Chapter 3: Chapter 3

He eyed me up and down, scanning me studiously: five-eleven frame, 180 pounds, coal-black hair, a matching goatee, tiny ears, flawless complexion, well-built chest under my red-and-black flannel, snug Wranglers, and a protruding man-package between my thighs that could offer a guy like Pax a pretty good time, but only if he wanted it. He was quiet, maybe trying to recall some blurred memory. What was he thinking exactly?

“How are you feeling right now?” I asked. It was something I asked on a regular basis, just to check in. Sometimes he felt weak or had a headache. Other times he felt ready to run a marathon

He ignored my question. Instead, he asked, “How old are you again?”

“Twenty-nine.” He asked the same questions every day, rebuilding his life. I had to be patient and understanding. Somewhere inside that new stranger was my lost best friend, and boss, a certain cowboy I wanted to discover again. I was quite sure he wanted the same thing.