Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
The break was over, and Dillon had never been so glad.
Usually he loved to putter around at home, riding his horses and working on his fence line. This time, though, he’d been restless, bored and looking forward every day to Coke’s text message.
God, he was a dork.
Really. When was he ever gonna learn that he had to stop pining over the guys he couldn’t have?
Clearly the universe was against him when it came to Coke.
Something always happened. Like in that freaking hot tub, where he’d been all ready to do the sexy kitty dance, and instead his legs had swollen all up and turned Technicolor. Like, terrifying, fall off colors.
They’d had to carry him back to his room. Freaking embarrassing.
Dillon sighed, dropping his bag at the hotel desk and smiling. “Checking in.”
The little gal at the front desk winced a little. “Uh. Well… I’m afraid…”
Coke’s low chuckle sounded, right by his side. “There’s been a flood on the west side, and all the rooms are booked. They sent all the big names over to that big, fancy-assed resort. You and me? We’re at the La Quinta. They got Fred and Nate there, too, starting tomorrow.”
“What do you want to bet they ask me at the show how I like the resort?” He gave Coke a one-armed hug. “Wait. Does this mean I’m bunking with you?”
“Yep. There ain’t a choice for you, man. One room. One bed. This place is balls up with folks.”
Oh, sweet Jesus. Yes. Dillon resisted the urge to do a fist pump in the air. “Well, I can live with that, eh? My legs? Way better.”
“Yeah? Good deal. Jase and Andy say hi, by the by. They wished you well.” Uh-huh. He’d bet they did. Teasing assholes.
“They bitched about how much I freak them out.” That was okay, though. Sometimes it was good to be weird.
“Yep. Come on. You’re looking good.” They headed toward a truck, Coke wandering slowly.
“You okay?” Man, that would suck, if he was raring to go and Coke was sick.
“I am right as rain. Had a nice break. Missy spoiled my ass, letting me cook.” He got a quick grin, a nod. “Just wandering.”
“Oh. That’s cool. Just wanted to make sure.” He’d eaten a lot of chili out of a can. “Next time you’ll have to cook for me on the break.”
“I can do that. I like it. I’m hoping to be at my own spread, next time. Pool. Hot tub. Grill.”
“That sounds like heaven. It’ll be cold up my way, time we get another break.”
“Shit, you ought to come down. It’ll be great weather at home.” Coke unlocked the truck. “Hotel ho.”
“Can I hop a ride with you? I took a cab here.” He knew Coke would say yes, but he’d also learned he’d get called a Yankee if he didn’t ask. Well, maybe not by Coke, but still.
“You know it.” Coke grinned over. “I thought I’d asked already. Come on.”
“Any time you want to ask me to ride…” His cheeks heated when he said it, which was ridiculous, but he did mean it.
“Get in the car, son.” That wicked, naughty grin was so not fatherly.
“Right. Hotel.” The smile made him hot, all through, and Dillon hopped into the truck, bouncing a little. The day was getting better all the time.
“There’s no restaurant or nothing at the place, but there’s a Denny’s next door, so we won’t starve.”
“Hey, I’m all for Denny’s, huh?” He liked the low-brow sometimes. The big places were expensive and kinda froofy.
“Yep. They got burgers and pancakes and decent coffee.”
Three days.
Three days he’d get to eat with Coke.
Bunk with Coke.
With one bed.
Someone was looking out for him.
He said a little prayer that nothing happened to either of them. Damned if he didn’t add a little thank you in for the hurt legs, because sometimes something bad had to earn up something good.
“So, how’s Missy? And Benji? I feel awful, but I can’t remember the rest of AJ’s kids’ names.”
“They’re good. I wouldn’t be surprised if that gal don’t turn up pregnant again. She’s home schoolin’ the lot of them.” Everyone always talked about Missy like she was the most fertile woman alive.
“She’s a tribute to her sex. I would have killed AJ and run screaming by now.” Pregnant. Yikes.
“She’s stupid about that boy and more patient than Job.” Coke started the truck up, AC/DC screaming on the radio. The man jumped, turned the radio down. “Sorry.”
“No problem.” He could stand a little Back in Black. “She is something. Did you hear about Cooper’s wife? She’s flat on her back, trying to keep that baby cooking.”
Coke nodded. “Lord. Women are something else.” It didn’t sound like a complaint, just a fond, confused truth.
“Yep. I sent her flowers. I put all of you guys’ names on them.” The bullfighters and him tended to do things as a unit.
“Thank you, man.” Coke reached out, patted his leg. “I appreciate it.”
“No problem.” He put his hand over Coke’s for a moment, loving the rough, hot skin.
Coke swallowed hard, staring at the road as they pulled out. “You ready to get back to work, shaking your heinie?”
“I am. I like to shake it. Good thing I get paid for it.”
Coke looked a little like he’d been beaned with a line drive. “Get paid pretty damn good, too.”
“I do.” He’d never denied that. Laughing, he patted Coke’s leg again. “And I give you a show, huh?”
“Now, now.” Look at that blush. “I’m busy working.”
Uh-huh. But in three years, Coke’d never once not commented on his show, his dancing.
“Oh, come on. You’re usually not working when I’m really doing my thing.” So he was pushing. So sue him.
“You sure? I’m a hard-working bullfighter.”
“I know.” That much was so true. “But I also know that you get water breaks.”
Coke grinned, winked. “Yeah. I get one or two.”
“Well, there you have it. You’re sneaky.” Either that or Coke was embarrassed because he hated Dillon’s dancing and didn’t want to admit it. “You don’t hate it, do you?”
“Hate what, son?”
“My show. When I dance.” That would suck.
Coke stopped at a red light, glancing over at him. “How could anyone hate that? You’ve got an ass like no one else on earth.”
“Well.” He stared into Coke’s eyes, hot on a whole new, as yet uncharted level. “Better than Balta’s?”
“Hell, yes.” No hesitation, no fluttering. Coke sounded damned sure.
“Wow.” Balta Silva had that bubble butt. He grinned, feeling it stretch his cheeks. “I like yours, too. Of course, I really like your arms.”
“Shit. I got white old man butt.” Those arms, though? They flexed for him as the light turned green.
“You’re not old.” White, sure.
“Old enough, huh?”
“Coke, you’re what? Two years older than me? Three?” Dillon set his jaw and waited for the not the age but the mileage crack.
“Shit, I gotta be older than that. Look at you.”
His eyes crossed when he tried. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-nine.” Coke chuckled, pulled into the La Quinta.
“Well, see? I’m all of thirty-five. So not old enough to call me son!”
“You’ve heard of the whole mileage thing, huh?”
“I knew you’d try that one.” He gave Coke a smug grin. “I log about five miles a night.”
Coke chuckled, shook his head. “You look good, huh? Real good.”
“Okay, so we agree that we both look good. My legs are all healed. Do you have any nagging injuries that will require Doc in the middle of things?” He just wanted to be sure.
“Not yet. Tomorrow’s a crap shoot.” Coke was grinning like a kid let loose in a toy store.
“Then we’d better get busy tonight.” He grinned back, starting to really get into the play.
“You think?” Coke opened the truck door, staring over at him, eyes lit up. “You sure that won’t wear your ass out?”
“You might, but I am strong. My strength is the strength of ten men, because my heart is pure.” He did his best King Arthur impression. Errol Flynn. Whatever.
He could watch that beautiful son of a bitch laugh forever. Forever.
“Well, come on, then. We can leave the suitcases.” Dillon paused. “Unless you have lube in your bag?”
Coke looked like he’d swallowed a frog.
A big, slimy frog.
Like one of the ones from Australia.
“In my ditty bag.”
“Then we need your bag.” He would grab his, too. So much for unencumbered. Eh, they had to check in, anyway.
It didn’t take long—especially with Coke growling about having to wait—and they had two keys, coupons for ten percent off at the Denny’s, and a third floor room.
They hustled to the elevator, and Dillon knew better than to start there, because there would be no time to finish.
That didn’t stop him from teasing. Coke stared at him, the heat pouring off the solid body.
Dillon moved close, letting his hip bump Coke’s, breathing deep to catch Coke’s scent.
Oh, God. He was going to explode. He’d wanted for so long.
“You be good, now.” Coke leaned in, those eyes green and gray and brown.
“Why? I thought we were going to misbehave. A lot.” Please, God.
“Uh-huh. Not in the elevator. Where we ain’t got to stop.”
“I know. I’m being good.” Good, damn it. He really was. Mostly. The elevator opened and they dragged their gear in down the hall, Coke hanging back a little.
He popped the key into the lock, glancing over his shoulder. “Everything okay?”
Those eyes were on his ass, and when they popped to his face, Coke turned almost purple. Oh.
Woo. Possibly hoo. The door resisted just long enough that he got frustrated, but Dillon finally got it open, grumbling a little.
Then he pushed in and held the door for Coke, dropping his bag.
Coke put his duffle down, then took the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign and hung it on the handle.
Score. He waited, hands hanging at his sides, not sure what to do next. Except stare at Coke.
“This is a little weird, huh?” Coke asked. It would be more weird if they both weren’t hard as nails.
“A little, yeah. I’m just afraid if I touch you, something horrible will happen and we’ll have to stop.d
“I ain’t much on being afraid, Dillon.” One of those square hands reached out and snagged him, dragging him right into Coke’s strength.
Nothing horrible happened.
Nothing horrible at all.