02-Let It Ride (8 page)

“Thanks again. For the lesson,” Eric said quietly.

“Anytime.” Bridge smiled, holding Eric’s stare a moment longer, then Eric turned and jogged toward the main clubhouse. When Eric was out of sight, Bridge turned to Kent. It was clear from the intent way Kent watched him that he was out of free passes. “Go on. Spill it,” he said, resigned.

Kent didn’t hesitate. “You know I’m the first to say go for it if you’re attracted to someone, right? I love you like a brother and only want you to be happy, no matter who that’s with. But . . .” He paused, and the note of warning in his tone was unmistakable. “If this is just a curiosity thing about being with men, in general, don’t experiment with Eric. He’s been a good friend to us all, and I’d hate to see him get fucked over.”

Bridge jerked back. Kent may as well have punched him in the gut. “Dude. You know I’d never do that.”

“I know you never would in your heart or your mind”—Kent’s tone softened—“but I also know your dick doesn’t give a shit. If you find yourself in a hot and heavy corner, you’ll go with it, consequences be damned. So I’m just saying, if it’s curiosity, find someone else. Okay?”

Bridge scowled and turned away. “Okay. Got it,” he snapped, his voice gruff. He resented that Kent thought he could toy with Eric like that. Yes, he’d been worried about whether or not he was really attracted to Eric in particular or if, for some strange reason, it was long-forgotten desires that had risen to the surface again that he wanted to explore. But in spending more time with Eric, he knew the answer to that now, without a doubt. He was attracted to Eric and only Eric. In every way.

But at the same time, what else could Kent think? Bridge hadn’t brought everyone else up to speed yet. Kent didn’t know how long he’d been working this attraction through—didn’t even know he’d explored before. Bridge sighed. First he had to talk to Eric.

Later that night, after the poker game and another Cory visit had wrapped, and after Marty and Tripp had made another quick exit, Eric took his time putting away the last of the cards and chips.

“Okay, ladies. I’m calling this day done too,” Kent said. He leveled a warning glare at Bridge, who was chucking beer cans into a box on the ground by the cooler, and then pulled the door to their RV open. “Don’t stay up all night talking about boys.”

The metal door clapped shut behind him, and then it was just the two of them and the suddenly-too-still night.

“What was that look?” Eric walked over to toss the empty beer can he’d been holding on to like a security blanket into the box at Bridge’s feet.

Bridge shrugged. “Nothing.” He half turned, like he was about to head out for the night, even though he’d told Eric earlier that he wanted to talk to him after the game. A part of Eric didn’t want Bridge to leave yet, but the idea of what Bridge might want to talk about had his nerves strung tight. Bridge shoved his hands in his pockets and settled those beautiful brown eyes on him.

“Got something I want to ask you.” He looked a bit uncomfortable, like he really didn’t want to ask but was forging ahead anyway.

Eric nodded. “Okay.” He wasn’t sure he wanted to answer the question he knew was coming either. It definitely had to do with the looks and innuendo Bridge had been throwing at him lately, but nervous energy radiated from the man in waves and Eric felt a rising need to ease his anxiety.

“Look, I hope this doesn’t freak you out.” Bridge took off his hat, ran a hand through his unruly blond locks, and then gripped the brim of the hat in both hands, fidgeting with the felt edges instead of putting it back on. Trepidation danced in the depths of his gaze, but his eyes remained on Eric. “I know you don’t think I’m gay. No one does. Well, maybe not so much lately, but . . . if you thought I was, would you . . .” Bridge swallowed audibly. “Would you be interested in me? That way?”

Ka-boom.
Didn’t get much more point-blank than that.

He searched Bridge’s eyes—open, honest, scared. So many emotions gathered there, but the one standing out the most was hope. Gay or not, Bridge seemed genuinely interested in him. And what could he say? Hell yes, he was interested right back, but that didn’t erase the fear. When Bridge realized Eric wasn’t worth it—which he would, just like everyone else had his whole life—he’d lose not only Bridge’s friendship, but Marty, Tripp and Kent’s, too.

“Bridge. Um . . .”

“Shit, now I’ve made you uncomfortable.” Bridge looked away, and Eric’s chest clenched. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

Before he knew it, he’d reached out and wrapped his hand lightly around Bridge’s bare wrist, the skin there warm and firm, sending electric charges up Eric’s arm. “No, no. We’re good. I swear. It’s just . . .”

“Just what?”

Eric didn’t miss the hopeful undertone in Bridge’s question, the way he seemed to lean forward ever so slightly.

“It’s just that . . .” Eric chewed his lip, trying to corral his thoughts, but the heat that radiated into his palm where it connected with Bridge’s bare skin kept interfering with his thought process. “You aren’t gay. And we’re good friends.”

“Well . . . do I have to be gay to be interested?” A hint of a smile lifted one side of Bridge’s mouth. “And don’t they say best friends make the best lovers?”

Holy shit.
This was not going to go easy. Eric cleared his throat—twice—and dropped his hand from Bridge’s wrist. He couldn’t touch the sexy cowboy and think clearly at the same time. “Generally, men who are attracted to other men are gay . . .”

“But some men are attracted to both men and women.”

“Bisexual,” Eric said.

Bridge shook his head and made a face—annoyed, impatient, amused, and completely adorable. “Closer, but how about if we just say I’m attracted to you?”

Bridge studied him for a moment that seemed to go on for far too long. Long enough for Eric to imagine sparks shooting between them. Though that was probably from the fading embers of the small campfire they’d had going earlier, he told himself.

“
Are
you saying you’re attracted to me?” The words drifted out on a whisper so soft, Eric could barely hear his own voice. A little flicker of hope lit in the depths of his mind, but he forced it back into the dark.

Bridge nodded, and his smile widened. “Definitely.”

“But . . .” Eric’s thoughts warred with each other, one part jumping for joy and another looking for the closest window to jump out of and run. “Since when?”

“Since you came to the hospital to check up on Marty last year.”

“What?” Eric’s voice cracked, and his eyebrows rose so high they seemed to be trying to weave into his hairline.

Bridge looked down at his feet, kicked at the dirt with the toe of his boot, his smile turning shy. “Well, I didn’t really know what was going on then. Lots of feelings I hadn’t felt in a really long time. Only stronger. But then over the winter, I started having these dreams . . .” He glanced up and the heat in his eyes singed the surface of Eric’s skin. “Really erotic dreams, and that’s when—”

“Stop.” Eric raised a hand and took a step back. “You don’t just suddenly realize you’re gay at twenty-five—”

“Eight. But thank you.”

He groaned. “Whatever. Being attracted to the same sex is something you pretty much know from a young age.”

“It’s not sudden, and I’m not gay. I like women too. And you.”

Eric dropped his chin to his chest and sighed. “Bridge . . . you’re killing me here.”

“I’ve been with a man before.” Bridge’s voice was quiet, conspiratorial sounding. “Once, in college, and it was seriously hot. You’re the first person I’ve ever told, by the way. But then I met this girl and just figured I was straight, mostly, so everyone else thought the same thing. I met a few guys over the years that I thought were hot, but none made me want to act on it.” Bridge took a step closer, eating into the space Eric had put between them. “And then you came along, and you make me want to act on that. You’re all I can think about.”

Bridge tossed his cowboy hat onto the cooler by the trailer and took another step forward. “Tell me I’m not alone here.”

You’re not!

He looked up into Bridge’s eyes, at the naked desire he saw there, the fervent anticipation. “It’s not that. We’re friends. Good friends, and I value that too much to risk losing it, losing all of you guys, if we cross that line and it doesn’t work.” He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the dimming flare of hope in that gold-flecked gaze. “And you know, like, you don’t move in with your best friend from high school because that’s the fastest way to destroy your friendship. So getting romantically involved with your best friend is kind of the same deal.”

Bridge frowned. “Kent and I bought a ranch together when we finished college. It’s been six years. And we’ve been best friends, hung out pretty much every day of our lives, since we were in diapers.”

Okay, maybe that wasn’t the best example.
“So, you’re the exception to the rule.”

Bridge smiled. Slow and seductive, confusing the signals in Eric’s brain almost as effortlessly as touching him had. “No reason we can’t be an exception to the rule too.”

“But it’s still not a good idea because we’re good friends, and far too often, a sure way to fuck up a good friendship is to, well . . .
fuck
it up.”

“Okay. I’ll give you that, in some cases. But sometimes best friends make the best roommates, like Kent and me. So it stands to reason that sometimes best friends can also make the best lovers.” Bridge took another step, putting himself so fully in Eric’s space that the heat radiating off the man’s solid frame drifted over him like a summer-morning mist. Then the expression on Bridge’s face changed, closed somehow. His eyes hardened, and he retreated a couple of steps. “Sure. I get it.” He bent to collect his hat and settled it back on his head. “Some friendships are too valuable to fuck up.”

“Yeah.” Eric’s chest constricted, his lungs squeezing tighter instead of relaxing in relief. That was what he wanted, right? To stay friends, and only friends. So why did Bridge agreeing to let it go gouge his insides like this?

Bridge moved to walk around him, and Eric fought harder than he’d thought he’d have to not to reach out for the man. Bridge kicked dirt onto the last glowing ember in the fire pit, ensuring it was completely out. Eric frowned. Why couldn’t his attraction to Bridge be so easily doused?

When Bridge turned around, Eric was still standing there, watching him. His face in shadow, but somehow clearer. The more Eric had argued about not wanting to risk their friendship, the more he saw it for the lie it was. Eric’s eyes, his body language, told a different story. Something had Eric spooked, that much he could tell, but the idea that he wouldn’t even give them a shot rankled Bridge. Maybe it was a bad idea, but what if it wasn’t? And right now, the way Eric stood there looking at him like a steak he wanted to dig into did nothing to convince Bridge they could ever stay just friends.

And then Eric’s tongue snaked out and ran along his top lip. The action seemed more absent than deliberate, but it was enough for Bridge.

“Goddamn it, Eric.” He reached out and grabbed the front of Eric’s shirt, pulling him closer until their chests bumped together and he froze. He stared into Eric’s eyes, searching for a sign that he’d gone too far, already crossed the imaginary friends-only line, but all he saw was his own need reflected back. Eric’s breath ghosted over his mouth, his cheek, and sent a rush of burning desire to all points. Bad idea or not, he didn’t care. He’d wanted Eric for too long.

Bridge groaned, but it felt more like a growl with the way it tore a path through his throat. “You make me want to fuck it all up.”

Before Eric could respond, he dipped his head down and claimed Eric’s mouth. The first touch sent a jolt of electricity through him, igniting every nerve ending in his body. But Eric remained still, unresponsive, and for a heart-stopping second that seemed to stretch forever, Bridge worried that he really did just cross a line and fuck everything up. He began to pull back, to plead some kind of temporary insanity or a glitch in the time-space continuum to try to rewind and leave everything as it had been, when Eric’s arms snaked around Bridge’s waist and held him, tight. A rumbling moan drifted between them, and Eric pressed his tongue to the seam of Bridge’s lips. He opened, and Eric slipped inside.