Page 2

Six years later.

“Happy New Year!”

Izzy raised his glass with the others. They cheersed a little too hard, and he laughed as the golden liquid sloshed, fizzed, and spilled over the rim of the plastic flute, running down his arm.

Before he could react, an unfamiliar hand grabbed his raised wrist, and a hot tongue slid across his skin, licking the droplets away. The sensation broke through the haze of inebriated celebration. He shivered and blinked a few times, trying to clear his fuzzy vision. Then he grinned. That was kinda hot, actually. He leaned in, his body swaying closer than he intended, and braced his free hand against a muscular shoulder. He gave it an experimental squeeze. Nice. Then he refocused. “Who gave you permission to touch?” he asked, lips moving against the man’s ear as he strove to be heard over the cheering crowd.

The hand gripping his wrist tugged, and Izzy stumbled closer, his chest landing against a wonderfully firm one. “Pretty sure you did…when you sucked my cock in the bathroom half an hour ago.”

Did he? Huh. Cool. Izzy grinned and smacked a kiss to the man’s bearded cheek. “Fair enough.” He laughed and tipped back the remainder of his drink. The bubbles tickled the inside of his nose, and he dropped his head down to rub the sensation away on the man’s shoulder. Fuck, he hated champagne, but it was New Year’s Eve and the hangover-inducing stuff was tradition.

Noisemakers and popping champagne bottles almost drowned out the notes of “Auld Lang Syne,” despite the Lookout’s impressive sound system. Colorful lights flashed over the dance floor, illuminating the smoky haze hanging near the ceiling. Hunter had rented the smoke machine for the event, and it made everything feel more…fancy or something. The air was hot and thick with delicious, musky man-scent from hundreds of tightly pressed bodies. Izzy was in heaven.

Arms wrapped around him from behind, tugging him away from the firm chest that was supporting most of his weight. He stumbled, surprised, but remained upright. Even wasted, he had great balance, thanks to more than twenty years on horseback. But Izzy didn’t like to remember that.

“Happy New Year!” a familiar voice shouted in his ear.

He turned, and the champagne bubbles in his nose were forgotten as mystery-lips caught his in an enthusiastic kiss. He kissed back and was rewarded with a large hand gripping his ass cheek and squeezing hard enough to make him groan. Damn, that gave him ideas. He broke the kiss and blinked open his eyes, trying to focus. Who? Oh. Braxton. He dove in for another friendly smear of mouths and laughed into it as Brax dragged him even closer. He pushed back, palms splayed on Brax’s chest. “Fuck off,” he said with a giddy grin. “I told you, not tonight.”

Braxton rolled his eyes but didn’t look too put out. “Yeah, yeah. You find me when you change your mind.”

Izzy jumped at the sudden sting of Brax’s big palm connecting with his ass cheek. He bit back another groan, his cock much more interested in Brax’s brand of fun than it had been a few moments ago. But no. He was in the mood for something new. He planted a hand in Brax’s face and gave a playful shove, then turned to scan the crowd.

He’d lost track of the other guy, not even sure what he’d looked like. Oh well. There were plenty of eager eyes on him. There always were. It wouldn’t be hard to find a replacement.

But first, another drink. He made his way to the bar, ignoring the hands that trailed over his skin as he slipped between dancers. He flashed a smirk at a shirtless guy with cut abs. Another, forward enough to reach out and grope his ass, got a wink and a too-firm pat on the cheek. He’d see if either of them cared enough to make a real move. In the meantime…

He bellied up to the bar and waved at Hunter.

Hunter eyed him, his forehead creasing.

Izzy did his best to look alert. The last thing he wanted was for Hunter to put his Daddy-pants on. He batted his lashes and bit his lip at the older man. Hunter shook his head, but he was smiling. When he turned to pour Izzy a new drink, Izzy grinned in triumph.

A little elf slipped into the space next to him. “Izzy, where were you?” Eli whined, drawing out the last word. He snuggled in, his arms tightening around Izzy’s waist, his cheek resting against Izzy’s sternum. Izzy patted the top of his bright blond head.

“Getting laid,” he replied. Then he squinted. “I think.”

Eli frowned up at him. His friend was a worrywart. A tiny, elfin worrywart. Izzy ducked down and blew a raspberry against his cheek. Eli’s startled shout dissolved into laughter as he struggled to get away. “Ew! Stop it, you asshole!” He smacked at the parts of Izzy he could reach. “Oh my god, I hate you.”

Tiny, lying , elfin worrywart. Izzy did it again, because he could.

Eli hadn’t been around long, but he’d become one of Izzy’s closest friends. He was also the only one partying with him tonight. Everyone else had stayed at the ranch. An easy decision for Micah when he had two smoking-hot guys to fuck him into the new year. Finn, too—his new man was mouthwatering. And the size of him? Oof. It was shocking the boy could walk straight after all six-foot-five of Xavier was done with him. Izzy could admit to being a little jealous. It was hard enough to find a guy bigger than him without the shorties cutting into the inventory. Not that Izzy was looking for anything permanent, while Xavier clearly was.

Of the singles left in their group, Archer was boring and had chosen to drive his sister home, and Keegan… Hell no. Izzy would rather get a venereal disease than ask that arrogant asshat to celebrate with him.

Luckily, Eli could always be counted on, if only because his partner-slash-Daddy owned the bar. If he wasn’t perched on a barstool watching Hunter work, he was typically right upstairs in their apartment and only a text away.

“Love you too, honeybunch,” he replied, kissing a still-squirming Eli on the forehead before releasing him.

Hunter slid Izzy his drink. Sex on the Beach. His favorite. Except, not really, because whoever thought sand in your asshole was sexy had clearly never tried it. Technically, Izzy hadn’t either, but he was perfectly happy to learn from Micah’s honeymoon-related experience.

He’d only taken a sip before a vaguely familiar guy appeared in front of them, holding out shot glasses filled to the brim with amber-colored liquid. Izzy accepted one without questioning the offer. Eli checked with Hunter like a good boy before doing the same. Approval given by bartender-Daddy, Izzy toasted the new arrival and downed the shot, noting the smooth burn of the whiskey. New-guy had paid for the good stuff.

Or maybe Izzy was just that drunk.

Izzy handed the glass back, fingers lingering on the guy’s skin. He was nice enough to look at. Older than Izzy, with gray at his temples. No beard. That was a shame. Izzy loved the rasp of coarse hair between his cheeks. New-guy had the kinds of muscles that came from hours in the gym—which, in Izzy’s experience, were adequate when it came to fucking someone into a mattress. The cocky gleam in his eyes was what sold Izzy in the end. He leaned closer.

“Bed or bathroom?”

The guy blinked, processing. Then his lips curled up, and his gaze dragged over Izzy in a slow leer. “I think I’ll want to take my time with you, pretty boy.”

“And I think that can be arranged.” Izzy put on his sexiest smile and stepped toward the guy—he should probably ask his name, not that he’d remember it—but a small hand gripping his elbow stopped him.

Eli. He looked down at his friend and got an exasperated eye roll in return. “You know the rules.”

Izzy sighed and held out his hand to his future hookup. “Wallet.”

Hookup blinked but fished a beat-up leather billfold out of his back pocket. Izzy took it and handed it over his shoulder to Hunter, who was waiting behind him at the bar.

Hunter flipped it open and pulled out the driver’s license, checked the photo against the guy’s face, then handed the wallet back. “We open at noon. You can pick it up then.”

Hookup’s eyebrows lifted and he looked like he was about to argue, so Izzy slid forward into his space, draping his arms over the guy’s shoulders. It didn’t take much more than the press of his hip against the guy’s hard cock to redirect his attention. “Fine,” the guy agreed, hand landing on Izzy’s ass and squeezing. “Worth it,” he murmured into Izzy’s ear once he’d had a feel.

Izzy grinned, drained his cocktail, and set the empty glass on the bar. He threw Eli a wink over his shoulder as he was manhandled toward the exit. Perfect start to the new year.

Izzy hunched his shoulders against the wind and clutched his paper cup of shitty coffee closer. The warmth soaked into his palms but barely put a dent in the bite of the January mountain air. It was supposed to snow again later. He took a cautious sip of his drink and grimaced. Ugh. This motel had the worst free coffee in town. The place a block over was a thousand times better, though the room rate was considerably higher. His hookup hadn’t splurged on accommodations.

Another gust of wind blew a swirl of dry, powdery snow off the roof of a nearby car. Izzy tugged the collar of his coat up higher and checked his phone again. Two percent. He’d have to plug it in as soon as he got home. Or maybe he could borrow Archer’s charger—if Archer showed up before Izzy froze to death.

He blew out a breath and replied to Eli’s check-in text with a thumbs-up, an eggplant, and a string of water droplet emojis.

Not that the sex had been that great. The guy—Mark, maybe? Or Mike? Whatever. He’d been just as wasted as Izzy, and his performance had suffered. It happened. It just meant Izzy had had to work harder than expected to get what he wanted. Four out of ten. Would probably do him again in a pinch, but most likely, he would give NYE-guy a pass.

It took Izzy a minute to realize the approaching thrum was an engine and not the lingering tinnitus or the throbbing of his brain against the inside of his skull. Fucking champagne.

Tires crunched against the gravel as Archer drove into the lot. His pickup was almost as old as he was and it showed, but Archer wasn’t interested in replacing it. He didn’t see the point in throwing something away just because it was old and not as pretty as it used to be—not that Izzy could remember a time when it had been pretty. It still got him where he needed to go. Izzy tried not to judge. Gift horses and all that.

Archer pulled to a stop, and Izzy hurried forward, pushed by another gust of wind. When he opened the door, Alice had already slid into the middle seat. Izzy climbed in next to her, making sure to leave some space between them. Alice wasn’t a fan of being touched most of the time.

“Thanks,” he said, shutting the door against the cold and sinking into the worn vinyl with a sigh.

Archer still reached out and flicked the heat higher. “Morning,” he replied, easily. “Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year,” Alice parroted.

Izzy lifted his coffee in salute to the twins, then took another sip. Still gross, but worth it. His headache was starting to fade.

“Did your fuck buddy kick you out?” Alice asked without looking up from her phone. She was scrolling an app he didn’t recognize.

After a moment of mental gymnastics that he wasn’t awake enough for, he realized she was asking why he’d been standing outside. “Nah,” he replied. “Just wasn’t in the mood for small talk.”

Alice nodded. She got it. She wasn’t a fan of small talk either, though for different reasons than Izzy’s.

As they turned onto Main Street, Archer reached behind the seats and came back with a thermos that had seen better days. Izzy couldn’t help the sound that left his throat. He rolled down the window to dump the crap coffee, then accepted the thermos. “You are my goddamn hero, Arch,” he said, groaning in pleasure as he refilled his paper cup with the dark, rich, life-saving nectar. Archer might not splurge often, but when it came to coffee, he got the good stuff.

Archer chuckled. “Figured you’d need it.” He returned the thermos to its hiding place, then draped his free hand along the back of the seat. Archer was every bit the classic cowboy in his heavy, wool-collared jacket, Wranglers, and boots. Alice was dressed much the same, though instead of cowboy boots, she had on rubber muck boots and had forgone her typical hat for a wool one that she had pulled down over her ears. Every once in a while, Izzy was struck by how good-looking the twins were. Aesthetics weren’t something that usually escaped him—especially when it came to men—but Archer and Alice were different. For one thing, neither of them had ever hinted at being interested in him that way, and for another, they were his friends first. Izzy didn’t fuck where he lived…or something like that.

The rest of the ride to the ranch was quiet as they all finished waking up after the late night. Izzy appreciated that. And the lack of judgment. Morning pickups had become routine the last few years. Izzy never drove himself when he went out—there was no point when he knew he wouldn’t be able to drive home. So he’d call Archer first thing, and the twins would swing by his bed-of-the-night on their way to work. Izzy thanked them by paying for gas and buying the drinks when Archer made it to the bar. It worked for Izzy, and Archer hadn’t complained yet.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, reminding him he needed to charge it. He pulled it out and snagged the cable dangling from the cigarette lighter. He wondered if kids these days even knew what the original purpose of those sockets was. Kids these days. Izzy amused himself sometimes. He was twenty-eight, for fuck’s sake. How old were these kids?

As the phone came off battery-saver mode, it started to vibrate with notifications. Social media was alive and well this new year’s morning. Most of them were probably the standard, repetitive “Happy New Year” posts. He ignored those for now and opened his email instead.

Spam. Spam. Spam. Ads. Ads. Ads. A holiday newsletter from his parents. A calendar reminder to schedule his three-month blood screening—because he might fuck around a lot, but he wasn’t interested in the finding out.

Izzy paused, about to delete an email from an unfamiliar sender, when the preview text caught his eye, three words jumping out at him.

Joshua Martin and interview .

He closed the app, unplugged his phone, and stuck it back in his pocket. He hadn’t had enough coffee for that shit. Honestly, there wasn’t enough caffeine in the state to make him willing to think about Josh Martin. The fucker could rot in hell.

A rushing sound filled his ears, and his lungs locked up, his chest squeezing tight. No. No , he wasn’t doing this now.

He took a gulp of scalding-hot coffee and coughed, his eyes tearing as it seared the roof of his mouth and burned a line down his throat. He did it again. Ow. Fuck. He needed to focus on something else. A distraction before the black hole in his brain opened up and sucked him in.

“Can you believe Hunter’s still policing my hookups?” he asked, latching on to the first thought he could grasp. “How many times do I need to tell him I don’t need a fucking Daddy?”

Archer snorted. “What makes you think I disagree with him?”

Izzy’s hackles went up, because fuck that. “Fuck you. I can handle myself.”

Archer shook his head. “You hope.”

Annoyance coursed through Izzy, and he grabbed on to it, letting it help to push the panic away. What the hell, Archer? Yeah, he hooked up with randoms, but he knew what he could handle and what he couldn’t. And at six-foot-three and two hundred pounds of solid muscle, he was more than capable of stopping someone if he wasn’t into what they were doing.

“You make everyone worry,” Alice piped up from beside him.

Izzy glowered at the side of her head, and the only reason he didn’t bite back was because it was Alice. He may be an asshole, but he wasn’t that much of an asshole.

He slumped with a huff. His friends didn’t trust him. Fine. Fantastic, even. He wasn’t going to change his lifestyle just for them. He was happy the way things were. He glared out the window and drank his coffee. “Whatever.”

Eventually, they arrived. Archer turned up the driveway to the ranch, the truck bumping over the icy grooves in the gravel. The fields were stark white in the early morning light, the snow from earlier in the week still mostly undisturbed. It was pretty—right up until it became a disgusting, slushy mess near the barn. Alice had the right idea with muck boots.

Archer parked the truck next to Izzy’s little-used Jeep. “Thanks for the ride,” Izzy mumbled, hopping out. “Be down in a few.” He slipped between the big rolling doors at the end of the aisle and jogged through the semi-darkness until he reached the stairs to his hayloft apartment. A couple of the horses nickered at him sleepily, but they would have to wait a few more minutes for breakfast.

The loft hadn’t always been his. When he first arrived at Split Rock, six years ago, Ryan, the ranch manager, had lived there. Once he’d married Micah, the two of them had moved up to the farmhouse, and Maggie, who owned the place, moved in to the single-level cottage out back. At the time, Izzy had been renting a room from a guy in town, and he was happy to give it up in exchange for his own space and a shorter commute. Well—it was shorter when he slept in his own bed.

The barn cats, Pumpkin and Peppermint, were waiting at the top of the stairs when he returned, dressed in his winter work gear. They attempted to murder him on the way down, weaving between his boots. Fuzzy little assholes. Long practice and good balance were the only reason they didn’t succeed. “You know,” he told them, “I’m not the only one who can feed you.” Peppermint jumped up on the stack of hay bales next to the feed room door and yowled at him by way of a reply. Fine. He was just gonna pretend it was because he was their favorite—and not because he was here first.

The barn was awake now, horses calling out as Alice made her way along the aisle with the giant wheelbarrow of grain. Izzy breathed in the warm, hay-and-horse-scented air, letting the familiarity soothe the lingering twist of anxiety—and his lingering hangover. Archer would be outside still, breaking up any ice that had formed on the water troughs overnight, and checking to make sure everything was in place for turnout later. He liked to get the cold stuff done before coming in to warm up. Alice would feed these guys, then head to the smaller barn to check on her crew of broodmares.

Izzy paused to greet a few of his favorites. Sadie leaned into the forehead scratches for a moment before returning to her breakfast. Izzy grabbed his gloves and got to work on the hay, slicing open twine on a bale and tossing flakes up over the doors of the nearby stalls. He fell into an easy rhythm. The coffee was doing its job, and he felt a little more human. He should drink some water too at some point. Otherwise, Micah would bitch at him.

Coffee was mostly water. Izzy didn’t see the problem.

The barn doors slid open again, letting in another rush of cold air and three more bodies. Speak of the devil. He took in the lazy, well-fucked grin on Micah’s face and Ryan’s amused expression. “Morning, Iz. Morning, Allie,” Micah called as he and Ryan kicked their boots against the wall, knocking the snow free, while Ryan’s dog Milo bounded over to crash into Izzy in an exuberant, tail-wagging greeting. He stayed long enough for Izzy to pat his snow-dusted side before he ran past Ryan into the office. “We missed you at midnight,” Micah said. He paused to give Lex, his paint gelding, a treat and a kiss on the nose, then made his way over to fling his arms around Izzy’s neck and hug him, his grip tight, even through their thick coats.

“Yeah, well, invite more appealing cock next time, and maybe I’ll stick around,” Izzy teased, hugging back and lifting Micah off his feet in the process. It was nice having a friend who was just as tactile as Izzy was.

Micah smacked him on the shoulder until Izzy put him down, then pulled away. “Or you could take a night off, tomcat.”

Izzy snorted. “If I did that, you’d call a doctor.” He gave Micah a shove, making him stumble and laugh.

“And it would be warranted.”

They got to work cleaning stalls as the world brightened and the air warmed. It wasn’t going to get above freezing, but the low thirties felt balmy after a morning in the single digits.

A few hours later, Nick—Micah and Ryan’s boyfriend—arrived bearing pastries and more coffee. He had the day off—lucky bastard. City hall, where he worked as the town manager, was closed for the holiday. Micah rewarded him for the treats with a kiss that got a little too hot and heavy for ten a.m. Show-offs.

Izzy wolf-whistled, just to see Micah blush—something that was getting harder to accomplish. Then he took a large bite of his raspberry Danish and couldn’t hold back a groan. “Fuck me, that’s good,” he said to no one in particular. “Does settling down mean getting these delivered every morning? ’Cause I might consider it.”

Nick’s cough sounded like “Bullshit.”

Izzy smirked in reply. Valid. Everyone knew he’d never go that route.