Chapter 17
Dean
Colton was celebrating his twenty-sixth birthday.
Because she was in Paris for Fashion Week, Sophie couldn’t be with him.
So Dean invited Colton to the loft for a special birthday dinner.
When he arrived, Dean squeezed him in a big bro hug. “Happy Birthday, Colton!”
The birthday boy had worn blue jeans and a tight-as-fuck black t-shirt and Dean quickly ran a finger across his mouth, in case there was any drool.
Colton’s blond hair was getting a little longer on the sides, but, as always, his bangs hung and flopped across his forehead, dancing as he walked.
On the way to the kitchen, Dean grabbed a gift bag off the dining table and passed it to Colton.
The bag contained two birthday gifts. The first gift was a picture of Colton and Dean from the day of the video shoot, Colton’s arm around Dean, both of them wearing their jerseys, printed on glass. Dean saw a slight blush on Colton’s cheeks as he carefully ran a finger across the frame.
The second gift was a black Fendi shirt.
“I noticed you wear a lot of black,” Dean explained. “We can get another color if you want something different.”
Colton smiled. “No, this is great. Thank you, Dean. This is way too much, but thank you. I love this shirt, and I really love this picture!”
Colton immediately removed the tags from his new shirt and put it on. Dean struggled to breathe normally as Colton stood shirtless before him, perfect round pecs with nipples begging to be nibbled, and ripple after ripple of abs.
There should be a federal law that certain men be forbidden from wearing shirts…ever! Colton would be at the top of that list.
“Perfect fit.” Dean smiled. “Very handsome!”
Colton took a selfie with Dean and posted it on Insta.
Birthday Dinner with @DJDVLN! Thank you for my awesome #Fendi shirt!
Dean motioned for Colton to sit on a stool at one of the kitchen islands. “I’m going to make you a special birthday dinner.”
“Dean, you really don’t have to go to all this trouble.”
“I want to. I love cooking for people, and I rarely have a chance to do it.”
Dean didn’t cook big dinners that often, but something about Colton unleashed a protective, nurturing side of Dean, and this sudden domesticity was a tad bit frightening.
“So, you go grab a beer, take a seat at the counter, and watch the magic happen!” Dean dramatically flexed his fingers in preparation.
“You’re such a fucking goober!” Colton laughed and hopped onto a stool with his beer.
Dean wiped the counter down with a cloth then pulled out all the ingredients he needed for the meal and piled them on the counter before dumping a heaping pile of flour onto the clean countertop.
“Dude! What are you doing?” Colton asked, baffled.
“Relax, you’ll see soon enough.” Dean made a claw with his fingers and created a large hole in the middle of the pile of flour, creating something that resembled a flour volcano.
He then cracked several eggs and some coarse salt and pepper into the crater he'd just created, then grabbed a fork out of the drawer.
He slowly began dragging small lines of flour into the eggs, scrambling the yolks, gradually forming a paste with the flour until eventually, all of the flour was mixed with the eggs, creating a dough.
“Are you making bread?” Colton looked completely puzzled, mesmerized by the process.
“Not quite. Patience, you’ll see.” Dean grinned with a sly twinkle in his eyes.
Dean began kneading the dough in a steady rhythm…
push away with the palm, pull back, rotate…
push, pull, rotate. After a few minutes, the dough was properly kneaded, slightly springy and about the texture of the pad of his thumb.
Dean formed it into a tight ball and wrapped it in plastic wrap.
“There, this guy needs to rest for a little bit.”
Dean pulled out a large bowl and combined ricotta cheese, lemon zest, lemon juice, salt, pepper, and a small amount of nutmeg, then whipped it all together with a wooden spoon.
Dean scooped a small amount of the mixture onto his finger, lifting it up for Colton to taste.
“Dude! I’m not licking your finger.”
“Oh, don’t be a fucking pussy! Just taste it.”
Colton reluctantly wrapped his pretty pink lips around Dean’s finger to taste. Sparks flew out of every pore in Dean’s body. He wanted to throw his fine birthday ass on the counter, smear the ricotta mixture all over his insanely ripped fucking body, and enjoy a Colton feast.
As he tasted the mixture, Colton’s eyes immediately widened. “Fuck, that’s good!”
“See?” Dean patted him on the back. “My finger tastes pretty good, doesn’t it?”
“You’re an ass.” Colton laughed as he licked his lips.
Dean pulled a stand mixer onto the counter, attaching a small silver box to the front of it. He cut off a portion of the dough, flattened it, and fed it through the little silver box. It came out of the bottom in a long, flat strip.
“You still have no idea what I’m making?” Dean asked, laying the flat strip of dough on the counter.
Colton shook his head. “Not a clue.”
“It’s pasta.”
“That’s pasta?” Colton pointed to the rectangular strip on the counter, astonished.
“Yep.” Dean took a spoon and dotted small piles of the ricotta mixture down the center of the dough strip, then carefully placed another strip of dough on top, pressing around the edges to seal them together.
He grabbed a mini wheel utensil from the drawer and began to cut out a little square of pasta.
He lifted the pasta square up to show Colton the finished product.
“Et voila!” Dean exclaimed. “Ravioli.”
“Wow!” Colton looked as if he’d just witnessed nuclear fusion, his eyes wide and childlike. “That’s so cool! Where did you learn to do that?”
“Well, I used to cook a lot with my grandma. And before my music career took off, I worked at a lot of restaurants, so I picked up a few tricks along the way.” Dean winked with a flourishing hand.
“You are just full of fucking surprises, Dean.” Colton smiled, sipping his beer.
“You have no idea, buddy! Hey, would you mind setting the table?”
Dean whipped up a quick sauce of butter, lemon juice, and garlic while he cooked the ravioli. Colton set the table and opened a bottle of white wine.
Colton poured two glasses of wine, and Dean brought the plates to the table.
“Here you go my friend. Happy Birthday.” He patted the top of Colton’s head, wishing he could grab a handful of hair, pull him back, and kiss the fucking shit out of him. How about that for a birthday present?
Colton tucked into the ravioli and took a bite. His eyes widened and he lightly pounded his fist on the table. “Oh my God! Dean! This is exquisite! I’ve never had anything this delicious, not even at a restaurant!”
Dean watched Colton devour his food, thoroughly enjoying the meal he made for him.
I could get used to this, he thought as he sipped his wine.
Dean could feel a growing heat and intensity simmering between the two of them.
He wondered if Colton felt it too. He must have.
After all, he’s the one who asked if ‘we did something’ when they got drunk a few weeks ago.
But Dean was too afraid of losing his friend.
He wasn’t going to make a move only to have Colton pull away, and potentially destroy their friendship.
If Colton was feeling something for Dean, he’d have to make the first move.
Dean wanted Colton in his life forever, even if he was strictly a friend.
“There’s plenty more, if you want it.”
Colton stood, picking up his plate. “I shouldn’t, but I’m gonna. It’s just too fucking good!”
He returned to the table with a full plate and Dean watched him eat with a satisfied smile.
“What?” Colton asked between bites. “What is it?”
Dean lovingly looked at him. “Nothing. It’s just been a long time since I made this meal for anyone. I’m glad you like it.”
“I don’t like it. I fucking love it! You’re definitely going to have to make this for me again.”
Dean laughed. “Sure. But next time you can help. I’ll teach you how to do it. It’s actually pretty easy.”
Colton lifted his glass for a toast. “You got a deal.”
Colton paused after his sip of wine. “Have you ever played golf, Dean?”
“Miniature golf. Does that count?”
“No, it certainly does not.” Colton shook his head with a laugh.
Dean chuckled. “Then no. Why do you ask?”
“I’m in a charity golf tournament at Pebble Beach in a couple of months. I was wondering if you’d want to be in my foursome.”
Dean’s mind reeled at the idea of being in a foursome with Colton, but he was certainly not thinking about golf.
“I’d love to. But, having never done it, I’m pretty sure I’ll suck at it. I'd probably just bring down your score.”
Colton smiled again. “It’s a charity event, so it’s not really about the score or winning. It’s going to be PGA pros and celebrities raising money for the children’s hospital. Please say yes. We’ll have fun.”
“Okay, I’m in! But can you teach me how to play, and maybe help me get some practice first? I don’t want to look like a complete idiot, if that’s at all humanly possible.”
“It’s not,” Colton teased. “But yes, I’ll teach you how to play before the tournament.”
After they finished their meal, Dean cleared the table and cleaned the dishes before they opened another bottle of wine and spent the rest of the evening on the roof, listening to music, enjoying the views of the bay, and talking about anything, everything, and absolutely nothing.
“Did you have a nice birthday?” Dean clinked his glass.
Colton smiled from ear to ear, his blue eyes sparkling like diamonds.
“Dean, I can honestly say this is the best birthday I’ve ever had.
Thank you for the gifts, thank you for that amazing meal, thank you for the company, and thank you for going to all this trouble and making this a wonderful night. ”
Dean refilled Colton’s glass of wine. “Of course. What are friends for? Here’s to many more fabulous birthday dinners.”