The Wild Charge (Dartmoor Book 9)

Six

Tenny left Ian's office shaking his head at his own stupidity. He'd left the clubhouse earlier under the pretense of picking up supplies for tomorrow's errand to Tuscaloosa, sweat gluing his clothes to his skin, shaking and certain that a visit to Ian was in order. But when he'd stood on the threshold, and seen the dealer/entrepreneur there behind his desk, sunlight bright on his long, straight hair, his elegant, suit-clad form backlit by the window, eyes bright when they'd lifted to meet his – his courage had promptly fled. He'd felt like an idiot. And, worst of all, he'd blushed.

Tenny was no stranger to beautiful people. He'd manipulated and bedded his fair share. Admittedly, physically, Ian was very much his type – but, more captivating than that was the unshakeable knowledge that had slammed into him on their first meeting: that Ian had his own collection of masks. That, like Tenny, he was a master manipulator. And he'd never expected this cultured, refined, gorgeous, flattering, flirtatious, openly gay man with his bespoke suits and his low-lidded looks to be the sort of person the Dogs not only relied upon, but liked.

It had shocked him in a way that nothing else had. Had left him wrongfooted, and blushing like an absolute tit.

He'd thought he had that under control, but, well, clearly...

Had things been different, he would have propositioned Ian.

But, well, his stupid ass was in love. And Reese hadn't rejected him like he'd been supposed to, like Tenny had hoped. No, far from it. Just last night in the shower, he'd replayed his favorite bits from their night alone together: the short, sharp huffs of Reese's breath as he'd thrust into him over and over; the kiss of their sweat-slick bellies against one another; being able to dig his fingers into those strong, flexing shoulders he'd only been able to admire while he fucked one of the club girls, their over-the-top moaning and swearing nothing but a distraction.

The prospect of going away together for a day or two had left him something like panicked. Fox would be coming along, but Fox knew about Tenny's traitorous love, and he didn't count besides. Tenny had been very careful to moderate his time alone with Reese, not allowing himself to be too tempted, but off on the road together, on an op – one that required little technical skill, no less...

He'd been desperate for insight.

Which he'd gotten: Don't worry so much. Be brave.

He pulled over in front of Leroy's gas and groceries and killed the engine. Sat for a long moment on his bike, staring at the sunny reflections off the glass storefront, berating himself internally for acting like an idiot teenager about all this.

He'd lost count of the number of people he'd killed in his short lifetime. He could handle a fucking road trip. With someone he'd already fucked, no less!

"Idiot," he said aloud, for good measure, and went in to buy a pack of smokes and a candy bar.

His phone chimed with a text alert while he was paying, and he checked it after he'd straddled his bike again, torn open his Butterfinger, and taken a big bite of it.

It was from Walsh's wife, Emmie:

Still on for 2nite? She'd signed with a smiley face.

Preoccupied with thoughts of Alabama, and Reese, and his own idiocy, he'd nearly forgotten that she'd arranged for him to come help her work the youngsters this evening.

He fired off a quick yes, and then stared at his phone until the screen went black, eating the rest of his Butterfinger, despite the sudden tightness in his stomach, debating. Last time he'd gone riding, he'd invited Reese to come along and watch; he'd been surprised that Reese had accepted. Even more so that he'd stayed; that he'd sat down on a bench by the arena and, every time Tenny snuck a look toward him, been caught staring with something close to wonder. An uncharacteristic rapt attention that had left him nearly slack-jawed.