Page 4 of Saddle Studs (Rainbow Ranch #3)

I jumped into the driver’s seat of my car. Part of me couldn’t believe I was racing so hard to get some dick. The other part of me was a feral and ravenous creature, deprived of some good dick for way too fucking long.

It wasn’t difficult to guess which side had the most influence.

Cornfedbeef: I can get there in twenty.

VisitingTop8: Hurry. I still have to go to the airport. And I want you to fill me with your load before my flight.

I peeled down the dirt driveway, kicking up a cloud of dust. This man was going to be the damn end of me. He was so hot. And he wanted me, was asking for me to come inside him. My blood sizzled with heat, skin flushing, jeans feeling extra tight.

Why did he have to leave tonight? And would he come back? What if I visited him?

Also—did I recently suffer from a traumatic fucking brain injury that I wasn’t aware of?

Why was I acting like I’d just found love in one of the most hopeless places on the internet?

Yes, I may have secretly just been a sappy romantic who enjoyed listening to slow pop ballads and day dreaming about the perfect life with the white-picket fence and golden retriever included—but I always made sure to keep that side of me under control, managed by the realistic and jaded side.

Whatever. This was all just for fun. If something came— ha, ha —from it, then I wouldn’t be upset.

I turned down a side road, gravel and rocks clunking and bouncing off the bottom of my truck, the suspension causing me to bounce in my seat and adding to the already building pressure between my thighs.

As much as I wanted to speed my ass toward this dick appointment, I also had respect for the law and lives of my neighbors, who sometimes jogged up and down these exact roads.

I was going slow enough to spot an odd, shiny black shape twitching on a smooth boulder.

At first, I thought it was a trash bag stuck to the rock and fluttering in the breeze, but then I saw the beak and the weak flutter of a wing and I realized it wasn’t a bag at all.

“Oh no,” I said, slowing to a complete stop. I looked out the window. It was a crow, preening at a bloody wing. By the way it took two shaky hops away from the car, I could see that there might have been something wrong with its leg, too.

My heart went out to it. I looked in my back seat and reached for a T-shirt I had left there, and glanced back out the window.

God, that beak seemed so freakin’ sharp.

Like a little stabby sword. And its eyes—just tiny black orbs.

It looked at me, and maybe this was all in my head, but I could’ve sworn there was a plea for help in them.

Oh Lordy, please don’t peck my eyeballs out.

I slowly opened the door and hopped out of my truck. The crow paused from its preening and gave a weak caw . It stretched its good wing up and flapped it back down with a fluff of feathers. The movement startled me. I yelped and took a step back. The crow cawed again.

“It’s okay, bud. You don’t have to apologize.

” I held the shirt up and approached the bird like a lion-tamer would approach a lion.

The crow didn’t appear to be frightened of me, nor did it appear like it was hungry for my flesh and blood.

In fact, it allowed me to wrap my shirt around it and pick it up.

Which was good, but the second I felt it struggle I’d probably freak out and run.

I quickly ran around the front of my truck and opened the door, holding the crow against my side, extremely aware of how close its beak was to my heart. Was there ever a case of death by crow? Probably not, but I didn’t want to be the first.

I gently placed the crow on the passenger seat then ran back around to the driver’s side. It was still wrapped in the shirt. It lifted its head and looked up at me, clicking its beak.

“Shit, what does that mean? You aren’t going to attack me, right, bud?”

I threw the truck into drive and started back down the road. That’s when I realized. Fuuuuuck. Doc Evans’ office was on the opposite side of town from my date. I looked to the passenger seat, where the crow’s head started to droop. He gave a weak caw that made me press on the gas a little harder.

Fuck it. I wasn’t about to choose a hookup over saving this poor thing’s life.

I hit a stop sign and grabbed my phone so I could shoot a quick message.

Cornfedbeef: Sorry. You’re not going to believe this but I’m rescuing a crow right now. Found him on the side of the road. I’ll message you once I drop him off at the vet. Maybe I can meet you at the airport and help you check your luggage ;) I heard you’re flying with an oversized package.

I hit send. I was disappointed, sure. But what was I supposed to do?

“How ya doing, bud?”

The crow appeared to know I was speaking to it because it started to try to flutter a wing. I flinched. “No, no, it’s okay, relax. Here, do you like music? Pop, maybe?”

Ariana Grande started to play on the speakers. The bird appeared agitated.

“No? Gotcha, alright, how about some rock?”

I played a Linkin Park song and was greeted by a loud and unsettling cackle.

“Not rock either. Country?”

I switched to a Zack Bryan song and the crow immediately calmed down.

“Right, shoulda guessed.” I chuckled to myself and slowed to a stop at another intersection. I grabbed my phone and decided to send Carlos one more message. Maybe a picture of the bulge he gave me every time he crossed my mind.

I opened the app and went to click on his message, except—no.

There was no fucking way… holy fuck.

Our chat chain wasn’t there. The profile photo of his tanned and muscular chest had disappeared. Vanished.

Poof.

He blocked me.

That mother fucking tractor-faced bitch blocked me.

What a joke. What a goddamned joke this all was. I closed out of the app and went a step further, holding down on the screen until the apps did their little tap-dance of death. I deleted Grindr from my phone and tossed it onto the back seat.

Fuck men. Fuck games. Fuck it all.

It was me and my new crow sidekick from here on—“ah!”

I hadn’t realized the crow was on the move. It hopped over the center console and onto my lap. It pecked weakly at my thigh, which made me tense so fucking hard I thought I was about to snap the steering wheel in half. I didn’t want it thinking there was a worm around for it to eat.

God, birds are so fucking creepy.