Page 4 of Wrangled Up (Menage a Trouble #2)

With the six-pack of beer he’d left The Hellion without last night, Christian climbed into his truck. Setting the frosty cans on the passenger seat, he turned back to close his door. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed dark, springy curls.

A jolt of electricity speared his chest and spread through his limbs, tracing paths through his system he didn’t know existed.

“Claire.” Her name came out as a rough whisper.

He cleared his throat just as she approached his truck in a short denim miniskirt and blue suede cowgirl boots.

Her hair was a wild halo around her head, and he longed to dig his fingers into the thick mass just to feel the tight whorls under his fingers.

His own hair was curly as well, though he kept it clipped with a number two .

Her gaze flicked from him to the side of his truck, where his business logo was painted in dark blue against the white.

“Trimming Service, huh?” she asked.

He raked his gaze over her. Impossible not to linger on those tan little thighs. His balls clenched even as his cock stretched. He took in her tiny waist and the coral-colored tank top she wore, landing on her beautiful face. His breath caught. “You need anything trimmed?” he asked.

To his relief, a bubble of laughter burst from her. Her narrow shoulders shook and her curls rioted around her face. “I can’t take an offer like that, considering you’re wearing that T-shirt.”

He glanced down to see what he even had on. After work, he’d run to his apartment and thrown on the first clean thing in the laundry basket, eager to be off to Tucker’s for their…session.

Christian’s black T-shirt was a souvenir from the rowdiest night of the year at The Hellion. Beer and Wild Girls, it said.

“The Woodstock of the West, complete with free love. You were there?” Claire asked. Mirth toyed with the corners of her lips. He stared at the delicious bow of her mouth, desperate to do anything to get her to smile.

“Got the T-shirt, don’t I?”

She laughed again, musical notes that threaded into his brain and took up residence like a well-loved song put on repeat.

“This is what you do for a living? Trim trees?”

He nodded. “It’s a side job.” In the spring and fall, he got the most business—last year enough to pay off his truck loan. It also supported him between jobs. The construction work was fickle, and he was often laid off. In fact, after this road was done, Christian would be sitting idle.

With any luck, next year the extra income from his side job might afford him some heavy equipment to start up an excavation business. Putting in water lines, digging ditches and basement foundations.

“Where else do you work?”

“You know old Highway 3?”

“Yeah.”

“The place with all the orange cones. I’m the one with the shovel. ”

Her grin stretched wide enough to reveal a tiny dimple in her cheek, which reminded him of Tucker. The man had a dimple in his chin that distracted the hell out of Christian, especially when Tucker was in the throes of ecstasy.

Too bad Tucker had broken up with her. If she already had feelings for his friend, she might not be averse to letting Christian in on the action.

For a moment, he drowned in images of her golden skin against Tucker’s cowboy tan, of their hips meeting and parting to a slow beat while Claire opened her lips around Christian’s cock and he succumbed to her warmth.

But Christian wanted to convince his friend to reconsider his relationship with Claire for more reasons than the hot sex Christian might take part in. Tucker needed her. And though she was smiling, an underlying glint of pain in her eyes made Christian’s heart flex.

“You going in there to have a drink?”

“I’m meeting friends,” Claire answered. The fast notes of a Jason Aldean tune blared through the door of The Hellion as it opened and a group of girls vanished into the dark depths.

When Christian glanced back at Claire, she was bootscootin’ in the parking lot—a little Baby Bop step that drew even more of his attention to her legs.

She stopped and grinned. “In fact, that’s them. I’ll see ya around, Christian.”

The sound of his name on her lips slowed his pulse. He watched her ass shake all the way to the door. She went inside without a backward glance.

She wasn’t interested in him. It was Tucker she loved. She was just being nice, making conversation. Her smiles didn’t mean more.

Too bad Christian’s body didn’t understand that.

With a throbbing hard-on, he headed toward Tucker’s ranch. His friend had swung by the construction site this morning and shocked Christian with an apology. The warmth that had blossomed in his chest at the harshly spoken words spread through him now.

You’ve got it bad.

Well, even if Tucker would never let Christian close to him, he still got to see his eight rigid inches in his hand and Tucker’s bright blue eyes, glassy with pleasure. Christian’s dick distended his fly, and he nudged it to give it ease.

It had been two days since their last session with pay-per-view. The thing was, the visuals were background noise. When he and Tucker jacked off together, their gazes were on each other.

By the time he reached the Langley Ranch, he was aching. Throbbing to get into that rustic farmhouse and his cock in hand.

To see Tucker.

Inside, the living room was empty. “Tucker?” he called, heading for the kitchen with the beer. The old-fashioned porcelain sink stood full of dishes and the floors were dusty with mud. But no Tucker.

At the hallway leading to the bedrooms, Christian called Tucker’s name. No answer.

After revolving through the house with the rough wood walls and the stone hearths, he headed back outside into the cooler evening air. He scanned the fencing that housed Boomerang and saw Tucker’s hard form leaning against the fence .

This was a first. Tucker was always ready for Christian, remote in hand, lube on the side table.

But his head was dipped low, so only the back brim of his cowboy hat was up. Christian crossed the porch and drifted down the steps, boots scraping the wood. As he neared, Tucker lifted his head.

“You watching the corn grow again?” Christian asked.

A snort of laughter emerged from his friend. “Asshole.”

“Not as much as you,” he jabbed lightly. Christian braced his forearms on the split-rail fence, shoulder to shoulder with Tucker. The dark scents of pine and man filtered into his senses, causing the knot in his stomach to tighten with want.

“Get the beer this time?”

“It’s already in the fridge.”

“That’s good. I could use one after I discovered how much money it will take to repair the body of my Ram.”

Tucker’s voice was tight with something Christian couldn’t identify. He sent him a sidelong look. The man’s face was in the shadows, but even if he’d been standing in a beam of sunlight, Christian knew his expression would still be inscrutable. He did that—hid behind a mask.

Christian shifted, brushing shoulders with Tucker. A spike of desire sank deep into his groin. “I’m sorry I didn’t stop her before she did that last thousand dollars’ worth of damage.”

The corner of Tucker’s mouth twitched. “Just that last thousand?”

“Well, yeah, I wouldn’t want to put a financial strain on you.”

At that, Tucker laughed out loud. He gripped Christian’s shoulder and squeezed. Their gazes met. Dark blue sparks glittered in Tucker’s. “I’m not worried about getting it fixed for a while. Let’s break open that beer.”

And break out our cocks.

Christian followed his friend into the house, aware of the long lines of his back and the hard muscles rolling beneath his western shirt and Wranglers. Tucker went to the kitchen for the beer, which was new too, since Christian was always the beer runner .

Unsure of what to do with himself, Christian shuffled around the living room, listening to the refrigerator door opening and closing. When Tucker entered the space, a cloud of testosterone crowded in with him.

Christian swallowed hard and wordlessly accepted the beer. The dynamics had changed between them, but why? Had it been Tucker’s apology? Or the fact that he felt the need to apologize at all?

“Been thinking a lot about Claire today.” His friend’s words made Christian’s heart constrict.

Sinking to his regular spot on the sofa, Christian cracked open his beer. “Yeah?”

“I fucked up.”

“So go get her back.”

“I intend to.”

Without thought, Christian’s words tumbled out. “I want to be part of that. As a third.”

Tucker’s gaze snapped to his and clung. A painful heartbeat stretched between them. Unable to battle his need anymore, Christian set his beer aside, leaned back on the sofa and unzipped his jeans .

A quiet noise broke from Tucker as he sank to the recliner and did the same.

The grating noise of his zipper lowering had Christian’s cock hard and weeping with pre-come.

While nudging his jeans and boxers off his hips, he kicked off his boots.

Usually Christian left his T-shirt on, but today he yanked it off too, leaving him completely bare.

Every inch of himself exposed to Tucker.

Taking his cue, Tucker stripped down too, abandoning jeans with the leather belt and silver buckle still in the loops. When his pearl-button shirt hit the carpet, Christian drank in the sight of his friend’s well-muscled chest, sprinkled with golden brown hair.

Christian rubbed a palm over his own bare chest to the dark trail of hair leading to his cock.

As one, he and Tucker cupped their balls, fondling the tight sacs, gazes locked on each other.

Webs of want spread through Christian’s body as he thought about finally dropping to his knees and taking Tucker’s long shaft in his mouth.

Of sucking that dark purple head and gathering the ropes of come.

He shuddered .

Tucker rolled his shaft through his hand, pumping it once and holding it out, erect, for Christian to see the glistening tip.