dreaming—something, don’t remember what,” he said without meeting Eli’s eyes. “I’m tired. How long was I out?”
“Around an hour. I was checking to make sure you were still breathing when you went Rambo on me. Dude, you might think about employing that technique in a real fight one of these days.” He rolled onto his side, which was a mistake. Creed lay facing him, green eyes peering at him from beneath long, fringed lashes. Eli had to force himself to breathe normally. In and out, and don’t fucking stare into his eyes.
“Oh, yeah, sorry. I was dreaming. I guess you startled me.” Did he wince? Eli caught the slight movement but couldn’t think what he was seeing if not a wince. “Something smells good.”
For a whole minute the world seemed to stop spinning. Want and need and Jesus Christ, Creed smiled at him and looked away quickly. Couldn’t be. Eli was imagining things. He’d showered, he wanted to tell Creed, maybe roll closer so he could—
“Like chicken soup or something. God, I feel like I have the flu. My stomach hurts, my throat hurts, my skin feels funny, and my head is a little fuzzy. I’m freezing.” Creed closed his eyes and tried to burrow under the quilt. “Soup would be nice. I haven’t had soup in a long time.”
“From the looks of things, I’d say you haven’t had a lot of any kind of food in a long time.” Eli hadn’t meant to say what he was thinking. Creed was a grown damn man; he could feed himself. Guys like him worked for other riders if they needed money. Horsemen like Creed would be in demand anywhere in the rodeo world. He didn’t have to ride broncs for a living.
“I get by. And really, Eli, what my life has been isn’t really any of your business. I didn’t exactly ask to be your ranch hand, you know. I’ve been taking care of myself most of my life.” There was anger in his words. His eyes took on that shuttered blinds look again. Damn it, Creed was so damned hard to read. Going blank like that made it worse. Blank and cold.
“Yeah, well, looks like you’ve been doing a suck-ass job of it … or, you’ve got this idea that if you stay skinny you might land some high-fashion modeling job. I hear they like their guys to have that starved look to them. But, seriously man, I gotta tell you, it’s not going to happen. Ugly as you are, you will never be on the cover of GQ so stop starving yourself.” He put as much humor in his tone as he could, hoping Creed would take it as that and nothing more. “Or you have a tapeworm.”
“Yeah, well, maybe … fuck you, Eli,” the other man said, a gleam of laughter in his eyes. Much better than blank and cold. His voice cracked, though, with the effort not to let that laugh bubble out his mouth.
“You keep saying that. Somehow I don’t think you mean it.” Eli had to leave. Now. Because he wanted him to mean it. “Besides I’m more of a top, which means I get to do the fucking. Roll over, baby.”
“Not unless you feed me first. And I’m no cheap date.” Aw shit, Creed had no idea what that did to him. Flirting. He was fucking flirting and didn’t even know it. “Crap, Eli, what the hell is the AC set on, arctic blast? It’s fucking freezing in here.”
“It’s on what I normally keep it on; seems fine to me. Hold still and let me check you for fever, okay? That’s all I’m doing so keep the mad ninja skills to yourself.” He held out a hand and laid it on Creed’s forehead. His hair was damp, his skin sweaty. “You feel a little warm. Probably from the quilt. You’re sweating, which is a good thing. You’re probably really weak from all the vomiting. Damn, Creed, gotta tell ya man, I have never seen one person puke that much. I thought you were going to turn your stomach inside out there for a little bit.” Which was the truth.
“I don’t remember.” Creed’s voice quivered. Eli realized he was still touching the man and pulled his hand away. “I don’t remember much, riding
“Around an hour. I was checking to make sure you were still breathing when you went Rambo on me. Dude, you might think about employing that technique in a real fight one of these days.” He rolled onto his side, which was a mistake. Creed lay facing him, green eyes peering at him from beneath long, fringed lashes. Eli had to force himself to breathe normally. In and out, and don’t fucking stare into his eyes.
“Oh, yeah, sorry. I was dreaming. I guess you startled me.” Did he wince? Eli caught the slight movement but couldn’t think what he was seeing if not a wince. “Something smells good.”
For a whole minute the world seemed to stop spinning. Want and need and Jesus Christ, Creed smiled at him and looked away quickly. Couldn’t be. Eli was imagining things. He’d showered, he wanted to tell Creed, maybe roll closer so he could—
“Like chicken soup or something. God, I feel like I have the flu. My stomach hurts, my throat hurts, my skin feels funny, and my head is a little fuzzy. I’m freezing.” Creed closed his eyes and tried to burrow under the quilt. “Soup would be nice. I haven’t had soup in a long time.”
“From the looks of things, I’d say you haven’t had a lot of any kind of food in a long time.” Eli hadn’t meant to say what he was thinking. Creed was a grown damn man; he could feed himself. Guys like him worked for other riders if they needed money. Horsemen like Creed would be in demand anywhere in the rodeo world. He didn’t have to ride broncs for a living.
“I get by. And really, Eli, what my life has been isn’t really any of your business. I didn’t exactly ask to be your ranch hand, you know. I’ve been taking care of myself most of my life.” There was anger in his words. His eyes took on that shuttered blinds look again. Damn it, Creed was so damned hard to read. Going blank like that made it worse. Blank and cold.
“Yeah, well, looks like you’ve been doing a suck-ass job of it … or, you’ve got this idea that if you stay skinny you might land some high-fashion modeling job. I hear they like their guys to have that starved look to them. But, seriously man, I gotta tell you, it’s not going to happen. Ugly as you are, you will never be on the cover of GQ so stop starving yourself.” He put as much humor in his tone as he could, hoping Creed would take it as that and nothing more. “Or you have a tapeworm.”
“Yeah, well, maybe … fuck you, Eli,” the other man said, a gleam of laughter in his eyes. Much better than blank and cold. His voice cracked, though, with the effort not to let that laugh bubble out his mouth.
“You keep saying that. Somehow I don’t think you mean it.” Eli had to leave. Now. Because he wanted him to mean it. “Besides I’m more of a top, which means I get to do the fucking. Roll over, baby.”
“Not unless you feed me first. And I’m no cheap date.” Aw shit, Creed had no idea what that did to him. Flirting. He was fucking flirting and didn’t even know it. “Crap, Eli, what the hell is the AC set on, arctic blast? It’s fucking freezing in here.”
“It’s on what I normally keep it on; seems fine to me. Hold still and let me check you for fever, okay? That’s all I’m doing so keep the mad ninja skills to yourself.” He held out a hand and laid it on Creed’s forehead. His hair was damp, his skin sweaty. “You feel a little warm. Probably from the quilt. You’re sweating, which is a good thing. You’re probably really weak from all the vomiting. Damn, Creed, gotta tell ya man, I have never seen one person puke that much. I thought you were going to turn your stomach inside out there for a little bit.” Which was the truth.
“I don’t remember.” Creed’s voice quivered. Eli realized he was still touching the man and pulled his hand away. “I don’t remember much, riding
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