Chapter Seventeen
Dylan
Passivity and inaction were the evil stepchildren of indecision, and I hated them all. Especially when the uncertainty belonged to me.
How could a guy who got off on being in charge of everything be so incapable of acting on what he wanted?
It had never been much of a problem before now. Up to this point, the only thing I’d thought I wanted was Jamie. Love from Jamie. To raise my son with Jamie. To build a life with Jamie. All things fucking Jamie.
But I couldn’t have her, and I’d come to terms with that.
Things in my life were shifting, but all I seemed capable of doing was standing by and watching it happen. Waiting to see where I’d end up when it stopped.
I didn’t know what to say to Sean. I wasn’t sure when to call Chantel. And I didn’t want to have to choose between them. So, instead, I’d done nothing.
Then I continued doing nothing, knowing the longer I waited, the less likely I’d ever do anything at all.
And I fucking hated it.
Regret, shame, the worry of failure—those were feelings for other people, the assholes who didn’t know who they were or what they wanted out of life.
I finally knew what I wanted. So why the hell couldn’t I just pick up the damn phone?
As if the devil could hear me thinking, my phone vibrated with a text from Sean.
Did you hear the news? Got traded. I’m moving to Montreal. Do you know how to say “Grab my cock” in French?
Montreal. What were the odds?
Just thinking of him and Chantel in the same city made my pulse fucking skip.
Training camp was weeks away. He’d be tied up after that with games, travel, whatever was left of his career burning through the fall. If something was going to happen, it had to happen now, before the window closed.
I stared at my phone for a long moment. Then, before I could second-guess myself, typed out a reply.
Before you move… come meet me at Copper Ridge Resort. I’ll book it.
Fuck. Was I really doing this? I put the phone down. Then picked it up again.
BTW my French sucks. But I know someone who can help. If I tell her to.
Considering the number of texts he’d sent me over the weekend, I expected an immediate response from him. Instead, he made me wait.
I waited through two bottles of beer and an entire episode of Love Island, getting more annoyed with each passing second.
It made me want to scream every time one of the islanders flipped on her partner the second a new guy walked into the villa.
Or batted her fake lashes through some manufactured challenge.
Or cried over a man she’d known for forty-eight hours.
And not just because the show drove me up a fucking wall with its ridiculous, plastic take on love, but because I missed having that kind of devoted attention directed at me.
Even the fake kind looked better than nothing.
I was about to give up when Sean finally texted back.
Just tell me when & I’m there.
A simple, single sentence followed by a picture of his training schedule. It wasn’t much, but it meant everything. Enough to have the blood pumping steadily through my veins.
Enough to have me half-hard just thinking about what I was about to do next.
Scrolling quickly through my contacts, I pulled up Chantel’s number, and once again, without hesitation, hit dial.
“Oui?” she answered, her tone clipped and annoyed.
“Enchanté, did I catch you at a bad time?”
“Dylan, hi.” Her annoyance melted into a throaty purr. “I was just reading. I hate being interrupted, but I’ll make an exception for you.”
“Glad to know I’m more important than a romance novel.”
“How’d you know I was reading romance? Maybe I’m a sci-fi lover.”
“You’re not. You’re a romantic. That’s why I like you.” Fuck, there was some truth that I hadn’t expected. But I didn’t regret one word.
“Really? You like me, huh?”
“Sure, I do. What’s not to like? You’ve got a great ass and that fancy new doctor title. Those are pretty big turn-ons.” I leaned back into the couch with a smile. “Seriously, though, Chantel, congratulations. It’s well deserved.”
“Dylan, that’s so sweet of you,” she said, her voice cracking. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now, don’t get too sugary. You’ll make me regret saying it.” That was unlikely, but I loved the teasing game we’d started to play. “I’d hate to cancel your invitation.”
Her breath caught. “Invitation?”
“I want you to come to Copper Ridge. To the resort. I’ll book you a room so we can celebrate your achievement properly.”
“Dylan.” The way she said my name told me she was already thinking about it. “When?”
“As soon as you can make it. I’ll send you dates that work.”
“Good—”
“There’s something you should know first,” I interrupted, my throat trying to close around the words. “Something I should probably tell you before we go any further.”
“If it’s about wanting your shirt back, forget it.”
“No joking, Chantel. There’s no easy way to say this, and you already know I’m a dick, so I’m just gonna be upfront with you.”
“Okay…”
“You won’t be my only guest.”
“Oh.” Her pause gave my heart enough time to gallop over my nerves. “Is it someone serious? Someone you’re seeing?”
“Shit, no. Not at all. Probably as far away from serious as you can get. And probably not what you’re expecting, either. I’m guessing you’ve met Sean Brennan since he’s a family friend?”
Her laughter floated across the phone line. “Sean? The drunk guy who was hitting on me at the wedding reception? My uncle’s favorite pet project? That Sean? Of course, I’ve met him.”
“Huh. I didn’t realize he ended up at the reception.” My gut tightened. “And he was hitting on you?”
Should it have bothered me he’d gone to the reception after saying he wouldn’t?
Maybe not, but it did.
Even worse was the idea of him hitting on Chantel the way he’d first hit on me. And I couldn’t tell if it bothered me more because he’d flirted with someone else, or because someone else had touched what I was starting to think of as mine.
“Not to burst your bubble, but Sean hits on practically anything that moves.” She was joking, but there was a tremor in her voice. Was it uncertainty? Or lust?
“Well, he’s really good at it,” I growled, feeling horny and confused as fuck.
“Yes, he really is. So…you and him?” Her voice lifted in question, but her tone was full of understanding.
“It’s complicated. Then again, it’s not. I’m not sure that it’s anything at all, but he knows how to push my buttons.”
“Can I watch?” Her breathy whisper just about broke me.
“Pardon?”
“Only if you’re into that. I just think it would be hot to see you two together.”
The tightness in my gut moved lower, my cock now aching with need. She was so fucking dirty. Deliciously so. And I couldn’t wait to see her.
“You’re serious? Chantel, please tell me you’re fucking serious.”
“Of course I am. I told you I was reading when you called…and I was, but I was also masturbating. I’m reading a gay erotic romance. It’s a bit of a fetish, actually.”
“Fucking hell, woman. Now I’m picturing you touching yourself while you talk to me. Are you touching yourself?”
“I wasn’t, but I am now.”
She was trying to kill me. “Fuck, you make me hot.”
She moaned. Not a quiet, careful sound. The kind of noise you make when you’ve stopped holding back. It made me wish I could see her right now. I imagined her with her hair tangled, face flushed, legs shamelessly parted.
“You know what else?” My voice strained with reckless greed. “I dream about you. About your perfect fucking pussy. About how sweet it tastes. How much I want to feel it squeezing my cock. And that blue dress. You looked hotter than sin in that dress.”
“Dylan.” Her breath hitched, and I could tell she really was touching herself now.
“How do you feel? Tell me.”
“Needy. So fucking needy.”
Her answer had me sliding my palm over the front of my pants. “I promise I’m gonna take care of that for you, enchanté. Look at the schedule I’m sending. You tell me what works for you. We’ll set a date.”
“Okay,” she whimpered.
“Chantel, you need to know, Sean might be the catalyst, but you’re my payoff. I want you there. I want you to watch. You can have that. You can have more. Whatever you want, you can have it.” And fuck, I meant it.
I wanted to give her everything. Every part of myself. The feelings were new and I wasn’t ready to look at them too hard, but fuck, I liked them anyway.
“Crisse d’ostie, Dylan. Please, I can’t take this.” She sounded truly desperate. “I’ll do whatever you ask.”
Her need was clear, and it just about did me in, but I ignored the compulsion to get myself off. After all, I’d waited this long—I could wait some more.
Hell, I could wait another year if I had to.
“Good girl. Now, let me hear you come.”