Page 66 of The Wounded Warrior

“Ah. Well, don’t you know any of those? Use what you got, man.”

“I know a huge amount, in the great scheme of things. I know two, in fact, who would gang up and take you from both ends at the same time.” Did he just say that? To his therapist?

“Okay. You have my number. I will volunteer on this horse ranch of yours for a chance at that.” Avery shrugged when Luke gave him the ‘you’re shitting me’ face. “You know how hard it is to get laid in this town? I already tried one, and you’re taken.”

“With the one you tried. Morg and Charlie have promised to come on their next leave. Three, maybe four months.” He really would hook Avery up. His buddies were…well, they were scary enough that he’d never taken them up on what they’d threatened to do with him.

“I will be your friend for eternity.”

“You remind me of that, after.”

Avery hooted. “I was serious, though. If you come up with some kind of ranch for wounded guys, I would volunteer.”

“Yeah? Because there won’t be money at first.”

“Hey, I have my clients here. I can do something for men who have given so much.” Avery shrugged. “Besides, it would look amazing on my résumé.”

“Ah, now the truth is out.” Luke grabbed Avery’s wrist when he would have moved the towels. “Thanks. I mean it.”

“You’re welcome. Seriously. Count me in.”

“I will.” He let Avery take his towels then, because that meant hot tub.

“Come on, sailor. Let’s soak your bones.”

“Yes, please. I ache.” He’d worked his damned ass off. He was gonna do this. He had his plans, his lover, now. They deserved the best of him.

Chapter Twenty

Rory sang with Tim McGraw at the top of his lungs as he headed into town to pick Luke up at Avery’s. They had plans that involved food and nookie—not necessarily in that order and not necessarily in single amounts. Hell, if he was lucky he could have a three-fer tonight, interspersed with dinner and dessert, then a two-fer in the morning with breakfast between.

A guy could dream, right?

Luke was getting his stamina back, if not always his muscle control. There had been one awkward night where Luke’s left thigh had cramped while Rory sucked him, two fingers inside that tight ass he had yet to test any other way. Disaster. Pure disaster, but Luke could laugh about it now.

They were working their shit out, no question.

There was a truck behind him, running lights on, coming fast, and he straddled the shoulder to let whoever it was pass. Probably someone from the Metroplex. They always seemed to be in a hurry, and to forget life was slower out this way.

Tim McGraw turned into Kris Kristofferson and he was off in his own world, singing again, when the truckslammed into his left bumper. He slapped his hand on the emergency button of his GPS before turning into the skid. Fuck a doodle goddamn do.

The big dualie stopped twenty yards down the road. Then backed up.

“Is there an emergency in the vehicle, sir?”

“Yes. Yes, someone’s fucking trying to kill me.” He made sure the truck was running and straightened up in the seat. Harris wanted to play chicken? He had good insurance. “Send the sheriff, ASAP.”

“Stay on the line while I call the police, sir. What has happened?” The very calm voice made this all seem so much more surreal.

“Someone’s hit my truck, and they’re coming for another round.”

He slammed down on the gas when the truck got close and damn near killed them both, but he managed to get moving again, his hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel. Rory peeled out, trying to put as much space as he could between them.

“Sir? Try to find a safe, public place to pull off.”

“I’m working on it.” He was three miles from Avery and Luke, and he didn’t know if that was safe or public, but it was where he was going.

“Stay calm and try not to run off the road.”

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