Page 173 of Delicious

The machine comes off easily, and I hand the hoses over the edge like Dean has done on the one before, dip her teats in the cup of what looks like iodine, and move up the row to get the next girl taken care of. Dean and I move along the row, him twice as fast as me, but we still beat the other guys clearing their sections.

“Thanks, you can open the door and let them out if you like,” he says, and I pull across the sliding door at the end of the section, and the cows funnel themselves out without any prompting. I suppose if they are milked three times a day, they would be used to this.

“Thanks for your help. We should probably get your order loaded up now. Did you want to add on anything else?” he asks, looking past me to Rémy who’s been following along the row as we worked, watching me. I could feel his eyes on me the entire time, and I almost asked him if he wanted to jump in and give it a go, too, but thought I better not. They aren’t my cows after all.

“Do you have any of those lavender soaps?”

“Yes, Sarah sent down a whole box of them.”

“Great, we’ll take them, too.”

“No problem. Hey, Conner, Nial, I’m grabbing the order. You all good in here?”

“Yeah,” they reply, and I follow Dean and Rémy out of the barn and toward the main house.

“So, you don’t have another brother, do you?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.

“Yeah, we do. But he doesn’t work the ranch. He’s up in Savannah keeping an eye on Gramps and playing Banana Ball. Why do you ask?”

Rémy looks my way but doesn’t say anything. I could say nothing, too. Rémy is staying quiet, and these guys clearly don’t recognize me. I mean, why would they? I was pulled early in the first season with the Funky Monkeys.

“I played with your brother, on the other team,” I say, surprising even myself.

“Oh, cool. Hey, I think I remember. It was in the first year, right? You had to take a break because you got hurt.”

“A permanent break,” I reply.

“Shit. Sorry, man. That sucks.”

“Yeah. It does.”

“Alan will start coming up here when he can’t play anymore. It can’t last forever, right?”

He’s right. One way or another, it was always going to end. My career just ended a whole fucking lot sooner than I wanted it to.

“Gotta have a Plan B,” I say and follow him into the house to collect the order. I didn’t have a Plan B.

We collect everything we need, and Dean loads the crate on the side of the bike with more than I thought it could carry before he heads back into the barn to help his brothers, and we ride back to the estate. The ride back is slower, by far. But no less exciting. Without the fear of death, I’m able to focus more on everything else. Like the way Rémy fits against me perfectly, and how his skin smells like sugar and cocoa. I try not to imagine tasting him, because the slightest thought of just that had me thickening in my jeans, and I can’t exactly hide a hard-on when it’s against his ass on this bike.

We bring everything through to the kitchen through a side door, but on my trip back out to get the last of it, I notice another door in the hallway, and it’s slightly ajar.

“Wasn’t this a storeroom?” I ask Rémy as he walks back carrying the boxes of soap.

“It used to be. We had it renovated when I moved here.”

“Renovated to what?” I ask, pushing open the door to find the small storeroom had been completely transformed into a livable space. There is a sort of small hallway; on the left, another door is open to a bedroom where a single bed sits against one wall, a tiny side table beside it; and on my right is a bathroom with a walk-in shower.

“You live here?”

“Oui, I do.”

“You didn’t want one of the bigger rooms?” I ask, looking again at the small bed. He would be almost as tall as it is long. Surely it isn’t comfortable. He should have a bigger bed.

“It has everything that I need, plus it is close to the kitchen. I’ll just put these down, then how about I make you something to eat?”

“I’ll grab the last few boxes,” I say and collect the final things while Rémy washes up. I get back into the kitchen and find Seline stretched up on her toes, trying to grab a few teacups and saucers to load onto a tray.

“Here, let me help,” I tell her, picking up the last few she was struggling to reach.

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