Gambling on Love by Jane Davitt

Author:Jane Davitt [Davitt, Jane]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Riptide Publishing
Published: 2016-06-10T04:00:00+00:00

The snow had stopped, but the sky was heavy with clouds, the air ominously still. Gary, his feet in a pair of borrowed boots too big to be comfortable, watched his breath steam out and tried to estimate how long they had before the flakes started to fall again. They’d made it back to Abe’s truck at least, retracing their steps with difficulty. Abe had put on snowshoes, but he only had one pair. Gary had been forced to struggle along behind him in the rough trail Abe had broken, sinking up to his knees at times.

All the snow in the world had landed on them overnight. Every single fucking flake.

He dug his shovel into the snow and removed a teaspoon from the ocean of white, tossing it out of the way. They needed to saw off the branch holding the truck in place, but first they had to get to the branch, which meant shoveling. Lots of it. Abe made infuriated hissing noises under his breath every time Gary’s shovel hit the truck—unavoidable—and dug like a man possessed. Gary wanted the truck to be okay too, because it was the only way he’d get into town. He hadn’t heard a single car all morning.

Well, why would there be a car? There was nothing here but trees and snow.

He’d get into town, arrange a tow, get his car fixed, and . . .

“I never told you why I’m going to Vegas,” he said, more as a reason for pausing than because it mattered. He leaned on his shovel, his body whimpering with gratitude at the chance to rest.

“Don’t care.” Abe grunted lifting a laden shovel. “Dig.”

“I’m about to pass out and my arms resemble spaghetti. I’m taking a break.”

“So do it quietly.”

“You can’t dig and listen?”

Abe rammed his shovel into the snow and faced Gary, his face flushed from exertion, his hair plastered to his head with sweat and snow. It was a measure of how easily Gary had slipped back into lust with him that he didn’t care. Abe would look that way after an hour in bed, mussed and sweaty.

Gary wanted to see him like that. Soon.

Abe tugged off his glove and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’d kill for a cold one.”

“Yeah, it’s hot work.”

“How would you know? You’re not doing any.”

That was unfair. He had cleared . . . well, not as much snow as Abe, no, but he was out of practice. “When we get into town, I’ll buy you as many beers as you can drink and drive you home. How’s that?”

“If you think I’m ever letting you drive my baby again, you’re crazy.”

“Your baby? Oh please. It’s a hunk of metal.”

Abe gave him a glare that could’ve melted stone. “It doesn’t drive off and leave me.”

“You want to do that now?” Gary demanded. “In the middle of nowhere, when we’ve got a job to do? Because I can guarantee you if we start in on this, it won’t end well.”

The sex, the chatter, the brief dip into what they’d done during the years apart—all superficial.

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