“You were so determined to wear it, and you left it behind?”

“I’m not Yosemite Sam; I’m not used to grabbing my hat every time I go out the door!”

Zane rolled his eyes, then held up his index finger in a “wait” sign and turned to reach behind the seat again. He pulled out a straw bullrider hat and offered it to Ty.

Ty laughed and took the hat, turning it over to inspect it.

“No, wait. That’s just like yours at home. Here,” Zane said, and then he pulled the Stetson off his own head and set it on Ty’s with a flourish.

Ty went cross-eyed as he looked up at the brim of the hat. Zane was staring at him, teeth worrying his lower lip, eyes dark and liquid.

“I think the black suits you more than the brown did.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Brings out your eyes.”

“Is that what you look for in cowboy hats?”

“Maybe. You know, in high school, if a girl got a guy to give her his Stetson, it was a sure thing they were going steady,” Zane said, his voice heated and smug.

Zane’s attempts at flirting were a never-ending source of amusement. And damn him, they were starting to work. “You saying I’d make a great Texan girl?”

“I’m saying you look damn good in my hat,” Zane growled. He cupped Ty’s chin with one hand and leaned over in the shadowed truck cab to kiss him.

Ty had to give him points for effortlessly ducking under the brim. He smiled into the kiss, giving Zane more points for the ability to kindle that low-grade heat of anticipation with just a single look or kiss. Ty didn’t have a smart-ass reply for that.

The languorous kiss went on for long minutes, and when Zane finally pulled back, he ran his thumb along the corner of Ty’s lips. “Ready to honky-tonk, baby?” he drawled, voice husky with arousal.

“Depends on what that’s code for in Texas,” Ty replied, voice just as thick.

Zane’s laugh sent a shiver up Ty’s spine. “Every little dirty thing you’re thinking and more.”

“Then let’s get started.” Ty grinned crookedly; he enjoyed nothing more than when Zane was in this kind of mood. It usually ended up messy. With bruises. And holes in the drywall. It was a good thing they had somewhere private to return to tonight.

Zane slid the bullrider on and pulled it down low over his eyes. His hair was long enough that it curled under the brim. Ty couldn’t keep his eyes off him as they climbed out of the truck. He would stay in Texas forever, as long as Zane promised to wear a hat all the time.

Their boots crunched on the gravel. Zane reached out and slid his fingers into the palm of Ty’s hand. Ty looked over at him, finding it suddenly hard to breathe. He squeezed Zane’s hand and Zane smiled as he sauntered toward the door.

There were fifty or more people sitting out on the patio, waiting to get a table inside. Where the hell had they all came from?

“Z! Over here!”

Zane stopped on the rough wooden steps to find the origin of the voice, and then he smiled and waved. He turned to Ty and took his elbow. “They’re waiting for us,” he said, nodding to the door as the others disappeared inside.

Ty grunted, gesturing for Zane to lead on. It was fascinating to see Zane with people who’d known him before, like watching a wildlife show—prairie dogs in their natural habitat.

In short order, they arrived at a set of tables with three other couples, one of them Annie and Mark, who gave Ty a bright smile and a sardonic salute, respectively. Annie threw him off his game by introducing him as Zane’s boyfriend. Word had gotten around, because no one even blinked at that. They merely shook his hand and told him their names.

“Okay, who’s driving?” one of the women asked, raising her voice over the music. She jingled her keys in front of her.

“That’s me.” Zane doffed the bullrider and held it out over the table, waggling it.

“I don’t want to see any scratches on my baby, Z,” Joe said in a slow drawl that seemed as stereotypically cowboy as his handlebar mustache and lanky, bow-legged frame.

“You drive a puke-green Chevy, Joe,” Cody said. He was Joe’s exact opposite: dark hair, dark eyes, clean-shaven, and beefy shoulders. “1980 with the floorboards rusted out.”

“But the engine is cherry!” Everyone laughed, and Zane waved the hat, now weighted down with other sets of keys, in front of him.

Ty’s eyes were stuck on Zane, on the crow’s feet that formed when he smiled and the light in his eyes. It was so rare to see him relaxed and having fun.

Keys stashed in his pockets, Zane sat down next to Ty and sprawled back in his chair as the ladies started suggesting drinks. Ty settled his hand on Zane’s knee, something he’d rarely been able to do in Baltimore.

“How about margaritas?” one woman suggested. Jill, maybe? He hadn’t quite been able to hear.

“Beer,” Cody said.

“Mojitos?” That one was Marissa. Or Melissa.

“Beer,” Joe said, voice flat.

“Jack Daniels!” Annie cried.

“Beer,” Mark insisted.

Then six sets of eyes turned on him and Zane.

Ty looked around the table with a raised eyebrow. “I hear beer is good.”

The guys all crowed in agreement, and Zane gave him a tolerant look of amusement. “Sure you don’t want a peach bellini?” Zane teased.

“Hey, those things were pretty good. And they kicked my ass.”

The laughter carried around the table as Zane related the peach bellini story to the others. It was an odd feeling, being able to share experiences like that with other people. Ty was determined to enjoy it while he could.

No sooner had Zane ordered a pitcher of iced tea, than Jill jumped up and pulled on Zane’s arm.

“C’mon! No one else will line dance with me.”

Ty shook his head and reached for the basket of peanuts in the center of the table. Zane could line dance all he wanted as long as they didn’t drag him out there too.

“And you ask so politely, Ms. Marshall,” Zane said as he crossed his arms and shook his head.

“Oh come on, Garrett,” Ty said over the thumping music.

“Shut up, Grady.”

“You dance, I sing. Nothing to be ashamed of,” Ty needled, smirking and tossing a sidelong glance at Zane.

Zane allowed Jill to pull him to his feet, but before she dragged him out to the crowded dance floor, he leaned over and poked Ty’s arm. “Turnabout’s fair play, you know. They do karaoke every night at ten.”

“They what?”

Zane didn’t answer. Ty watched him head off into the crowd, then looked at his watch. It read 9:15.

Drinks arrived a moment later, and Mark pushed the bucket of iced-down beers toward Ty. “Drink up, Marine.”

Cody and Joe lifted their bottles in silent toast.

Ty reached for a bottle and toasted along with them, his eyes seeking Zane out in the crowd. It didn’t take but a minute of watching Zane dance—the way his hips and shoulders moved, his long, lean body, his thumbs hooked into the pockets of his jeans, the smile on his handsome face—to convince Ty that he couldn’t watch Zane dance in public.

“So, Grady. How long you and Zane been screwing?” Joe asked.

Ty almost choked on his beer.

“Joe, come on!” Marissa said with a wave of her beer bottle.

“What?”

“There’s got to be a better way to ask than that.”

“No, it’s okay,” Ty said, still trying not to choke. He put the back of his hand to his mouth. “Just caught me off-guard.”

“Do you take a lot of shit from people?” Marissa asked.

“Not really. But people we work with don’t know, so . . .”

“You might take some shit around here,” Mark told him.

Ty nodded and shrugged. “I kind of expect that.”

Annie looked troubled by it, but said nothing. The conversation turned toward how good Zane looked compared to the last time he’d visited. Despite Ty’s better judgment, his eyes strayed to Zane on the dance floor. He was the tallest man out there, easy to spot because he wore no hat. His thin western-style shirt hugged his slim torso and highlighted his impressive muscles, and his dark jeans were just tight enough to make him look even longer and taller.

He was a good-looking man, that was for damn sure.

Ty felt eyes on him and forced himself to stop staring at his lover and return his attention to the others at the table.

“This is one hell of a place,” he said.

“This is the only bar within easy driving distance of the surrounding ranches,” Annie said, pointing to a prominent picture on the far wall of several men in 1970s fashion, breaking ground. “The ranch owners all went in together and built the place to keep the ranch hands from driving all the way into Austin and getting in trouble. It was Dad’s idea. Now people drive from Austin just to come here.”

“Nice.”

“Dancing, singing, drinking, whatever. They even have the trailers out back you can rent if you can’t get home.”

“I just come here to drink beer,” Mark announced.

“You come here to watch the blondes in the short shorts,” Annie teased.

“I can watch.”

Laughter rippled around the table again as Annie swatted at the back of his head.

When the conversation ebbed, Ty put a hand out in front of him, as if asking them to slow down. “But I won’t have to sing, right?”

Annie leaned forward over the table. “Z’s got the keys.”

“Yeah?”

“That’s the tradeoff,” Joe said with a sigh. “Z will make you sing or dance. Believe me, I’ve had to pay worse for a ride home.”

“I’d pay Z more than one song for a ride,” Marissa said, waggling her eyebrows and making the others laugh.

“Save it for the bull,” Mark advised. “Z’s not interested. But Ty might be able to get away without singing.”

Mark smacked Ty on the back, laughing. Ty wasn’t sure why it felt odd that everyone at the table knew he and Zane were a couple, but it did. He liked it, but it was still weird. Being out was definitely going to take some getting used to.

Zane begged off three songs later, claiming he was ignoring his guest, and escaped the floor by edging along the lines of dancers. He came out a quarter-turn around the room from their table, and it gave him the opportunity to watch Ty unobserved.

Ty seemed to be enjoying himself, using his unique brand of charm to fit in with the group. He held a half-empty beer bottle in his un-casted hand, but he was using both hands to gesture as he related a story the others were laughing and shaking their heads at. Zane had long ago become convinced that if Ty’s hands were tied behind his back, he wouldn’t be able to string together a single sentence.

Ty seemed at home in Zane’s black Stetson, which he hadn’t taken off since Zane had placed it on his head. It looked damn good on him.

Zane hummed and started moving again. He weaved through the tables and arrived at his chair, thumping against Ty as a gaggle of girls passing by almost knocked him into Ty’s lap.

Ty reached out to help catch him with one hand, holding the beer bottle way out to the side with his broken hand so it wouldn’t spill. “Whoa, Lone Star,” he said, laughing as he looked Zane up and down with a critical eye. “You’ll have to buy me dinner before you get that far.”

“I already bought you dinner,” Zane pointed out as he righted himself and sat down.

“And he’s already gotten that far!” Mark added.

Ty shook his head, but he was still watching Zane from under the brim of his black hat.

“You call him Lone Star?” Annie asked, snickering.

“He calls me a lot of things.”

“We need to order wings. And poppers,” Mark said, thumping his bottle on the table. Marissa stood and started waving her hand, trying to flag down a server.

Zane snorted and glanced at Ty. Ty was watching him with that crooked half-smile Zane loved so much. It took more willpower than Zane expected to quash the urge to sit up, lean over, and kiss him right there.

“Z, you’re undressing him with your eyes. Take it out back if you have to,” Mark said, voice droll. Zane kicked at him under the table, and Mark kicked back a few times as they tried to get at each other.

Ty seemed content to let them rag each other without adding his own comments. He sat back and finished the bottle he’d been nursing. Zane could feel his eyes on him, though.

The conversation veered into current events around the ranches, and since Zane hadn’t kept up with anyone, he didn’t have anything to add. It freed his attention to turn back to Ty.

“So, Grady,” Zane said, keeping his voice down. “Thought about what you’re going to sing?”

Ty groaned and reached for the bucket of beers in the middle of the table. “I guess I’ll take requests if I really have to do it.”

“God, don’t do that. They’ll pick something off the list of shame.”

“Then you pick one for me,” Ty invited in a voice just loud enough to carry to Zane.

The thought of Ty singing something just for him was arresting. Ty didn’t sing often, and when he did it was either because he was being forced to or had been drinking. Zane looked back to Ty and felt that urge again, this time with the visual of yanking Ty up out of that chair and laying him out on the table, which made all thoughts of possible song choices scatter.

He leaned forward until he was close enough to smell Ty, close enough to imagine he could taste the sweat on Ty’s neck.