Page 7 of Close Quarters

“That I got myself hurt, and you tried to make me stop. Fucking hell, I’m not some kid who’s going to go running to Daddy that big brother got me hurt,” he grumbled.

“Then quit acting like a kid so I can fucking have the rest of the day,” I told him.

He rolled his eyes, a storm cloud still billowing on his face as he carefully but firmly pushed the cows away. “I know you’re not trying to win any popularity contests, Reno, but you could be less of a dick.”

“And you could be less of a little kid.”

“Oh fuck off, because your bad temper is so mature.”

“I didn’t fucking say it was.”

“Then quit acting like it is!”

“Quit acting like you’re five!”

“Oh, shovel the shit and leave me alone, you grouchy dick.”

There was something almost…well, cathartic to have him get pissy with me. Anger had never been a self-feeding emotion in my case, but there was something gratifying about it all the same. At least now I knew the fucker had more emotions than goofy, happy, chatty, and annoying. Maybe now I could get some blessed peace for the next leg of work. My only regret was that I hadn’t thought to piss him off sooner.

A new problem developed when, after we’d finished the work in silence, I felt a tug in my chest when I watched him march toward the barn, head down. It wasn’t like I’d been trying to make him feel like shit, but damn, couldn’t a guy get some peace and quiet? If there was one thing I treasured, it was quiet. Between growing up with noise and chaos and then ending up in prison, peace was something I didn’t get too often.

Worse yet, I felt compelled to apologize to the guy. On the list of things I wasn’t good at, that was second only to controlling my temper. Apologies weren’t offered up often in my family, and you were always looking for the catch that came when one was given. After a while, you learned not to offer them and didn’t expect them. Hell, you outright feared them.

“What…are you doing?” I asked when I saw him rummaging through the small supply closet.

He turned, giving me a disbelieving look, then looked down at himself. I followed his gaze and shrugged, yeah, he was covered in mud and shit, that’s what came with cleaning…well, animal shit.

Elliot rolled his eyes. “I’m using the barn shower. No way in hell am I going to go walking in this heat, smelling like shit and sweat.”

“We aren’t that covered,” I said, looking down at myself. “I mean, the gear caught most of it.”

“And some still got on my skin and all over,” he said, squinting at me. “And you’ve got some in your hair. So, maybe you should strip down.”

“Strip down?”

“I’m sorry, but did you get shy in prison?”

“I got…wary,” I admitted with a grimace. Only to feel alarmed when his smile faltered, and I saw something way too close to pity on his face. “Don’t even fucking look at me like that. I’m not afraid. Fuck.”

He drew back for a moment and then laughed. “Well, then go ahead and join me.”

“What?”

“Dude,” he said, taking off the waders after pulling off his boots to begin hosing them off. “I don’t care if you have the finest ass on this whole ass ranch-ha, ass ranch. I’m not going to jump you, hit on you, or what the fuck ever.”

“I wasn’t thinking that,” I said with a roll of my eyes, doing the same as him, draping everything rubber over the nearby fence and taking a hose to it. Admittedly, I had wondered if he would say something stupid, which was exceptionally on-brand for Elliot.

“Good,” Elliot said with a chuckle. He pulled off his shirt and tossed it onto a nearby shelf. “Got shit on that too, so I guess I need to change anyway.”

“It’s shit. It gets everywhere,” I told him, glancing as he stretched to grab something off a shelf in the supply closet.

I wouldn’t tell him or anyone on this ranch, but he was actually cute…when he was quiet. I didn’t know what he’d looked like before coming to the ranch, but now he was built pretty solidly, but that came from the fact that I’d witnessed that he could work as hard as he could talk, which was an impressive feat. There were tattoos, mostly swirling, sharp symbols etched along his arms and chest, and a patch of hair so light you wouldn’t notice until the sunlight caught it and made it shimmer.

Fuck, here I was making him think I was worried he was going to ogle me, and I was eye fucking him. It had been way too long since I got laid if I was going to start mentally undressing Elliot, of all fucking people. Yeah, the guy probably looked great with a dick in his mouth, and I knew he wasn’t hiding the fact that he liked dicks but?—

“Alright,” he said, and I raised a brow as he shucked off his pants, leaving him in a pair of?—

“Is…that a fucking jockstrap?” I asked in shock as I first stared and then immediately pulled my eyes away from the pale curve of his ass, jutting toward me. “Where the fuck did you even get that?”

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