felt a rising need to ease his anxiety.
“Look, I hope this doesn’t freak you out.” Bridge took off his hat, ran a hand through his unruly blond locks, and then gripped the brim of the hat in both hands, fidgeting with the felt edges instead of putting it back on. Trepidation danced in the depths of his gaze, but his eyes remained on Eric. “I know you don’t think I’m gay. No one does. Well, maybe not so much lately, but . . . if you thought I was, would you . . .” Bridge swallowed audibly. “Would you be interested in me? That way?”
Ka-boom. Didn’t get much more point-blank than that.
He searched Bridge’s eyes—open, honest, scared. So many emotions gathered there, but the one standing out the most was hope. Gay or not, Bridge seemed genuinely interested in him. And what could he say? Hell yes, he was interested right back, but that didn’t erase the fear. When Bridge realized Eric wasn’t worth it—which he would, just like everyone else had his whole life—he’d lose not only Bridge’s friendship, but Marty, Tripp and Kent’s, too.
“Bridge. Um . . .”
“Shit, now I’ve made you uncomfortable.” Bridge looked away, and Eric’s chest clenched. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
Before he knew it, he’d reached out and wrapped his hand lightly around Bridge’s bare wrist, the skin there warm and firm, sending electric charges up Eric’s arm. “No, no. We’re good. I swear. It’s just . . .”
“Just what?”
Eric didn’t miss the hopeful undertone in Bridge’s question, the way he seemed to lean forward ever so slightly.
“It’s just that . . .” Eric chewed his lip, trying to corral his thoughts, but the heat that radiated into his palm where it connected with Bridge’s bare skin kept interfering with his thought process. “You aren’t gay. And we’re good friends.”
“Well . . . do I have to be gay to be interested?” A hint of a smile lifted one side of Bridge’s mouth. “And don’t they say best friends make the best lovers?”
Holy shit. This was not going to go easy. Eric cleared his throat—twice—and dropped his hand from Bridge’s wrist. He couldn’t touch the sexy cowboy and think clearly at the same time. “Generally, men who are attracted to other men are gay . . .”
“But some men are attracted to both men and women.”
“Bisexual,” Eric said.
Bridge shook his head and made a face—annoyed, impatient, amused, and completely adorable. “Closer, but how about if we just say I’m attracted to you?”
Bridge studied him for a moment that seemed to go on for far too long. Long enough for Eric to imagine sparks shooting between them. Though that was probably from the fading embers of the small campfire they’d had going earlier, he told himself.
“ Are you saying you’re attracted to me?” The words drifted out on a whisper so soft, Eric could barely hear his own voice. A little flicker of hope lit in the depths of his mind, but he forced it back into the dark.
Bridge nodded, and his smile widened. “Definitely.”
“But . . .” Eric’s thoughts warred with each other, one part jumping for joy and another looking for the closest window to jump out of and run. “Since when?”
“Since you came to the hospital to check up on Marty last year.”
“What?” Eric’s voice cracked, and his eyebrows rose so high they seemed to be trying to weave into his hairline.
Bridge looked down at his feet, kicked at the dirt with the toe of his boot, his smile turning shy. “Well, I didn’t really know what was going on then. Lots of feelings I hadn’t felt in a really long time. Only stronger. But then over the winter, I started having these dreams . . .” He glanced up and the heat in his eyes singed the surface of Eric’s skin. “Really erotic dreams, and that’s when—”
“Stop.” Eric raised a hand and took a step back. “You don’t just suddenly realize you’re gay at twenty-five—”
“Eight. But thank
“Look, I hope this doesn’t freak you out.” Bridge took off his hat, ran a hand through his unruly blond locks, and then gripped the brim of the hat in both hands, fidgeting with the felt edges instead of putting it back on. Trepidation danced in the depths of his gaze, but his eyes remained on Eric. “I know you don’t think I’m gay. No one does. Well, maybe not so much lately, but . . . if you thought I was, would you . . .” Bridge swallowed audibly. “Would you be interested in me? That way?”
Ka-boom. Didn’t get much more point-blank than that.
He searched Bridge’s eyes—open, honest, scared. So many emotions gathered there, but the one standing out the most was hope. Gay or not, Bridge seemed genuinely interested in him. And what could he say? Hell yes, he was interested right back, but that didn’t erase the fear. When Bridge realized Eric wasn’t worth it—which he would, just like everyone else had his whole life—he’d lose not only Bridge’s friendship, but Marty, Tripp and Kent’s, too.
“Bridge. Um . . .”
“Shit, now I’ve made you uncomfortable.” Bridge looked away, and Eric’s chest clenched. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
Before he knew it, he’d reached out and wrapped his hand lightly around Bridge’s bare wrist, the skin there warm and firm, sending electric charges up Eric’s arm. “No, no. We’re good. I swear. It’s just . . .”
“Just what?”
Eric didn’t miss the hopeful undertone in Bridge’s question, the way he seemed to lean forward ever so slightly.
“It’s just that . . .” Eric chewed his lip, trying to corral his thoughts, but the heat that radiated into his palm where it connected with Bridge’s bare skin kept interfering with his thought process. “You aren’t gay. And we’re good friends.”
“Well . . . do I have to be gay to be interested?” A hint of a smile lifted one side of Bridge’s mouth. “And don’t they say best friends make the best lovers?”
Holy shit. This was not going to go easy. Eric cleared his throat—twice—and dropped his hand from Bridge’s wrist. He couldn’t touch the sexy cowboy and think clearly at the same time. “Generally, men who are attracted to other men are gay . . .”
“But some men are attracted to both men and women.”
“Bisexual,” Eric said.
Bridge shook his head and made a face—annoyed, impatient, amused, and completely adorable. “Closer, but how about if we just say I’m attracted to you?”
Bridge studied him for a moment that seemed to go on for far too long. Long enough for Eric to imagine sparks shooting between them. Though that was probably from the fading embers of the small campfire they’d had going earlier, he told himself.
“ Are you saying you’re attracted to me?” The words drifted out on a whisper so soft, Eric could barely hear his own voice. A little flicker of hope lit in the depths of his mind, but he forced it back into the dark.
Bridge nodded, and his smile widened. “Definitely.”
“But . . .” Eric’s thoughts warred with each other, one part jumping for joy and another looking for the closest window to jump out of and run. “Since when?”
“Since you came to the hospital to check up on Marty last year.”
“What?” Eric’s voice cracked, and his eyebrows rose so high they seemed to be trying to weave into his hairline.
Bridge looked down at his feet, kicked at the dirt with the toe of his boot, his smile turning shy. “Well, I didn’t really know what was going on then. Lots of feelings I hadn’t felt in a really long time. Only stronger. But then over the winter, I started having these dreams . . .” He glanced up and the heat in his eyes singed the surface of Eric’s skin. “Really erotic dreams, and that’s when—”
“Stop.” Eric raised a hand and took a step back. “You don’t just suddenly realize you’re gay at twenty-five—”
“Eight. But thank
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