Page 2 of Saddle Studs (Rainbow Ranch #3)

I popped open the tab of my IPA, the compressed air fizzing out.

I took a drink as I wandered back to my living room, dropped onto the couch, and propped my feet up onto a box full of kitchen utensils.

I set the beer down on the side table and replaced it with my phone.

I used one hand to lazily scroll through social media and the other hand to lazily fondle my balls.

Damn, living with other people was going to be an interesting adjustment.

Maybe it’s also something I needed. The closest relationship I had over the last few years was Macy Hernandez, my girlfriend that lasted seven months before she slept with my best friend.

Clearly, I don’t talk to either of them anymore.

But I couldn’t deny that it was nice having someone around, someone who made it easy to just exist in the space. A girl who could volley inside jokes and random shit back at you like they were pro pickleball players.

An email notification flashed across the top of the screen. It was from Isha, one of my colleagues and someone I considered a good friend. The subject line simply read: “Are you OK?”

I swiped the notification off my screen. It was way too fresh. I didn’t even want to think about what happened at work. I’d simply use it as fuel to propel me the fuck out of here. Zack would most definitely raise the avoidance alarm, but I’d deal with that later.

Ironic, I know.

Maybe instead of stressing over the nuclear meltdown that had occurred last week, I could distract myself with some investigative work…

I let go of my balls and focused on my phone. This was a two-handed job.

The first stop was social media, where I did a preliminary search for Benny’s name.

Two accounts popped up, neither of them belonging to the guy I was hunting down.

I went to Google next, wondering if he maybe had a blog or an article written about him over the years.

Maybe he’d won some horse competition and was a world-famous equestrian.

But nothing came up. Hmm…

I went back to social media, and this time searched for Rainbow Ranch. I found one account that may as well have had cobwebs and skeletons displayed around the page for how often it was used. There were three photos that appeared to have been taken with a potato, all posted nearly two years ago.

My inner publicist let out a banshee-like screech at the missed opportunity.

From what I remembered, Rainbow Ranch was the perfect candidate to make it big on social media. They were leaving bags of money on the table by not having a solid, targeted presence—money that could be reinvested into the ranch.

My goal wasn’t to draw up a business plan for them, though. I was on a mission. I clicked on the “tagged” tab of their profile and found a few more photos, but none that— wait! There he was. Holy fucking shit.

It was a photo of a couple volunteers plucking weeds.

Boone was there, leaning on a shovel, smiling at the camera while his twin, Beau, was caught mid-sneeze.

But my attention had been yanked behind them, to where Benny leaned against a fence post, wearing a sweaty white tank top and a muddy pair of jeans.

Shit, was this taken recently?

I checked the timestamp and breathed a sigh of relief. Three years ago.

Next, I went to the profile of the volunteer.

Fuck yes! I’d hit the jackpot. There was another photo from that same day, with Benny prominently featured—his freshly cut jet-black hair slightly messed up from the cowboy hat he held against his chest.

I ignored the warmth that tickled my ribs. Must be that the AC turned off. I clicked on the tags and found a profile that belonged to Benny. And it wasn’t set to private.

I just kept winning tonight, didn’t I?

He didn’t have many photos up, but the ones he did have all appeared to have palm trees and sunshine in the background.

There was one that showed Benny on the beach, lying back on a bright pink towel.

He wore a small white Speedo which didn’t leave much to the imagination.

I scrolled past it before I paused. And scrolled back up.

Damn, he must have been going to the gym. His chest had filled in and his abs glistened in the summer sunlight. A cooler full of beers and hard seltzers sat open next to him. Sand dusted his—big—feet. If I was being specific, everything about him was big.

And… fuck… my dick twitched. I sat up on the couch, moving my feet off the cardboard box and planting them firmly on the hardwood floors. I had eyes, I could see that people—certain men—were aesthetically pleasing. Didn’t mean anything.

I ignored the throb between my legs and scrolled to the next photo. It was Benny at a beachside bar, the caption calling it his new “home away from hom’,” the geotag placing him in Wilton Manors, Florida.

Ah. Good. So he had moved. He wasn’t at Rainbow Ranch anymore. That meant it was safe to go back. I wouldn’t have to face him again, wouldn’t have to question anything or apologize for anything or deal with anything.

No… but I had something else I had to deal with. My cock was not going down, the throbbing only growing more persistent. I was about to exit out of social media and troll through some porn sites, but I decided to scroll back up instead.

Back to that photo of Benny in a Speedo. Looking happy, relaxed, so much like the man I knew he’d become. A dark happy trail drew my eyes downward, toward that impressive bulge of his.

Well, since I’m never seeing the guy again, maybe I can jerk off to him one last time…

I’d sort out what that meant after I came, when my thoughts weren’t clouded by misguided lust and primal urges.

Yeah. I’d figure it out then. But for now, I leaned back and started to stroke, using my free hand to zoom in on Benny’s clearly-visible dick print.

This is all just for investigative—oh fuuuck—purposes.