Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Dillon Walsh was going to drive him up the fucking wall.
For two weeks the man had poked and touched, shimmied and goofed off and teased and had always been right there.
It was crazy-making.
It was silly.
It was hot as hell.
Coke jogged up and down the arena, warming up, watching as the roadies got shit set up. The sound guys started up their check, and Dillon popped out from the back, testing his mic and doing a little pre-show boogie. Just for Coke, it looked like. That grin said all sorts of things.
He chuckled, thumped himself a little and kept jogging. “You ready for the show, son?”
“I am.” He got a little extra wiggle. “I’m kinda pumped. How’s your shoulder?”
“Solid as a rock.” He rolled his arm, the joint moving for him, finally. “Thanks for all your help with it.” Even if the rubbing was like torture.
“No problem. I like rehabilitating you.” Something flashed in those pretty eyes, something dangerous, and Dillon patted his ass before trotting off.
“Good Lord.” He was seriously fucked.
“Hey! Coke!” Sam Bell sat on the rail, the pocket cowboy waving hard. “You heard from Jason? How’s his head?”
Fuck a duck. “He’s got some recovery, still.”
Beau Lafitte wandered over and whacked Sam on the back. “If he needs us, tell him to holler.”
“I will.” Lord knew that Beau and Jase used to be real close. Coke had a couple guesses why they weren’t now, but nothing firm. Still. “I’ll tell him.”
“Thanks.” Sam and Beau said it together, like twins or something, and it made him chuckle. Made him laugh harder when Dillon streaked through with a water gun, shooting Sam right in the face.
“Oh, you little fucker!” Sam flew off the top of the chute, landing right behind Dillon in the dirt.
They both took off, and it was a damned near thing. You could tell which one of them had played football in high school by the end. Dillon just managed to get away in one piece.
He leaned against the chutes, laughing his ass off along with Beau. “Oh, Christ. Dillon’s going to have to watch it for a couple days.”
“Yeah, cher. He’ll have Icy Hot in his shorts or something.” Beau shook his head. “Dillon’s full of piss and vinegar. Good to see.”
“It is. You’re riding good, Cajun.”
Sam picked up a chunk of dirt, winged it at Dillon’s ass.
“Thanks. I’m just trying to have fun, you know?” They watched Dillon and Sam race back and forth like they was watching a tennis match.
“Y’all heading anywhere cool over the break?” He was heading to Central Texas.
“We’re just going to Louisiana.” Beau shrugged a little. “You know me and the bayou.”
“Yup. Good food that way, though.”
“You know it.” He got that quiet, glinting grin that Beau was famous for. “Sam will even eat my gumbo.”
“So long as he leaves me my bowl’s worth, Cajun.” Beau’s gumbo was stuff of legend.
“You bet.” They ducked when a shot from Dillon’s water gun got too close, the stream shooting over Coke’s hat.
“Son, don’t make me put you over my knee.”
Dillon stopped dead, staring over at him, mouth hanging open. “You would?”
He just stared back, then Sammy started hooting, clapping Dillon on the shoulder. “Shit, you ever seen the size of Coke’s hands, buddy? Our old man’d make you cry like a Yankee.”
Coke didn’t know whether to shit or go blind. God, he had to stop using that phrase, sure as shit he’d say it to Jason.
Dillon laughed, doing that little double fist pump down on one knee motion. “I am a Yankee, according to you guys.”
“Well, if the foo shits…”
They all got to laughing, which was good, because, damn, he didn’t need to be thinking the nonsense that Dillon and that amazing ass made him think.
“You guys gonna play all day, or are you ready to work?” David and Mark came down to the announcer booth, both of them crisp and pressed, hands full of papers and shit.
“I’m thinking I’ll just play, y’all.” Sam winked at Beau. “What about you, Coke?”
“I reckon I’ll have to work.” He sighed dramatically.
“Some of us make money doing both.” Bowing his legs in and out a little, Dillon bounced over to shake hands with the announcers, smiling and joking.
“Brag, brag, brag.” He chuckled, noticing the way Sam and Beau stared at Dillon, at each other.
Weird.
“Hey, I love my job.” Dillon ran back by, patting him again, making him jump. “Time to go get the make-up on.”
“Shaved legs and makeup. Our manly man.” He snorted, laughed as Dillon flipped him off.
Goofball. Beautiful, hot goofball.
“He freaks me out a little bit.” Beau chuckled, watching Dillon go, elbowing Sam in the ribs.
“Does he freak you out a little bit?” Sammy and Coke answered together, all of them cracking up, the old joke as comfortable as worn jeans.
“Come on, y’all. Go get your heads on straight. I gotta warm up my team.” He waved and jogged off to the back. Time to get it on.