Page 55 of Frog

“You love the ‘Desperado’ guy, huh?”

It took him a minute. “What are you talking about?”

“You know that song by the Eagles.”

“I know the song. I just don’t understand the reference.”

What did I mean? “Like a cowboy.”

He moved his arm so he could see me. “You think I only love you because you’re a bull rider?”

“I don’t know.”

He sat up but didn’t pull his foot away, his eyes on mine, staring, and I noticed again, as I always did, how dark and deep they were and the ribbon of gold in them.

“You’re so pretty.” I smiled at him.

He growled at me. “Jesus, Weber, I did not fall in love with a cowboy.”

“But you call me cowboy all the time.”

“It’s a nickname. I’ll change it. God, I had no idea you thought something so stupid.”

I arched an eyebrow for him at the same time I rubbed hard on his left foot, and he jolted in my hands.

“Weber.” He sucked in his breath. “This guy, the guy rubbing my feet, the guy I just got to come home to… that’s the guy I want. He’s the one I love. I didn’t fall in love with a cowboy or a bull rider. I fell in love with you, just you.”

I pushed his left foot away and pulled his right into my lap.

“Fuck,” he moaned and fell back as I laughed at him.

“Man, I had no idea you were such a sucker for a foot rub.”

“Only from you cow… Web.”

“It’s okay.” I sighed, moving my hand up his calf, pushing hard on the knotted muscles. “You can call me cowboy now that I know it don’t mean nothin’,”

“Just believe me,” he whined, and I could hear the need in his voice. “I don’t care, Web, I don’t! The job you do doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“Yeah, but—”

“And you should stop caring what strangers think, or what people I know think, or what people you know think. What does it matter? What you do should only mean something to you, only make you happy.”

“But there has to be respect.”

“What respect? Me respect you?” he asked irritably.

“Yeah.”

“Jesus, Weber,” he said, and his voice was broken and needy and surrendering. “Baby, I respect you more than anyone else I know. You have done everything you wanted, your way, and you went for your dream instead of just sitting on your ass and talking about it.”

“But I didn’t make it,” I reminded him. “I ain’t a professional bull rider.”

“But you tried,” he assured me, easing free of my grip, rolling to his knees, rising over me. I had to tip my head up to hold his gaze before he straddled my hips, sliding into my lap. “Most people never even have the balls to try.”

I grabbed hold of his ass, loving as always the feel of the firm round globes under my palms, and yanked him forward, his groin shoved against my abdomen.

“I will never, ever get tired of you or bored with you,” he promised. “Don’t you see, I have no desire to watch you ride off into the sunset. I want you here, at home, every night, waiting for me to get here. Do you have any idea how badly I wanted to leave that fundraiser so I could get back to you?”