Page 95 of The Wounded Warrior

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“Okay, Luke. Five more reps on the abs.”

Luke panted, arms crossed over his chest as he pulled in his ab muscles and sat up. “Are you sure you’re not a military DI, man?”

“The military isn’t as tough as me, Luke. Come on, give it up for me.” Avery grinned at him, all-American with his surfer hair and his too-blue-not-to-be-contacts eyes.

“What the hell are you doing in this little town again?”

“Taking the path of least resistance and cheap rent, cowboy. Cities have tons of competition. Besides, you cowboy types tear yourselves up a lot.”

“Right.” He huffed, pushing up again, his muscles screaming.

“Come on, stud. You can do it. You give me these and I’ll rub you down.”

“Promise?” He hit three, then four. One more.

“I swear. Your guy just pulled up too. He’s always early, huh?”

“He’s eager.” Luke grinned and pushed out his final rep. “He wants to make sure the rubdown staysimpersonal.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re a stud and all, but not my type. I like them less bitchy.” Avery grinned at him and he swatted at the bastard half-heartedly. “See what I mean?”

“Are you abusing my man, Avery?” Rory looked good—all cowboy lawyer, from hat to jacket to dark Wranglers. “It’s chilly out there, I swear to God. Hey, honey. Looking good.”

“Hey, babe. Do you know how awkward it is to know you two had a fling?” Luke had to say it. It was a ritual by now.

“Rory was a horndog, man. You reformed him.”

“I have had the best now. I got nowhere else to explore.”

Luke burned with pleasure at that. He did adore when Rory got all possessive.

“Up on the table, sailor. I’ll rub you down while your man watches and drools. I should charge extra for this shit, y’all.”

“You’re a sick man, Avery.” Rory flopped down into a chair. “Damn, what a day wheeling and dealing.”

“Have you made a fortune?”

“Actually, today was a good day on the money front. I can afford to buy us steaks at the Walmart.”

“Oooh.” Luke grunted when Avery dug both thumbs into the sole of his left foot. “Steaks. Baked potatoes?”

“I’m all over that. Dessert?”

“We have that Boston cream pie mix,” Luke said. “I’ll toss it together.”

“Y’all are domestic as fuck,” Avery teased as those strong hands started working his shoulders. “It’s adorable.”

“I know.” Rory’s voice sounded tickled, not wry. “What the hell is up with that?”

“He’s in desperate need of someone to take care of him.” Luke could tease, because they were doing a great job of taking care of each other. They had a little bit of a routine going—Wednesday and Friday nights he spent at Rory’s and Rory brought him home Saturday and worked the horses with him,then did the same Sunday. Hell, Rory was invited to Sunday lunch at the folks—standing offer.

The most telling fact was that Matty let Rory care for his expensive fillies. There was trust there now—between Rory and the horses.

“I totally am. He takes care of me, of horses. It’s stunning.”

“I love the mutual admiration.” Avery gave him deep pressure on his lower back.

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