Page 13

13

Jack

I don’t know what I expected when I agreed to come out to Eloise’s place on a Friday evening, but giving a bull an enema wasn’t it.

“Just stand over there and don’t get in the way,” she said, pointing toward a safe-ish looking spot beside the barn. Her hair was in a messy bun, sunglasses perched on her head like she was about to hit the beach, not stick her arm up a bull’s behind. Honestly, I admired the confidence.

Tony Thompson stood nearby, red-faced and sweating through his T-shirt. “Are you sure about this? He’s usually regular,” he said, eyeing the bull like it had betrayed him.

Eloise crossed her arms. “Tony, the bull is bloated. He’s miserable, pacing like he’s holding in a two-day burrito. And I told you—I don’t do large animal work anymore.”

“Right, right,” Tony mumbled, then glanced over at me. “Who’s he again?”

“I’m just the boyfriend,” I said. “Spectator. I’m not licensed to touch bull butts, thanks.”

Eloise smirked, pulled on a long plastic glove, and handed another one to Tony. “Good. Then you can watch while Tony does it.”

Tony blinked. “Me?”

“It’s your bull,” Eloise said sweetly. “You want him to feel better? It’s time to give him the ol’ firehose flush.”

I wish I could say I looked away. I didn’t. Curiosity, morbid fascination, and a twisted sense of entertainment rooted me to the spot. That, and Eloise subtly blocked the exit with her body. That woman could stare down a tornado.

Tony whimpered. I mean, whimpered like a beagle that lost its bone.

“Just lube the nozzle, insert gently, and hold on tight,” Eloise coached, handing him what looked like a medieval torture device disguised as a hose with a tank attached. “And whatever you do—don’t stand behind him.”

Guess where Tony stood?

The bull—let’s call him Ferdinand because he looked offended by everything—let out a sound that I swear translated to I don’t consent to this .

“I don’t think he likes me now,” Tony said.

“None of us like you right now, but that doesn’t stop the job from needing to get done,” Eloise replied, checking her watch. “We’re on a tight poop schedule.”

The moment Tony inserted the hose, Ferdinand made a sound that came from the depths of cow hell and kicked one hoof. Then—then—the floodgates opened.

I should’ve moved. I should’ve moved.

But no. I stood frozen, watching as a geyser of—look, there’s no polite way to say this—liquid regret sprayed out of that bull like someone turned on a manure firehose. The angle. The arc. It was like a crime scene. A very brown crime scene.

And of all the places in the universe for a chunk of flying cow shrapnel to land—it hit my foot . Right across my boot. My favorite boots . The ones I had just polished.

I stared at the mess, then looked up at Eloise, who was wiping tears of laughter from her face.

“Oh my God,” she gasped. “Jack, your face.”

“I think my soul just left my body.”

Tony was squealing, trying to keep hold of the hose like he was in a rodeo. The bull swayed, looking ten pounds lighter and incredibly smug.

“I’m burning these boots,” I muttered.

“No, no,” Eloise said, catching her breath. “We’ll frame them. Put them on the wall. ‘Here lies the boots that took one for the team.’”

“You owe me,” I said.

“I gave you the safe spot. You moved.”

“I didn’t think your enema instructions needed a splash zone warning!”

Eloise doubled over again. “I need to call Mable. She’s going to die when she hears this.”

I hobbled over to the hose and tried to rinse off what looked like the ghost of tacos past. “Please don’t put this in the paper. Or the family group chat.”

“Oh, it’s already there,” she said, holding up her phone.

The bull let out a contented sigh, farted one last time for good measure, and sauntered off like he’d just dropped the weight of the world. Tony collapsed on a hay bale, looking like he’d aged ten years.

“I’ve fought terrorists with less explosive results,” I muttered.

Eloise slid her hand into mine, her palm warm, her grin wide. “See? Country life. It keeps you humble.”

“Yeah, well, next time you need someone to give a bull a spa day, I’m staying on the other side of the barn.”

She leaned up and kissed my cheek. “But then I wouldn’t get to see you in boots and poop.”

I groaned, but I was grinning. Damn her. Even covered in chaos, she made me feel like the luckiest man alive.

Just not the cleanest.

By the time we made it inside the house, I was fifty percent man, fifty percent fertilizer.

I left my boots on the porch like a soldier saying goodbye to fallen comrades and limped into the mudroom in my socks—socks that were now questionably biodegradable. Eloise followed, still giggling like she’d just won the lottery.

“You sure you don’t want to hose off outside?” she asked, arms crossed, eyebrows high.

“You planning to join me?”

She paused. “Tempting. But I don’t want the neighbors thinking I’m hosing down livestock.”

“Oh, very funny.” I peeled off my shirt, which somehow caught a splatter too. “I was the innocent bystander!”

“Innocent my butt. You stood in the poop zone. That’s a rookie mistake.”

“Next time I’m bringing a poncho.”

“You say that like there’s going to be a next time.”

I shot her a look. “You think I’ll let you supervise a bull enema without me again? Absolutely not. I live for this now.”

She laughed as I stripped down to my boxers, which were, regrettably, collateral damage. “Bathroom’s down the hall. I’ll grab you a towel.”

I found the shower and turned the hot water on full blast. The second I stepped in, I groaned—not because of the manure, but because of her.

Eloise peeked around the doorframe, eyes traveling down my very, very naked body. “Need help getting clean?”

“Depends. You planning to join me, or just stand there judging my technique?”

She didn’t answer.

She just walked into the bathroom.

Eloise let her hair down, kicked off her boots, and pulled her T-shirt over her head in one smooth motion. Her jeans followed. She didn’t hesitate—not once. Like she’d been waiting for an excuse, and today, that excuse just happened to be… you know, bull poop.

She stepped into the shower and closed the door behind her. Steam curled around her skin like it was jealous it couldn’t touch her first.

“This is strictly a medical intervention,” she said, reaching for the soap.

“Oh, totally. I’m an emergency biohazard case.”

She lathered up her hands, then ran them down my chest. “You might need a full-body inspection.”

I tilted her chin up. “Thoroughly, please. I’ve suffered trauma.”

“I’ll bill your insurance.”

We were grinning, kissing, and slipping against each other under the hot water. Her hands were everywhere—shoulders, chest, hips—and mine were just as greedy. I pressed her back gently against the shower wall, water rushing between us, lips tangling, and her laughter turning into soft, needy sounds that wrecked my concentration.

“I love how your idea of foreplay includes large animals and bio-waste,” I whispered against her neck.

“Don’t kink-shame me,” she whispered back, and I lost it.

My hand slipped down her body and entered her soft folds. The sound she made had me hard and ready. She was crying for more, as my thumb found her clit she was crying as she moved her hips faster as my fingers moved faster. The faster I went, the more she wanted, and then she cried out as she orgasmed. I gave Eloise two orgasms before I entered her, and we made love I gazed into her eyes as I came deep inside of her.

There wasn’t anything slow about what happened next. It was wet, slick, and just a little clumsy—because slippery tiles and passion don’t mix—but neither of us cared. Not when her body was pressed so tight against mine, not when her mouth claimed mine with heat that had nothing to do with the water.

It was real.

Raw.

Ridiculous.

Perfect.

Afterward, she rested her forehead on my shoulder, both of us breathing hard, still tangled together under the spray.

“Still think you don’t belong in the country?” she murmured.

“I think I belong right here ,” I said, wrapping my arms around her. “Just maybe next time, we start with the shower, and end up in bed.”

She snorted. “Oh, we’ll end up in bed. You saying I don’t know how to show a man a good time?”

“Oh, you do,” I said, kissing her again. “You absolutely do. But next time, I vote we skip the bull.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

I smiled into her hair, already planning to hide her shovel.

We eventually made it out of the shower—barely. It had taken two towels, three kisses, and one intense round two on the bathroom counter before we even made it to the bed.

Now, I was sitting at Eloise’s kitchen table, wearing borrowed sweatpants and sipping a mug of coffee while she cooked eggs like she hadn’t just rocked my entire worldview and cleaned me of Bull poop trauma.

I leaned back in my chair, grinning like an idiot. “So… do all your vet visits end with clothing removal and a decontamination rinse?”

She flipped a pancake without turning around. “Only the ones involving bulls and city boys like you.”

“City boy? I was in the military.”

“Jack, you stepped directly into a poop blast zone. You’re not ready for this level of country.”

Before I could argue, her phone buzzed. She glanced at it, then smirked and hit speaker.

“Hi, Mable,” she chirped, turning the heat down on the stove.

“Eloise?” Mable’s voice crackled over the line. “Are you busy?”

“Not at the moment.”

I took a slow sip of coffee. The shirt Eloise was wearing was mine. I was glad I had brought extra clothes. The satisfaction in my bones was off the charts.

“You don’t sound alone,” Mable said suspiciously.

I cleared my throat. “Morning, Mable,” I said.

“Oh dear Lord,” she muttered. “Is he naked?”

Eloise burst out laughing. “No, he’s clothed. Now.”

“Oh good. Because I must had gotten a butt call from you earlier and I accidentally hit the FaceTime button with my elbow earlier and got an eye full of bare man chest and foggy steam and—I dropped my phone in the sink trying to hang up!”

I coughed, almost inhaling half the coffee.

“Mable!” Eloise gasped between laughs. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I DIDN’T KNOW WHERE TO LOOK,” Mable screeched. “It was like a live-action soap opera, and I was trapped. It’s about time you started living a little.”

I tried to speak, but no sound came out. I was crying. I was actually crying from laughing so hard.

“And what were you doing,” Mable continued, not at all scandalized, “kissing like that in the shower? You could have slipped and cracked a hip! Or his hip! He’s not a young man anymore, Eloise,” she burst into laughter.

“Excuse me,” I said, wheezing. “I’m thirty-five. My hips are pristine.”

“I’m eighty-two, not dead. I know a steamy situation when I see one. And let me tell you something, son. If you're gonna be hanging around, I expect you to treat her right, feed her real meals, and never leave your boots on the porch again. I walked up there and thought someone exploded a barn.”

I buried my face in my hands, shaking with silent laughter.

“I couldn’t bring them inside they were covered in…I don’t even want to think about that again. I managed between breaths. Full respect. I’ll burn the boots.”

“And buy her a ring if you’re gonna keep showing up like this. I may be old, but I’ve got standards. I won’t be the last decent woman in this town living in sin by association.”

Eloise was howling. “Mable, we haven’t even had breakfast yet!”

“Well, you skipped dinner and three showers , if that steam was anything to go by. Anyway, I’ve got to go. My blood pressure monitor is screaming at me.”

She hung up.

Eloise turned to me, eyes wide and shining. “She saw us ?”

“I’m more concerned she rated my performance. Was that a good thing or a... ‘concerned citizen’ kind of thing?”

Eloise set the plate of pancakes in front of me. “She’s gonna tell the whole town.”

“Perfect,” I said, grabbing a fork. “Let them know the new guy survived his first enema and lived to have pancakes.”

“Jack,” she said, cracking up again, “you’re the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Right back at you, Doc.” I took a bite and grinned. “Best Friday night and Saturday of my life, so far.”