy spreading throughout this chest. He did that to the sexy paramedic. Being able to give that to him, knowing he could, filled Bridge with a sense of contentment he hadn’t thought possible. Then he tugged at the belt of Eric’s pants. “But I want these off.”

“Mmm.” Eric released his ass and cupped his jaw, guiding him up until their mouths met. The open kiss started slow, his tongue joining Eric’s in a lazy dance, then a gentle tug on his lower lip, and he wanted to set that simmering passion free. He angled his head to deepen the kiss, ratchet it up to the next level, but Eric pulled back, easing his retreat with light quick kisses. “What about dinner?”

Bridge nuzzled into the groove of Eric’s neck and breathed in that familiar cologne that was all Eric, all addicting, and kissed the slightly salty skin there. “Don’t need food.”

“But wait. Twenty bucks? Where’d you send them, McDonald’s?”

Bridge huffed. Could the man just stop talking for five minutes? “God, you’re a mouthy SOB.”

“You like what I do with my mouth,” Eric teased and reached down to cup Bridge’s balls through his jeans, giving them a gentle but firm squeeze.

Bridge groaned—more like whined, if he were honest, because he would soon be in very real pain if he had to wait much longer—and rocked into the firm hold. “We’ve got enough time for a quickie before dinner, if you don’t waste every second of it yapping away.”

“You’re such a romantic.” Eric stepped back, and a seductive smile coaxed out Bridge’s favorite dimple. Eyes locked on Bridge’s, he finished unbuckling his pants, pulled the zipper, and gave his pants and underwear a shove down. Bridge could only stand still and soak in the sight of Eric standing before him, beautifully naked—save for the open shirt and jacket—and beautifully erect. Eric stepped out of the puddle of clothes at his feet and turned to retrieve them from the floor, spreading his legs as he bent down, and Bridge added
beautifully fuckable ass
to the list.

“I’m going to take a shower.” Eric stood, faced him, and lifted an eyebrow. “You could use one too.”

“Fuck,” he whispered.

“Oh, we will.” Eric walked backward slowly, fire blazing in his eyes. “But not before dinner.”

Eric shifted in his seat and looked around the quaint restaurant while they waited for their meals to arrive. The lights were low, intimate, a candle centered on each table, and quiet Latin music drifted from speakers hung in the corners of the ceiling. No loud mariachi music to encourage a fun, party atmosphere here. There were couples at every single table. No families, no large parties of friends celebrating or coworkers decompressing after a long day at the office. Everything about this restaurant screamed romantic evening out.

When Bridge had suggested they go out for Mexican, Eric had expected something much more casual, buffet style even, because they were just friends out for a meal, not a couple out on a date.

Definitely not on a date.

But a date would be nice, wouldn’t it?
Eric forced back the errant voice with a shake of his head. He didn’t want to want this. He couldn’t want it. He’d just lose it in the end. Like always.

A boot nudged the side of his foot and slid up his calf, jerking him from the beginnings of a mild panic. He turned to find concerned eyes on him.

“Are you okay?”

“This is not a date.” The words were out before Eric had even decided he was going to speak them. But they were right there on the end of his tongue and spilled out too quickly for him to corral.

Bridge blinked, sat back in his seat. “No. Of course not.” He dropped his gaze and adjusted the silverware in front of him, like he meant to line them up just right, but not before Eric saw that normally warm, comforting gaze cool and detach. A needle of guilt threaded into his chest. Shit. He didn’t want to end up hurt again, but he didn’t want to hurt Bridge in the process of protecting himself either.

“Then what are we doing here, Bridge?” He lowered his voice, softened his tone. “Look around. It’s all couples.”

Bridge didn’t meet his stare, just shrugged his shoulders in that way he did, like nothing could ever get to him, but Eric knew better. He’d seen the flash of disappointment in that open expression. He’d noticed the slight droop to Bridge’s broad shoulders when he’d blurted out that this wasn’t a date. Bridge had warned him from day one he’d want more, but Eric knew the easygoing cowboy would change his mind. When he did, Eric didn’t want to find himself so far down the rabbit hole that he’d never be able to get back out again.

Bridge glanced up quickly, his voice lacking its usual vibrancy when he said, “They have the best enchiladas in all of Central California. That’s all.”

Silence fell between them, and Eric scrambled for a way to fill it, a way to get them back to their easy camaraderie. He reached for his sangria, taking a long draught to quench his dry throat, and the otherwise low din of murmured voices around them grew louder.

“I’d like to learn how to rope,” he said a bit too loud. “If you were serious about teaching me.”

Bridge looked up, his eyes searching for a second, and then the light returned to them, and he smiled. “I’m always serious.”

“Liar.”

Bridge grinned, and just like that the listing ship righted. “We can start tomorrow.”

“Maybe you can teach me some knots that I can use to tie you up with later too.”

Bridge’s eyes widened, his cheeks pinked, and he opened his mouth—

“Here you are, guys.” Angela, their server, who was completely unaware of how poor her timing was, lowered a plate of steaming hot enchiladas in front of each of them. “Can I get you anything else?”

Bridge still seemed speechless, which made Eric chuckle softly under his breath. “I think we’re good here. Thank you.”

With a practiced smile and nod, she left them to their meals, and Eric looked back at Bridge, who just shook his head. “You’re an evil man, teasing me like that.”

Eric raised his eyebrows. “Who said I was teasing?”

Bridge groaned and then dug into his dinner. Easy conversation followed while Bridge highlighted the finer points of roping and regaled Eric with tales of his misspent youth on the rodeo circuit. Eric had to admit, even though he’d been a bit freaked about the date-like setting of the restaurant, they did have the best enchiladas he’d ever tasted, and the company and conversion were completely enjoyable and relaxing. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if this were a date. Dating could be casual—a step up from no-strings sex and a step down from a committed relationship. But he checked that thought. That road was all slippery slopes and man-sized potholes; it was too dangerous to navigate. Relationships only led to one thing: heartbreak.

More than two hours later, their plates were cleared, the check was delivered, and Eric felt like no time had passed at all. Which was both heartening and disconcerting.

“Come on. Let’s get outta here.” Bridge pulled his wallet from his back pocket, waving off Eric’s attempt to snag the check, and tossed a few bills on top of it. “You’re going to put out tonight, least I can do is buy you dinner.”

Eric laughed. “There you go being all romantic again.”

Bridge just waggled his eyebrows, and Eric gathered up his jacket and slid out of his chair. Expecting Bridge to have already started walking, leading the way out, he nearly collided with the big cowboy who stood like a brick wall staring at him. He leaned down, and Eric thought for sure Bridge was going to kiss him. Right there in the middle of the restaurant with everyone watching them. He didn’t mind PDA in places where he felt safe enough—if he was on a real date or out with a boyfriend, neither of which this was.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” Bridge whispered next to his ear. “I can’t wait to get you naked again.” Then he turned and walked away, casual as all get-out, like he hadn’t just shorted all the wires in Eric’s brain with that comment. Eric smiled and followed him outside. He couldn’t wait either.

His smile was still there when he stepped up beside Bridge on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, and the look he got in return was enough to make his knees weaken. Bridge reached out and clasped their hands together, lacing their fingers, and Eric froze. Panic rose in his chest even as he held on tighter.

“Friends don’t do this,” Eric said, an edge in his voice he couldn’t hide.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything. I just like touching you.”

That voice, those eyes . . .
Damn you, Bridge.
It didn’t have to mean anything, but deep down where he hid the things he didn’t want to acknowledge, he knew it did. Yet he nodded anyway and relaxed his hand, because no matter how much he tried to deny it, it fucking felt right.

The walk back to Bridge’s truck was short, and the streets were fairly quiet for a Friday night. But Folsom wasn’t a big city known for its nightlife. Three men rounded a corner, approaching from the opposite direction, and scowls marred their otherwise unforgettable faces the very second the men noticed Eric and Bridge’s clasped hands. He braced himself and sent a small prayer upward. Hopefully these guys weren’t the type to do more than show their disapproval with their eyes.

Eric kept his gaze straight ahead. Bridge seemed oblivious. But the approaching men’s stares were filled with so much baseless hate, it pricked at his skin, made him feel dirty, angry. He tried to pull his hand free again only for Bridge to give a reassuring squeeze. Did Bridge not realize what was going on here, what could happen?

They passed the trio without incident, if the man closest to Eric’s side deliberately slamming his shoulder could be considered a non-incident. Bridge looked down at him then, the hard frown on his face out of character and looking very wrong on the normally unflappable cowboy.

Then one of the men tossed a slur back at them.

As far as antigay invectives went, it wasn’t the worst Eric had ever heard, but that was beside the point. He’d long since learned to tune out any garbage spewing from the ignorant, uneducated, and simply mean-spirited. But he wasn’t worried about himself right now. It was Bridge. Who’d tensed beside him and stopped dead in his tracks.

Shit.

Eric tried to pull his hand free again, only to have the grip around it tighten. Bridge rounded on the men, pulling up to his full, intimidating height.

“Bridge,” Eric warned, tendrils of panic sliding into his chest. There was a time and place to confront, and it was not when outnumbered on a deserted street corner in the dark of night. “Leave it alone. They aren’t worth it.”

But Bridge didn’t seem to hear him.

“Hey.” The hard, sharp edge in Bridge’s tone brought Eric up short. He’d heard the unfriendly way in which Bridge had spoken to Tripp last summer, when he’d thought Tripp was being an asshole to Marty, but that hadn’t been anything to give him pause; it had only irritated him. This, though . . . Nothing compared to this dark, black sound coming from the man he associated with only light and laughter. “What did you just say?”

The three men turned around. The one in the middle looked pointedly down at their joined hands and then spat in their direction. “Ain’t got nothing to say to the likes of you.”

“Really?” Bridge gave Eric’s hand a squeeze before letting go and stepping into the men’s space. “Seemed you had a lot to say behind our backs a second ago. Why don’t you come closer and tell me to my face?”

While Eric appreciated Bridge stepping up to defend them, he wasn’t about to let the cowboy do it alone. He moved to stand shoulder to shoulder with Bridge, hands loosely fisted at his sides, stance widened, and eyes narrowed.

The men exchanged dubious glances with each other, and then Mr. Spitter spat again. This time the spray hit both their boots. He mumbled another string of tired slurs under his breath before the three of them turned and continued on at a brisk pace.

“Cowards.” Bridge looked at Eric, that unreadable expression Eric was really starting not to like still on his face. Without another word, he took Eric’s hand in his again and turned them back in the direction of the parking lot.

Silence followed them the rest of the walk back to the truck, and for the entire drive home. Eric couldn’t think of what to say through the conflicting emotions warring inside his mind. Pride that Bridge had stood up to the bullies and had called them out on their bullshit. But fear danced with that ray of pride. Certainly after something like that, which would unfortunately happen again and again, Bridge would realize getting involved with a man wasn’t worth it. Eric wasn’t worth it. He hadn’t been worth it for Jeremy or Ron. Hadn’t been worth it for his parents. Hadn’t been worth it for his foster parents . . .