Love in Xxchange: Rory's Last Chance

hope springing eternal? Neither choice made him happy.
What did lighten his mood a bit was the way Chance hadn’t been able to look away when their eyes met and that wicked heat had flared between them. Rory had expected it, but Chance hadn’t worked it out. He would soon enough—Rory had ensured it rather foolishly when he’d given in to temptation and stroked the path up the side of Chance’s neck his fingertips tracing over the purple love-bite under the man’s ear.
The need to trace that path with his tongue was so overwhelming that Rory’d had to lock his knees to keep from moving in closer. Something about the cowboy drew Rory to him. It was a powerful feeling, an attraction so strong Rory didn’t care to fight it, especially since he doubted he’d ever encounter such a feeling again.
One thing he was sure of—when they finally came together, it was going to be a heart-stopping, ball-breaking experience in the best ways possible—and it would happen. Just RORY’S LAST CHANCE
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thinking about it made Rory feel like he’d been filled with helium. Burdens lifted and floated off, taking away the residual pain in his heart and tucking it out of sight.
His cock was another story entirely. Fully erect and throbbing to the rhythm of his heartbeat, that particular part of him was demanding attention. Rory considered it for a minute and concluded that this problem was not going to go away on its own. It was a sure bet that Chance wouldn’t be willing to come back and help him out with it either. He would just have to hope Max was busy or wouldn’t notice the hard on Rory would be sporting when he made it back to the bunkhouse. And, if luck was on his side, maybe Rory could make it into the bathroom and take care of it quietly.

Chance was still trying to get past the anger that had blindsided him when he listened to the messages left by that bigoted ass who claimed to be Rory’s father. Chance had his doubts—even his own father hadn’t been that cruel when he’d found out his only son was gay. Ian Calhoun was full of more hate than any person Chance could ever remember meeting before, and having been outed while he was on the rodeo circuit, he’d met some pretty sorry excuses for human beings. Enough so that he’d thrown in the towel and quit.
Some things just weren’t worth the hell a man had to go through. Chance had no desire to be a martyr by hanging around a bunch of homophobic cowboys.
Pounding on the speed bag he’d hung in the garage apartment wasn’t having the usual effect of burning off his temper. Instead, his ears were ringing from the constant thump-thump-thump as his fists struck again and again, echoing in the empty space. He’d intended to make the place into a sweet little in-home—or maybe that would be on-property—gym for the ranch hands and himself. Still intended to once he got the ranch running smoothly and turning a decent profit.
Until then, it was just him and the dangling bag, spending some quality therapy time together. Well, quality when it worked. Chance popped the bag one more time then caught it and stilled it between his hands. Might do the other guys, Rory specifically, some good to be able to come up here and work off their frustrations. Something else he’d need to talk to the men about.
Chance unwound the tape from his hands, revelling in the burn and aches that streaked RORY’S LAST CHANCE
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through his joints. He wasn’t into pain, but the little hurts caused by a hearty workout were a reward for a job well done. Twisted, him? Most likely. One thing he did know for certain was, he needed to get cleaned up. He’d worked out for a good while and was soaking with sweat.
Chance took the stairs down two at a time, worried less about tripping than he was about being caught out by one of the men—Rory, specifically. He’d rather the younger man not see him like this, tired and dripping wet from physical exertion. Chance scowled. What the hell was wrong with him? There’d be plenty of times Rory and Max would be seeing him sweaty and exhausted. It was stupid to be vain about it, and Chance didn’t consider himself to be a stupid man. He made it in through the back door and headed for his shower.
It wasn’t until he was standing in front of the bathroom mirror that he let his eyes be drawn to the path his fingers had itched to trace all day long. He’d swear he could still feel the warmth of that strong, callused finger running up his neck, coming to a rest at…oh. Oh shit.
Right at that dime-sized purple mark under his ear. Chance had tried to hide the hickey left there by the stranger at the bar. He’d brushed his hair forward and that should have worked since it was long enough that it fell almost to his shoulders now. Chance leant in closer to the mirror. Yeah, his hair definitely covered it, which meant that sometime during the day he must have brushed his hair away from the mark.
Here he had been bitching about young irresponsible men. Chance felt like a hypocrite, running around marked like a horny kid and liking it, damn it. It was no coincidence that Rory had touched that mark—now he’d think Chance was definitely a horny old goat once it became obvious he didn’t have a partner. Which meant Chance was in deep shit, no matter how happy his cock was and no matter how insistently it tapped against his belly its own Morse code message of approval. He groaned, but whether it was in pleasure or complaint he decided not