02-Let It Ride by L.C. Chase

quickened in response.
    God, he needed to stop noticing things like that. It would lead to no good for him. Either he’d let himself believe Bridge wasn’t straight only to find out he really was and he’d be made a fool. Or he’d find out Bridge was gay, and interested in him, which would be worse. He knew better than to believe someone like Bridge would want him—at least not for more than just sex. Jeremy had made that painfully clear when he’d chosen another over him, even after professing his undying love. Like Ron before him, who Eric had also foolishly believed had loved him.
    Nope, he couldn’t go there again. As long as he kept his heart locked down, no one would ever be able to hurt him again, and if it were Bridge . . . the heartbreak would be devastating.
    Eric broke the connection first, needing a distraction to keep his bearings. Friends he could do. Harmless, flirty fun he could do. But that would have to be their line in the sand.
    He grabbed a salted potato chip off his plate and waved it in Bridge’s direction as if it were some kind of shield. “Okay, fine. Teach me to ride a horse.” He paused to basically inhale the chip. “But can we start on the coin-operated ones in front of the grocery stores? They’re close enough to the ground that even if I do manage to fall off, I won’t get hurt.”
    Bridge raised his eyebrows. “And just yesterday you wanted to learn bull riding?”
    “Well, I’d start on a mechanical one, right?”
    Bridge scowled. “No ponies or mechanical horses.” Then he leaned forward and his voice dropped, sounding as smooth as twelve-year-old whiskey tasted. “The real deal is what I’ve got for you.”
    “Are you flirting with me again?” He’d meant the question to come off light and teasing, but his rough whisper startled even him. Against his better judgment, he had to admit how much he liked the way Bridge flirted with him, how much he was starting to enjoy it, and look forward to it. It was just harmless teasing between friends, after all. No harm, no foul. Right?
    He could do that.
    Bridge smiled, and then his expression turned serious. “So.” He leaned back. “In all the time we’ve known you, you’ve never said much about your life in New York. Why is that?”
    Well, that wasn’t at all where he’d expected the conversation to go. He’d so much rather tempt fate with their growing sexual innuendo than talk about his past. He took a long drink of his iced tea. “Not much to tell.”
    Bridge snagged the last chip off Eric’s plate and dipped it into a leftover dollop of mustard on his own. “How old are you?”
    Eric watched with rapt attention as Bridge opened his mouth, slid the rippled chip into his mouth, and bit down, his tongue snaking out to swipe the trace of yellow condiment that clung to his lip.
    Eric had to clear his throat, and even then, his words crawled out slow and spent sounding. “The dreaded thirty.”
    “So after thirty years of living, there’s nothing to tell? I don’t believe that for a second. What about family? Brothers and sisters?”
    “Don’t have any.”
    Bridge leaned back, eyebrows raised. “As much as I’d like to think you were sent from heaven, I don’t think you just dropped here last year, fully formed.”
    “Aww.” Looking for a deflection, Eric folded his hands and rested his chin on them, giving Bridge his best dreamy eyes and fluttering his lashes. “Who knew you were such a romantic?”
    Bridge lowered his head, but the brim of his hat wasn’t wide enough to hide the blush that spread over his cheeks. Confident and shy—why that blend intrigued Eric so much, he couldn’t say, but the more he discovered about Bridge, the more he wanted to discover. Which was damn dangerous thinking, and he needed to get off that train wreck in the making.
    “Shut up and tell me your story,” Bridge groused.
    Eric inhaled deeply, held it, then expelled a long breath. “Parents dumped me in foster care. Got