Chapter One 

“Tad! Tad, we’re over here, man!” 

Tad had just arrived, and his eyes were still adjusting to the low light in the bar, but he knew that voice well. His Friday night crowd was here and ready to party, and he was all in. He needed a beer first though, so he pointed to the bar, and Cooper gave him a thumbs up. A shot and a beer, and then he’d pump some money into the jukebox. 

His Friday night crowd was all about putting the work week behind them, getting drunk and getting laid, and that was his expectation: to blow off some steam, get stupid, and find someone to take him home. 

Sheila was behind the bar, hair up in a messy bun, her T-shirt with the faded Guns and Roses cover on it just tight enough to get attention. “Tequila and a Shiner?” 

He nodded to a guy sitting at the bar and then smiled at her. “Man, I come here too often.” 

“Jack and Coke.” Sheila sat the drink down on the bar in front of the cowboy and pulled down a bottle of tequila. 

“Thank you, ma’am.” Oh, that voice was slow and rough, like honey poured over river rocks. He took his ball cap off and tucked it in his pocket, then leaned an elbow on the bar. He did come here too often. Every Friday night and the occasional Monday through Thursday if he was bored, but he didn’t recall that voice; he’d have remembered it. 

“Tad!” He’d just been about to introduce himself when Cooper came over, cheeks glowing and eyes a little liquid. Someone had gotten quite a head start. “What is taking so long?” 

“I need a beer, bud. Give me a second.” 

Cooper hung on him and licked his ear. Did he want Cooper tonight? He’d been thinking maybe Rory. Cooper was sweet and a ton of fun, but usually only good for one round. Rory was heavy-handed and liked to draw things out, keep him up half the night. 

“Oh, Coop. Quit hanging on the man and let him have his drink.” Sheila set a shot down and his beer beside it. 

Cooper pulled back without arguing but pouted, lounging on a barstool beside him. “Bossy.” 

“Never change, Sheila.” Mmm. Bossy. Yeah, he set his mind on Rory. He picked up his shot, swallowed it down with salt but skipped the lime, going right for his beer instead. 

He glanced back over at Pretty Voice, finding a crisp white button-down shirt, a gray cowboy hat that cast a shadow, and one large, tanned hand with a gold nugget ring. Okay, that was fine as hell. 

Fine. Listen to him. How long had he been living in Austin now? Three years? Or, well seven if he counted his time at UT. He was losing Jersey and gaining words like “fine” and “y’all”. And his friends in both states teased him about it every chance they got. 

Still, fine was what it was about, wasn’t it? Guys in hats like that, hell not even as nice as that one, were the main reason he’d stayed here after he’d finished school. That, and he had no intention of ever working for his dad. 

Oh, and the music. He loved all the live music. 

But mainly it was the cowboys. 

“Okay, come on, baby.” Cooper got an arm around his narrow waist and tugged him right off his stool like he weighed nothing. He took another gulp of his beer and then dragged it off the bar as Cooper hauled him across the room. 

“Hey, Tad!” Half the crowd called his name at once, and he held up his beer, but he kept one eye on the bar. 

Oh. Wrangler butt. Nice. 

He swore that he could see the cowboy’s gaze following him all the way to their table. 

What was the universal sign for stay right there, and I’ll come say hi in a bit? Was there one? He was still working that out when someone took his beer. 

“Hey, sugar.” 

Oh. Rory. “Hey, there. That’s my beer.” 

“Uh-huh.” Rory took a sip without losing eye contact and handed it back to him. Damn, that was hot. Rory must be thinking what he’d been thinking because he couldn’t seem to look away all of a sudden. “Mmm. Shiner.” 

“My go-to.” 

“I know. Come sit.” Rory gestured to a chair at the end of the table, and he sat, making room beside him. 

“You think the cowboy at the bar knew what he was walking into?” Cooper asked. “This is not his crowd.” 

He looked over at the bar again; he’d take any excuse at this point. “I don’t know. What brings a man like that into this part of town anyway?” 

“Oh, that’s a good game.” Rory slid a hand into his hair and tugged just a little. “Maybe he’s investing in something. Building another strip mall.” 

“What? God, Rory. Use some imagination. He’s looking for someone who owes him money and was told the guy would show up here.” 

Tad snorted. “He’s…brooding. He had a bad breakup, and he needs to be where his friends won’t find him.” 

“Ooh. I like that one.” Rory gave his hair a playful tug and let him go. 

Juanito snorted. “He’s trolling for blowjobs, ese. You can tell by the boots.” 

“Yeah?” Cooper grinned wide. “Well, if that’s what he wants then he is in the right place after all!” That got a laugh from all of them. 

He wondered if it mattered that he was hoping Cooper was right. He wasn’t sure he was going to be able to break away from everybody—from Rory in particular—long enough to even get the cowboy’s name. 

Sheila poured the cowboy another round, laughing at something he said. He pushed money across the bar, and that made her smile even bigger. 

All right, Pretty Voice was staying. 

“TGIF!” Rory’s deep voice growled, and they all clinked beer glasses. 

“Long week?” He asked first, so nobody would ask him. 

“You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.” Rory said that every time someone asked. He worked in the prosecutor’s office, and he always had good stories. He was right too. Tad almost never believed him. People were crazy. 

“Mine was fine. The rush is over for another semester. Shit, why I became a financial aid administrator is beyond me.” Cooper grinned over, eyes catching the swirling lights. “Who’s drunk enough to dance with me?” 

More dancing, less talking. He tipped his beer back and chugged down the second half, then slammed it down on the table. “Me. Soon enough.” Not really, but he wanted to dance anyway. Coop was pure sex on the dance floor. And Rory liked to watch. 

Cooper took his hand, and Tad followed willingly, right out into the middle of the floor where the lighting was purple. 

The music thumped, the floor vibrating with the sound. Cooper grabbed him, writhing against him like a slut, and damn, it felt good. 

He was happy to play with Cooper and enjoy a little of the buzz from his tequila. This was what Friday nights were for. And then tomorrow, like nearly every Saturday night, he’d hit a different kind of bar and see if anyone was looking for a boy like him. 

Cooper covered one ass cheek with a hot hand, and he looked up, and then toward the edge of the dance floor to see if Rory was watching. Rory was kissing Juanito, but the cowboy? That one was watching him like a hawk. 

Damn, had he lost Rory? What were the chances that cowboy would leave the barstool? It seemed like the man might be happy to sit there and watch him all night. Well, he could have fun with that, show off a little, build a little steam under that gray hat. He made a point of staring back, and then turned his attention back to Cooper. 

“Rory’s just trying to make you jealous, rev you up, man.” Cooper licked his ear, bit his earlobe. “We’ll give him something to watch.” 

“You just like showing off.” He liked Cooper’s brand of flirting, and he liked that his buddy seemed to get that he wanted more than something sweet tonight. He let Cooper handle him a little, spin him, pull him in close, kiss him quick and hard enough to make him blink. He smiled. “You’re drunk, Coop, huh?” 

“I’m not hurting, honey, but I’ll remember this in the morning.” 

“When Rory takes me home, I’ll make sure you get into a cab.” He kissed Coop on the cheek. He thought Cooper was the closest he had to a best friend. They’d tried being more, but neither of them was enough for the other that way. It didn’t stop them from taking advantage of some benefits now and then, though. 

“You’re a good guy. I wonder if the pretty cowboy dances?” 

“Nah. Not here. He’s a two-step guy, don’t you think? Isn’t that how that type rolls? He drinks Jack and Coke. That’s all I really know about him.” That, and he’s been watching me since I walked in. That was fair; he’d had his eye on the cowboy too. 

“Classic. Classier than beer. Dressed to the nines.” 

Maybe Cowboy had stopped after supper or a meeting. 

“Right? You think Juanito is right about his boots?” He winked at Cooper. 

“What do I know about cowboy boots, honey?” Coop scoffed. “Juanito isn’t exactly Western.” 

He laughed. “I thought you knew everything about men. Wasn’t it you that told me that? Oh my.” 

How shocked was he when a blond and smiling hottie danced in between them, sights set on Cooper? Far be it from him to come between his friend and a good time. He waved over the guy’s shoulder and winked, then made his way off the dance floor. 

Oh rats, he’d finished his beer. He’d just have to head back to the bar for another. 

The cowboy was still sitting there, strong and silent and still and sexy as fuck. God, he loved that stoic cowboy thing. Just getting close to that energy made his skin tingle. Made him want to hit his knees. 

“Sheila, I lost my dance partner!” He was going to say something to the guy. He didn’t know what yet, but something. 

“Oh, no! What are you going to do?” Sheila winked at him. 

“I’ll have what he’s having.” 

“You sure?” 

He gaped at her, jaw dropping. “Yes, please, bartender.” 

Sheila just shook her head at him, laughing. “Coming right up, honey. Sit.” 

He did sit, one stool over from Cowboy. Despite the way he’d been watched, he was still getting a bit of that arm’s length vibe. “Hey. TGIF, huh?” 

The cowboy turned to look at him, near-black eyes burning at him like a demon’s over sharp cheekbones and a trimmed dark beard. “You know it, honey. Long damn week.” 

His heart rate sped as he looked into those eyes, and he was thoroughly intimidated. Not scared, not worried, but he definitely had respect. And, Jesus, that voice made his balls ache a little. “Want to talk about it?” 

“Nothing much to talk about. Had a good friend and a good man pass away. We put him in the ground today.” 

“Oh. God, I—I’m so sorry about your friend. He lived in town?” 

“Jack and Coke. Enjoy.” Sheila winked at him and set it on the bar. 

“My treat,” the cowboy said, sliding a bill across the bar. “Dave was a local, yeah. We were frat brothers.” 

“Thank you, sir. UT? Which house?” He picked up the drink and took a sip, wincing a little at his first taste of the Jack, but mostly it went down pretty well. He looked at the glass. “Not bad.” 

“Fiji, and yeah, I’m a fifth-generation Longhorn. Hook ’em.” 

“Hook ’em.” He did love football. He held up his glass and took another sip. That one went down better. Fiji. Damn. The guy must have been deep in the closet, or richer than God. Which, okay. Look at the guy’s hat. “Fifth-gen? When did you graduate?” 

“I got my undergrad in ’09, my graduate degree in ’11. How about you?” The gravel never left the man’s voice, never smoothed out. “I’m straight, by the way.” 

The cowboy held out one hand. 

What? That was impossible. He shook hands with the guy. “Class of 2015. And you have no idea how sorry I am to hear that.” 

“Pardon?” He got a blink, a single raised eyebrow, and then a grin appeared. “No. No, honey, that’s my name. Strait, like King George. Strait McMasters.” 

“Oh! Oh my God. I’m so sorry.” Ordinarily he’d feel like an idiot, but the cowboy—Strait had to get that all the damn time, right? “Tad Dawson. Man, that’s a name, huh? Your parents gave you some big shoes to fill.” 

Class of 2009 made Strait…thirty? Thirty-one? But that voice and the look in those dark eyes…the man came across older. 

“Indeed. Daddy’s a big fan.” 

Tad was fascinated by the way Strait’s hand wrapped around the glass, brought the whiskey up to his lips. Those lips were pretty interesting too. They definitely had his attention. 

“His name doesn’t come up often where I’m from in New Jersey, but I was schooled big-time once I got here. I joke that I stayed for the music, but it’s actually pretty true. I love the music scene here.” And men like Strait were another reason. Though he couldn’t say he’d met anyone quite like this cowboy. 

“Yeah, there’s nowhere quite like Austin. It’s special.” 

“What are you drinking?” Rory’s hand landed on the small of Tad’s back, as Rory reached around to grab his glass. 

“Jack and Coke.” He covered his glass with one hand. “Rory, this is Strait. Strait buried a friend today. I’m keeping him company for a while.” 

Rory stopped short, stood, and held out one hand. “Man, I’m sorry. That sucks.” 

“You know it.” Strait shook with Rory. “Pleased.” 

“Rory’s another Longhorn, a couple of years before me. 2012? Is that right?” 

“You got it. You look a little out of place, Strait. How’d you end up in this bar tonight? Don’t seem like your crowd.” 

“The wake was three doors down. I wanted a drink before I headed home.” 

“I’m glad you picked this place.” 

Rory looked at him with one eyebrow raised. “Ah. So, I think I left Juanito alone over there.” Rory turned to Strait. “Sorry about your friend. Good to meet you. Safe home.” 

He winked at Rory and squeezed his friend’s hand before Rory headed back toward the dance floor. 

Those dark eyes landed on him with an almost physical weight. “Did I piss off your lover?” 

He stared into them a second, so infatuated with Strait. Then he blinked and laughed. “No. God, no. He’s a fuckbuddy, not a lover. A good one, but just a friend. And he knows me well enough to understand what I meant when I said I was glad you ended up here.” 

“Yelp said it was friendly, and I’m not looking for a fistfight.” Those eyes dragged over his body, making it clear what Strait was looking for. 

“Not a fistfight, no. No.” He moved over to the empty stool between them and played with the fabric of Strait’s dress shirt. “But I’m sometimes…difficult. I like a little convincing.” 

“Do you now.” It didn’t sound like a question, not really. Just a statement. “I wouldn’t mark that pretty face of yours with a fist.” 

He shook his head. “I won’t consent to that anyway. But…” He reached out and pushed back the cuff of his shirt, letting Strait see the faded marks from last weekend’s play. 

“Damn, honey, you got you some bruises. I hope it was worth it.” Strait traced the marks with one fingertip, sending lightning through his arm. 

He wasn’t sure how to feel about the light touch over a spot that had been so roughly used just a week ago. It felt good, kind. Not at all like the Dom who had put the marks there. “I got what I needed.” 

It had been his third time with Bryce. He’d even thought about texting and seeing if the Dom wanted to go for four. Bryce was heavy-handed and rough as hell, but the Dom respected his few rules, played safe, and got him out of his head. He just wished he liked Bryce better. They played well, but they’d never be friends. 

He covered Strait’s fingers with his other hand and leaned in close. Close enough to allow a kiss. “You’ve had your eye on me since I walked in.” 

“I have. You walk like you know how to take it good and hard, and you have a mouth made for sucking.” 

Mother of God. 

Every nerve in his body responded to that: his heart raced, his face flushed hot, and his cock went from interested to…well, fuck. He wasn’t sure he could get up and walk right now. He closed the short distance between them like he’d been summoned, pressing his lips to Strait’s. 

One hand cupped the back of his head, tilting his face and holding him so Strait could take his lips, demanding control of the kiss and fucking his lips like he was storming a beach. 

Fuck, yeah. He didn’t think he’d ever been kissed like this in a bar before. Or anywhere. Strait’s complete focus made him groan, made him want to leave the bar and get naked. 

Right. Now. 

He let Strait have control for a second, but just long enough to show he was willing before he fought back, tongue shoving and defending. Tad knew he’d lose; he was looking forward to it, but he wanted the cowboy to know he wasn’t an easy mark. 

Strait chuckled softly into their kiss, those eyes watching him as Strait eased back. “This isn’t the place for this, honey.” 

God, even that laugh sounded like it was running over gravel. He liked it, the sound and the intention both. 

“No, Sir.” He took a breath and one more sip of his drink, then slid off his barstool. “My place?” He knew his buddies were watching and probably just as stunned as he was. The phone call from Cooper tomorrow would be epic. 

“Works for me. I’m parked right outside. You want to ride or follow me?” 

He smiled as sweetly as he could manage at Strait. “Can I trust you with my virtue? No? Good. We can take your car. Mine stays in the garage when I’m drinking.” 

“Good boy. I had two. I’m good to drive.” Strait caught Sheila’s gaze and shot her a smile. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” 

Sheila grinned back. “Y’all have a good night. Be good to our boy.” 

“Night, Sheila. Here comes Coop to get the gossip.” He waved to Cooper who gave him two thumbs up and the universal sign for “call me tomorrow”, then he hooked his arm through Strait’s, and they headed out the door.