Chapter 25
Chapter
Twenty-Five
Dirk
“Mmm … wha’ time’sit?” I slur, rubbing my eyes.
Rolling onto my side, I’m greeted with a sleeping giant.
Trav’s chest rises and falls—he’s fucking out, but it’s no wonder, he took me apart last night.
My bones ache, and my skin’s got several rough patches that’ll need aloe later, but he did most of the work.
Man, he’s even hot in his sleep. I reach out and push the hair off his face.
He stirs, eyes fluttering open. As soon as his indigo eyes come into focus, he hums, giving me a lazy once-over, gaze trailing down my body with no rush at all, pupils dark. There’s nothing drowsy about his intent.
I dive before he can pounce, landing on his torso. “How is that your waking thought?”
“I’m not yours?” he teases, gripping my wrist in a hand that’s too strong for a man who’s just come out of a dead sleep.
“You know what I mean.”
He slides a hand up the back of my neck, pulling me toward him. “Proof I crave you day and night.”
My lips spread into a full-bodied smile. Okay, I’m convinced. Sex before coffee sounds like a great way to spend a morning. Trav’s hand wanders down my torso, using a feather-light touch to rub up the shaft and over the head. I shudder, pushing into his hand.
He lazily strokes, kissing me in all the right places, ratcheting my arousal, the muscles in my abs straining to hold back. Trav suspends me at that delicious edge as I become a babbling mess.
“Fuck, Trav, please. Please let me come…”
There’s an all-too familiar creak—Trav’s creaky third step.
Trav drops my cock like it’s a bomb, which is kinda true in this instance.
I was so fucking close to going off. The sudden intrusion’s not enough to take the wind from my cock’s sails; it fucking throbs.
There’s no knock, of course, before we hear the door swing open. I glare.
“He needs to fucking knock, Trav,” I say, jumping the fuck outta bed. Are we caught? Is this the moment? Fuck. I’ve told him at least seven hundred times now. But does he do anything about it? Nooooo.
Trav winces, springing up, bare feet planting on the floor. “I talked to him.”
“You did fucking not.” He told me what he thought talking to him was. He can’t scold Dash to save his life.
“Dad?” Dash says from beyond the door.
“Fuck,” Trav says too fucking loud. “We’re in here, Dashie! Ah, just a second.”
“We?” I whisper-hiss as I scramble to find my jeans.
Where the fuck—oh, there they are. I hop into them as Trav tosses a t-shirt at me, pulling on a white tank.
He’s lucky he doesn’t have as much hair as he used to; all he had to do was run his fingers through it.
I have a mop that’s probably a dead giveaway.
Thank fuck for hats. I slip mine on backward. “What now?”
He looks around. “Grab the other side of this dresser.”
I don’t need to analyze his plan to know it’s a bad one, but I don’t have a better one, so I follow suit.
My heart’s beating out of my damn chest. There’s legit sweat collecting under my cap already as Trav swings the bedroom door open and we move through the narrow doorframe, only just fitting the heavy-ass oak dresser through.
Dash looks like hell and freedom wrapped into one body. His hair’s mussed and his eyes droop, the dark circles from all the time spent aching for Stacey fucking Alderchuck haven’t left him yet, but a weight’s gone from his shoulders. He squints as if he can’t be seeing what he’s seeing.
“What are you two doing?”
“Oh, Dirk here was helping me move the dresser. Got a guy from Marketplace coming here to buy it.”
“Um, why?” Dash is fucking slack-jawed.
“Getting a new one.”
I almost drop the dresser. Has Trav lost his mind? Everyone knows he doesn’t get rid of shit. He’s had this dresser since they invented dressers. He might as well just tell Dash we’re together.
“You kept saying this thing was so old. Finally took your advice. Need something?”
Dash raises his brows, not really sure what to do with that, so instead he throws himself on the couch. “Syd and I broke up—I broke things off, for the record.”
Never have I been more thrilled about him breaking up with someone, but also so fucking over it at the same time.
I want Trav to finish what he started. But is that gonna happen?
No. He’s called off his engagement, and he still doesn’t know what he should do about him and Stacey, so he needs a pep talk from his dad.
“I’m gonna lock you two in a room if you don’t get your shit together,” I grumble.
“Dirk,” Trav scolds. How fucking dare he?
“You don’t have to hear ‘em. Seven years of this crap.” I know I’m being harsh, but it’s true. He can have what he’s always wanted, and he’s here yammering at us.
Trav gives me a withering glare, and I throw my hands up, storming over to the kitchen.
Trav rarely keeps anything more than beer and coffee cream in this fridge.
When he needs stuff, he gets it from the restaurant.
Know what? It’s five o’clock somewhere. I could use a breakfast beer.
My dick’s hard enough to cut glass right now. Worst orgasm denial ever.
I lean against the counter, taking a long pull of foamy liquid hops. It’s better I keep my mouth busy, so I don’t say anything else.
“Dirk’s not saying it with the grace he usually does, but I agree with the sentiment—get your ass down there and talk to him.”
“Well, this has been a waste of my time. Thanks for nothin’, you two. I want a pair of dads like Jack has. You don’t have anyone to rein you in, Pops.”
I spit out my beer, doubling over with laughter. “Yeah, Trav. You need a man to rein you in.”
Trav scratches the back of his neck, eyes darting around, probably praying Dash doesn’t inquire about his dating life. Dash doesn’t seem to pick up on the mild panic he’s experiencing, but I do. I know too many of Trav’s tells from having spent so much time studying him.
I’ve changed my mind. Things just got interesting. I wanna hear what else he’ll say, while Trav squirms for once.
“Wish I hadn’t brought up the topic, to be honest,” Dash says. “Alright, I’m good. I can do this. Question, you okay if I chase Trevor and Alvin out of the restaurant with a pool cue?”
“It’s Trent and Alex, and no,” I answer for Travis, because he’ll say yes.
Dash stands, shooting me an expectant look. “You coming with, Dirk?”
His focus is on me long enough that he misses Trav’s slight head tilt, jaw ticking, giving me the look that means, don’t you fucking dare leave this apartment, pretty boy.
I’m not a brat, I swear I’m not, but when am I gonna get another opportunity to tease him like this? Plus, the thought that I might leave’ll make him fucking feral. The way he’ll jump my bones will be worth the mild torture I’ll suffer.
“Am I, Trav?”
He shakes his head, fire burning in his dark eyes. “No. The dresser, remember? I need your help with it.”
Dash looks between us, eyes narrowed. I’m flirting with Trav, right in front of him. That’s as fucking risky as it gets. But maybe I want him to figure us out.
“There you go, can’t. He needs my help. I’ll be down in a bit, I’m sure it won’t take long.” All I need is one solid stroke from Trav’s rough hands, and I’ll blow.
Dash mutters something as he heads out the door, and Trav’s up lightning fast to shut and lock the door. I take another pull of beer, laughing. “That was close. Sell your dresser? Why didn’t you just tell him, Trav?”
When I look up, Trav’s approaching me slowly. Like a predator. “Don’t think it mattered. He’s too focused on Stacey. Look what you’re wearing.”
I look down. Shit. Holy fucking shit. It’s Trav’s Creed t-shirt.
My heart skips a beat, and I set my beer down.
Dash has been lusting over this shirt forever.
He collects concert shirts, and I’m pretty sure he’s hoping Trav will bequeath this one to him or something.
If he had noticed, he would have said something.
My cocky attitude evaporates at about the same time my brain tunes into the lion slowly approaching, trying not to scare his prey.
“I noticed as soon as you picked up the dresser. Didn’t realize how fucking turned on it was gonna make me.
I love my son, but I’ve never been so glad to see him go.
” I expect him to lunge; instead, he watches me with a cool gaze.
“Get your ass over here, pretty boy. You’re gonna pay for being a fucking brat. ”
What does Jack say he does in an instance like this? Where he’s started a fun bit of trouble, but regrets it when it’s time to pay the piper?
“Now, Trav. I was only teasing—”
He lunges, but for once I’m faster, the phantom swipe of his grip in my wake as I run. Problem is, Trav’s apartment is too small for real running, so it’s more of a long stride until I’m forced to dive over the couch.
I turn to face him, he’s … not there. What the—
“Oof!” I land on the couch, sideways, only rolling over on my ass in time for two hundred and ten pounds of Travis to straddle me.
“Never run from a wild animal, baby,” he says in a low voice, full of hunger. “New rule, you wanna act cute with a death wish, you pay an edging tax.”
“Isn’t that what you do anyway?”
“Oh no,” he says in a low growl. “You only thought you knew what edging was. How about we see how long it takes before you regret even thinking about being a fucking tease?”
Icalled it, which is why I’m standing in a courthouse next to Trav in a suit I usually wear for hockey, my messy hockey coif tucked away under my ballcap. There’s a sharp, sterile bite of Pine-Sol in the air. The floors are tile, but everything else is polished wood.
Trav’s near me without touching, his energy taking up most of the space in the room, arms crossed like he’s the bodyguard and not one of the grooms’ dads.
“Smile,” I whisper.