Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Coke had slept through the night. Well, mostly, save for one bathroom and water trip.
Dillon was tickled enough to have a feather up his butt.
He hummed and wiggled, making breakfast just like he had that first morning at Coke’s.
That was a mostly, as well. At Coke’s there was no huge bathrobe and fuzzy slippers.
Coke wore jeans, two pairs of socks, and a heavy sweater, drinking coffee and laughing as the puppies played in the snow. The laugh was hearty, happy. Real.
Dillon smiled, watching long enough that the eggs almost burned.
“God, it’s pretty up here. Quiet.” Coke wandered closer, one hand on his hip as a kiss brushed his shoulder.
“It is, huh?” Super quiet without Coke’s phone ringing all the time.
“Mmmhmm. What you got planned for today?”
“I have hours of stuff planned.” He twirled, flipping the eggs and actually catching them.
Coke applauded, grinned. “Well, you just point me and shoot me and I’ll help.”
“Oh, I know you will. You owe me a massage.” He grinned. “Then there’s rub Coke the right way. Then there’s take Coke to the hot tub.”
“Oh? Hot tub. Massage. You got yourself a good to-do list.” Look at that smile.
“I thought so. I mean, it will be days before I have to actually do work.”
“Days, huh? What are we gonna do without a pool?”
“Well, we can always set up heat lamps in the living room.” He slid the eggs on plates and got the waffles out of the toaster. Homemade but frozen.
“Nah, we can enjoy snuggling. Body heat’s better than heat lamps.”
“Yep. We can be naked.” Together. Rubbing. Woo.
“Works for me.” His bottom got a playful little slap. Dillon’s breath stopped for a moment. That felt…tingly. Coke poured two glasses of juice, humming away.
Shaking it off, Dillon went to the table, setting out butter and syrup.
“I need to call Beau, check on Sammy today. Don’t let me forget.”
“I won’t, babe.” He would let Coke call from the house phone. That evil cell was going to stay tucked away. Dillon was checking it daily.
Coke smiled at him, perfectly relaxed, easy in his skin. “I saw you got some steaks in the freezer, a roast. Which one do you want for supper?”
“Uh.” Oh, Coke was a prince among men and an expert at cooking beef. “Roast?”
“Good deal. There’s taters and carrots and all.” Coke headed for the freezer and tugged out a huge chunk of meat, plopped it on the counter. Then his own personal bullfighter sat right next to him.
“Have some food now.” They grinned at each other and wolfed food down.
Coke started playing footsie about three-quarters of the way through, toes tickling his shins.
“That was on the to-do, too.”
“Hmm?” Those gray eyes smiled over at him.
“Flirting.”
“I don’t flirt.”
“No?” This was fun. “Do you announce intent?”
“I just…don’t resist touching you when I don’t have to.”
Dillon’s cheeks heated with the pleasure of it. “Good. No resisting.”
“No, sir. None at all, cowboy.” Those toes slid back up his leg.
“Mmm.” Wiggling, Dillon settled into his chair and spread his legs.
“You look happy.” Coke actually licked his lips.
“I am. You do, too.” His bullfighter seemed rested.
“Yeah. So, I should do dishes, then you should give me the tour.”
“I can so do that.”
Coke stood up, started puttering, washing and humming and looking good in his kitchen. The man could be at home anywhere. Dillon liked that Coke was at home in his house right now, though. A lot.
They needed to talk about Thanksgiving, about decorating for Christmas, shopping. He bounced a little.
God, Christmas with Coke. How cool was that?
He knew that Nate was going to Mexico with his family. Coop had gone home to his. Hell, Fred was back Down Under. He got Coke. He got Coke in the best way.
His lover glanced over at him, soap bubbles up to his elbows. “What’re you staring at?”
“My Coke.” He couldn’t call it any other way. Dillon bounced again. “So what did your family do for Thanksgiving?”
“Huh? I usually spend it with the Scotts or the Taggarts.”
“Oh.” Dillon frowned a little. “I mean when you were a kid. Like, what kinds of traditions do you have?”
“I guess the same as anybody. Nate’s Tracy puts on one hell of a spread.”
His head tilted. “I bet she does.”
Coke nodded, went back to going dishes.
Dillon grabbed a dishtowel. “So, were you hatched from an egg?”
“Crawled from under a cabbage leaf.”
“Ah.” His nose twitched. God, he wanted to ask more, because no one ever talked about Coke’s family, least of all Coke.
The man knew everything about everyone—babies, birthdays, anniversaries—but no one had ever said, “I’m Coke’s aunt. Cousin. Brother. In-law.”
“So, what do you want us to do?” Dillon bumped their hips together. “For Thanksgiving.”
“I like to watch the parade. I reckon your family wants to get together, huh?”
“We usually do. We can wait on that until Christmas, though. I mean, my sis will do it at her house if she needs to.”
“Cowboy, I’m here for you, to have the holidays with you. Family, kids, food. Whatever. I’m happy.”
“Cool.” He took the next dish and dried it. “I’m tickled.”
“I am, too.” Coke grinned at him, and the fine son of a bitch looked truly happy.
Dillon turned off the water and stole away the cup Coke had picked up. He needed to kiss that smiling mouth.
One eyebrow quirked up. “Everything okay?”
“Uh-huh.” He grabbed Coke’s shoulders and moved in for a lip-lock.
Coke’s hand came up, cupped the back of his head, and the man kissed him like the world was ending. It wasn’t. No way. Dillon still thought it was okay to act on it, so he kissed right back.
Jesus, there was nothing like that focus, like that wild, breathtaking kiss. Coke was on fire, holding him like he wanted to keep Dillon from breaking and running. Like Dillon would. There was nowhere on earth he’d rather be.