Chapter One

Scooter settled on a bar stool, panting like a dog, laughing hard enough to beat the band. Lord, he hadn't been to the city in too long if a handful of dances felt so good. The big old cowboy grinning down on him was looking pretty damn good, too, all working-man muscle and barrel chest and sloe gin smile. Thank God for Austin and the Rainbow Room offering a redneck night. They'd found each other about an hour ago, found that his compact size fit right nice against big, tall and tanned.

Yeah. It'd been too damned long.

"You, uh, you want a beer, man?"

Beer. Blowjob. Little snuggle. He was easy.

"Bud Light, thanks." He stretched and hooked his boot heels into a rung on the stool, whistling away with the fiddle player on stage. The band wasn't great, but they were good enough that all you heard was the song, solid and relaxed, like they'd played these covers forever. Not only that, but there was a mandolin and a piano, so it felt like good old country.

Scooter approved.

Even if they did all wear big-assed Montgomery Gentry type hats so you couldn't hardly get a good look at 'em. He wasn't sure how he felt about that whole mysterious cowboy thing.

Well, it looked pretty damn good on McGraw…

The band finished their set to a smattering of applause that got covered up by George's new song on the juke box, the dance floor doing that ebb and flow thing that always happened between tunes. Oh, man. He loved this song. Made him bouncy and put him in the mind of Marty Robbins. Long-short-short, long-short-short.

A longneck appeared in front of him on the bar, wrapped in a nice little napkin and all. So sweet. Scooter grinned up as he nodded his thanks, the cold brew just what the doctor ordered. "Oh, hell yes. That's what I needed."

Oh, now, that was a sweet smile, just lighting up that tanned face. "Yeah. There ain't nothing like a cold one after dancing."

"No shit." Scooter chuckled and guzzled the second third of the beer, daring to reach out with the toe of his boot, rub once along the starched denim. He was leaning hard toward willing and able and God knew he'd have to get back home tomorrow. Ron Laring asked him to re-roof the First Baptist Church and he needed the job, needed the money. He needed an orgasm that didn't come from his own hand more, though. Hell, he hadn't been this close to willing and able since Chuck and Warren broke up and Chuck came looking for a willing relief and release going on two years ago. Lord.

Looked like the pretty cowboy was leaning too. Hooboy. One hand slid across the bar, fingertips just touching his wrist. "There's a little alley back there. Nice and quiet…"

Ew. Alleys. Cops. Dumpster stench. Nasty. Scooter thought on it. "How about the bathroom, honey? I don't need my ass tossed in the slammer for a friendly blowjob…"

"I…" Pretty Cowboy looked around, just a little nervous. Damn.

"Oh, for fuck's sake. The least you could do is offer the little guy a room. I mean, bloody fucking hell."

Continued in First Section