“There he is.” Cole put a foot up on the lower slat of the fence and rested his arms on the upper. “Take a good look at him while he’s standing still. You won’t see him like this in the ring.”
He eyed the bull with respect. He stood out from the rest of the top ten. Spitfire was big, over sixteen hundred pounds of pure, cream-colored power, topped with foot-and-a-half long horns. The way Spitfire eyed him and began to dig at the ground like he wanted to test the limits of the temporary fence sent a shiver up his spine. He’d have to be careful with this one. He gave Cole a sidelong look and studied the man as he watched his bull.
He liked the sandy-blond stubble dusting the man’s chin and cheek. Liked the way his lips were wide and meaty and showed a bit of wear at the edges, betraying either late-night trysts or the tendency to chew on them as he worried. Garrett voted for the latter. Oh, he could picture Cole bent over taking it from another man easily enough, but the thought made him instantly jealous, so he squelched the notion. With nowhere to set his still full plate, he perched it on the top of a post. “You keep a pretty close watch on him?”
Cole nodded. “He’s a rebellious one. An escape artist, too. A little too smart for his britches. Someday he’ll end up in the slaughterhouse if he’s not careful.”
Garrett laughed and slapped the dust off his thigh, the motion garnering Cole’s attention. The heat of Cole’s gaze flushed him warm all over. He couldn’t help but engage in a little appreciation of his own. His tongue wetted his lips as he took in the round curve of Cole’s ass, his narrow hips, up his wide, work-chiseled chest, and finally his face. The man’s gaze blazed hotter as Garrett brushed his hand closer to his groin. “That’d be a waste if you ask me.”
Cole swallowed and snapped his attention back up, his eyes shining. “Yes, it would be. A real shame.”
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