Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Food. They were going for food.
Coke had let Dillon touch. That beautiful man had let him rub those poor stiff shoulders, had let him soothe that creaky neck.
They were going to sit in the hot tub together.
Dillon bounced, checking his jeans and T-shirt and cowboy hat look one more time while he waited for Coke to get done.
He was ridiculously nervous, but this wasn’t a date.
Coke wandered out, dressed and easy in his bones. The jeans and button-down made Coke seem more cowboy and less crazy bullfighter, the pointed-toed boots almost strange. He was used to seeing Coke in lace-up shoes.
“Hey! You ready to go?” Okay, way to sound casual and shit. Dork. Dillon knew he sounded freakishly loud.
“Yup. I’m starving, man. Starving.” Coke smiled at him, simply beaming his way.
“Me, too. So I’m thinking not a burger joint, huh? We need a real meal.” That way he could watch Coke eat.
“Steaks? Barbecue? Italian?” When Coke said it, it sounded like “Eye-talian.”
Dillon chuckled. When a guy was from Idaho, he sounded more Canadian. Everything with him was “eh”. “How about Italian? We can get steaks there, if we want, and I can carb load.”
“Ah, you and Balta, all into that nutrition stuff. I could have a lasagna, yessir.”
“Yeah. That deep fried Twinkie I had for lunch? Real nutrition.” Dillon smacked Coke’s arm. “I just like pasta. Come on.”
“Oh, man. That’s nasty.” Coke followed, whistling a little. The sound followed him and, if he didn’t know better, he’d say he could feel Coke’s eyes on his ass.
That was probably wishful thinking. Still, he gave a little slink before climbing into Coke’s truck.
Wait.
Wait.
Was that a moan?
He peeked over his shoulder, hoping against hope that Coke was watching. Hell, he’d never seen any sign that Coke was attracted to anyone, let alone a guy.
Coke’s eyes slid away, the man hurrying around the bed of the truck. Well, well.
Coke’s phone was ringing as the man climbed in, Garth Brook’s Fever playing. “It’s Jase. Just a sec. Hey, cowboy. How’s it going?” Coke went still, blinked. “You did what to Andy’s truck? Where? When? Just now? I talked to Andy not an hour… Good Lord, son!”
Oh, sure. Jason Scott had to call when he was… Wait. Jason. “How is he? Coke. How is he?” He poked Coke’s arm.
“He’s… Well, Andy’s gonna beat him, but he’s recovering.” Coke grinned over, then shook his head. “Huh? Dillon. We’re fixin’ to go eat. No. No, we ain’t yet. I wasn’t sure if it was cool. Want to, though. Nate? Yeah. Over the break. No, Nate’s got to go home and see the baby, but I’ll come help.”
It took everything he had in him to not poke harder, more—to growl and demand information. He waited, though.
“Yeah. Yeah, no. No, if I were you, I’d apologize and go hide behind Benji.”
Okay, well, he knew who Benji was, so Bax and Jason were at AJ’s. The last he’d heard, they were at Jason’s momma’s. He needed to know what was going on.
“Yeah. Yeah, son. I know. I know. Hang on, huh? Through the break. I promise you.”
There were a few mumbles left, then Coke nodded one more time and muttering a gruff, “You too, son,” before hanging up and starting the truck.
Dillon waited until they got away from the arena, waited until they were out into traffic, before he put a hand on Coke’s leg. “You’re gonna have to tell me sometime. I’m with you entirely too much.”
“Yeah.” That single word surprised him, more than a little. “You just ain’t easy to get alone, son. I swear to God.”
“I blame Nate. He thinks I have terrible designs on your person.” That popped out like the occasional F bomb did when his mic was on.
Coke snorted a little, face shadowed by the hat. “Little shit oughta know better. You could do way better than this old man.”
“You think?” Dillon tried not to sigh. Now was about Jason. He had to focus. “Tell me about Jason and Bax, Coke.”
“I… Well, first, son. I gotta know that you understand this is just ours. You, me, Nate, AJ. That’s it. Cain’t nobody else know.”
“I can keep a secret, Coke. You know I can, when it counts.” He wasn’t hurt, though. He knew a man had to say so.
“I know you can, else I wouldn’t even say nothin’.” Coke sighed, stopped at a red light. “Andy’s gonna be fine. His leg’s broke, but he’s okay. Jase, though… Shit.”
“He hit hard. I knew something was up, the way Bax hasn’t been talking, and you and Nate have been pow-wowing.”
“He cain’t see.” The words didn’t make sense.
The truck jerked back into motion, and Dillon shook his head, not following. “His eyes were fine, Coke. No blood, no orbital bone damage.”
The line of Coke’s shoulders was stiff, tense—his mouth drawn down into a miserable bow. “The doctor—not Doc, mind you, he don’t know nothin’ ’bout it—says it’s his brain. His eyes can see shit, but his brain don’t. I—me and Andy—we’re training him to ride again. Not for fun, but for the big tour.”
Dillon blinked, then blinked some more. Shook his head. Mulled over those words. “Riding blind. Jesus. That’s gonna take more than you and me and Nate.”
“There’s AJ, Andy.” Coke’s jaw was set, stubborn. “Jason stole Andy’s truck tonight. Drove it into a ditch, but he drove it damn near a mile, then walked home.”
“You’re fucking kidding me.” Blind and driving a truck. Dillon burst out laughing, the sound a little hysterical to his own ears. “He might be the only cowboy who could do it.”
“He can. We’re going to fool them all, but we’re gonna need you, when he gets back onto the big tour.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I can see that.” The wheels started turning and spinning, Dillon thinking of all the ways he would have to work the arena when Jason was out there.
Coke didn’t say anything, focused on the road, driving.
“We’ll have to get some of the arena guys on it, too. There’s no way we can have them all in the dark.” His fingers drummed on Coke’s leg, his thinking translating into movement.
“We’ll have to talk to Jason. He don’t want people knowing. I don’t know how we’re going to manage it, but we will.” That leg was hard as a rock, the muscles strong enough to get through his thoughts.
“Sure. Sure. I know, he’s a stubborn cuss, and I get that he wouldn’t want everyone and his neighbor to know, eh?” Oh! Sicily’s Pasta House. “Turn, Coke. Left.”
That big old truck swung around, crossed three lanes of traffic and popped into a parking lot, slick as snot. “He’s something else. It’s… It’s something, I guess.”
“Yeah. Well, now that I know, I can help plan.” The place smelled like heaven, even from the outside.
Coke nodded, sliding down out of the truck. Dillon could see him babying one shoulder, being careful. There would be ice and heat packs, as well as the damned hot tub when they got back to the hotel, and he wouldn’t let Nate interfere and drag Coke off to bed. The man needed a little pampering.
“How’s it feeling?”
“Huh? Telling you? Good. You were on the shortlist.”
He chuckled, letting the little glow that gave him flow through. “No, I mean your shoulder, but I’m glad you guys trust me.”
“Oh, it’s just sore. You know. Normal shit.” Coke held the door open for him and the smells of garlic and red sauce and all the good things hit him in a wave.
“I know normal shit. This seems more sore than that, man.” Of course, it could be he was just selfish enough to want to touch, and if Coke needed patching, it would be hands on.
“Shh. Doc’s got ears everywhere. Man, I could eat a water buffalo raw. Two, please, honey.”
“Hey, if I can doctor my sister’s barrel horses, I can doctor you. They’re worth way more money.” They settled in, ordered drinks and attacked the garlic bread.
“Them horses are something else. You heading back that way for the break?”
“I guess?” He really should, and Coke was going to AJ’s to help Jason, which he would bet he was emphatically not invited for.
Coke nodded. “I have to go help the boys. We got to make a transition to the bulls and shit. And, I’m not for sure, but I’m thinking Missy’s knocked up again. AJ’s all bouncy.”
“Good Lord. They’ll populate the whole state.” Missy was a wonderful woman, putting up with AJ.
“That’s AJ’s plan, I think. Andy’s just trying not to kill Jase.”
“Shit.” He snorted, debating between chicken Parm and a big, boofy alfredo. “He won’t. He loves that man to distraction.”
“Yeah.” He could see Coke relax, see some tension ease. “What looks good to you?”
“The chicken Parmesan, maybe. I like the red sauce.” The salad sounded good, too. Maybe some cannoli.
“I’m gonna get lasagna, I think. Maybe a beer.”
“I can drive back if you want a few beers, huh? I think I’m sticking to pop.”
Coke tilted his head, forehead wrinkling. “Sticking to… Oh. Oh! I get it. You’re gonna have a Coke.”
“I wish.” Okay. Time to stuff his mouth with bread.
He got a surprised blink, then Coke shook it off and he could see the man convince himself that Dillon didn’t mean it. His cheeks heated, his cock jerking in his jeans, and Dillon almost choked on a damned sesame seed. Shit. He wanted—
“You okay, son?” Coke leaned over, big old hand patting his back.
“I am. Mostly.” Meeting those hazel eyes, Dillon grinned. “Got me thinking things, is all.”
“You gotta watch that thinking thing. It leads to trouble.”
“So I hear. Blindness and hairy palms, too. Oh, look! Fried artichokes.” He’d lost his mind. Really.
Coke laughed, the sound starting low then ringing out. It wasn’t an unfriendly sound, just full and tickled. Dillon stared a moment, then laughed, too. That was part of what made Coke so cool. The laughter. Dillon was good at that.
They ate artichokes and bread, pasta. Dessert. Good Lord, Coke could eat. The man enjoyed himself, too, chatting and gossiping, listening and laughing at stories.
“So then, Fred says, ‘What do you mean, it came out of a frog?’” Dillon waited, watching Coke double over, and it sent him off to laughing again, too.
“Good Lord. I tell you what, I’m gonna have a stitch in the morning. You want coffee?”
“Sure. I bet it’s good here.” He really wanted to go rub Coke’s kinks out, but coffee worked, too.
“Yeah, or I could make a pot at the hotel. Well, if Nate’s not in bed already.”
“What? We’re here.” No way did he want to worry about Nate.
“Yeah, we are.” Coke chuckled, relaxed back in his chair a little, crossed his legs at the ankle and waved down the waitress. “Two coffees, please.”
“Sure, honey.” The girl smiled at Coke, looking at him like she would her grandpa, and it made Dillon a little pissed.
The whole fucking world treated Coke like the man was eighty. Shit, Coke was what? Forty?
Well, it was time that someone started acting his age. Dillon figured he could help with that. Starting tonight.