Page 23 of Best Friends, Tennessee

Mason had inherited all ten acres of Minton Ranch when his dad had passed away. It was some of the most beautiful land in Bestens or for miles in any direction. He had six horses, a few short trails, arenas, a couple of round pens, and more box stalls than he’d ever need.

The land was horse heaven, and the house itself was just as impressive.

I hauled in my heavy, portable massage table, ready to get started on his weekly massage appointment. Mason had started getting massages from me shortly after I began volunteering with his horses, and at this point, I saw Mason most days of the week, whether it was for the horses or for therapeutic massage.

Ori had been convinced Mason wanted to fuck me ever since he saw us together a couple of Christmases ago.

But it was bullshit.

Ori just thought any gay guy wanted me, but I was damn sure Mason just deeply appreciated my help. His father had run one of the most successful horse riding schools in the state from this land, but since he passed, Mason had let a lot of the business slow down, taking on fewer and fewer clients as time went on.

He was dealing with his own grief. His dad had been a rock star at running the business, and it was clear that Mason felt in over his head.

I’d been volunteering to help with the horses ever since. He still had one other guy on payroll who came around to help with maintenance of the horses and property, but things were night-and-day compared to the way his dad had run it.

Mason needed myhelp, not my cock.

I set the table down in his living room, starting to unfold the legs below it. His living room was covered in various bottles, boxes, and for some reason, multiple colorful feather boas.

“Big night last night?”

Mason gave me a slight smile. “Haven’t even slept yet.”

“It’s five in the evening, Mason,” I said.

“I know,” he told me. “I had a little too much fun last night. And this morning. And I really need to start slowing down.”

I gave him a look. “Are yougoingto slow down?”

“Doubtful.”

That was another way he’d been handling his grief: he said yes toanything, whether it was a party or a trip or random ideas any of his friends had. He was a softie, and one of the nicest people I knew, but every time I saw him he had another insane story to tell.

Mason refused to say no to any life experience, and sometimes that meant his lifewasa hot mess, even if he was trying to live it to the fullest. We all loved him, and we all didn’t know what he’d do next.

He sure fuckin’ needed the stability and care of regular massages.

I got started working on him a couple of minutes later, easing my thumbs into his right side levator scapula and his traps.

“There is a whole nasty little cluster of tension here beside your shoulder blade,” I said a few minutes into the massage. Mason tensed up a little on the table in front of me, even as I lightly massaged the area.

“It feels like a little slice of hell itself right in my upper back,” Mason said. “God.”

“We’re definitely not going to be able to work it all out today, but I can make some progress,” I said. “I know you’re going to laugh in my face, but I really just have to say it—”

“The way I live isn’t helping, I know, I know,” Mason said.

I tended to tell him something similar almost every week.

He knew the drill.

“I don’t have to say yes to everything. I know,” he said. “Last night’s party was worth it, though.”

“I love a good party, too,” I told him. “But if they start to happen every day—”

“Then you’re a hot mess,” Mason said. “I know I am.Ouch.”

“That is a doozy,” I said, lessening my pressure on another awful knot a bit lower next to his shoulder blade. “I’m going to work on the muscle groups that connect to this, rather than going anywhere near the cluster itself, today. It needs rest.”

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