Dylan shrugged. “You’re probably right, but I really want to get to know you better, and I can’t concentrate on that when you’ve got your dick inme.”
It made sense, even if Angelo didn’t like it. Not that he had the energy to keep up with Dylan right now. “I get it. We need to find our feet in the real world before we go out toplay.”
“I’m not talking about theclub.”
“I know.” Angelo ghosted his hands up Dylan’s sides, noting that he didn’t seem to be the least bit ticklish. “I meant in every sense. You know me for who I am now, but I’m still getting used to it. The club gave me a way to go back in time?—to block out my reality?—and I need to let that go, at least for awhile.”
Dylan nodded slowly. “Iloveplaying with you in the club, and I’d never want to give it up, but I want to fuck the realyou.”
“The real me, eh?” Angelo’s hips flexed of their own accord, and heat pooled in his groin. “What about the realyou? Are you gonna surpriseme?”
Dylan smirked and leaned in close, but the front door banged an agonising millisecond before his kiss reached Angelo. “Shit. That’s mydad.”
He sprang lithely from Angelo’s lap and landed like a cat. Angelo was too jealous of his easy agility to consider the heavy footsteps in the hallway, and so the startlingly good-looking man who appeared in the doorway a few seconds later caught him offguard.
Angelo scrambled to his feet as the bearded silver fox clapped Dylan on the back and sniffed theair.
“Jalfrezi?” the man Angelo assumed to be Dylan’s fatherasked.
Dylannodded.
“Good.” Dylan’s father grunted, nodded at Angelo, and then he was gone, his boots on the wooden stairs the only reassurance Angelo had that he hadn’t imagined the wholething.
“Wow.” Angelo sat back down. “He didn’t saymuch.”
“He never does. Trust me, he’ll scarf his dinner in two seconds flat, check that I’m still using condoms, and then lock himself in the cellar with his model airplanes until it’s time forbed.”
“Modelairplanes?”
“Yeah. Dad’s not good at doingnothing.”
“Sounds familiar.” Angelo cast Dylan a pointedlook.
Dylan stuck his tongue out. “I’d rather be like him than a flake like mymum.”
“You think your mum’s aflake?”
“I don’t care if she’s a flake anymore.” Dylan tilted his head towards the kitchen, gesturing for Angelo to follow him. “My dad’s not exactly tactile, but he was a good parent?—and hewantedto be a good parent, which is half the battle won,right?”
“I suppose. My dad was a selfishprick.”
They moved into the kitchen. Dylan took the lid off the pot of curry and gave it a poke. “Let’s forget about the both of them then. Hey, do you think this is done? I can never tell withchicken.”
Angelo peered into the pot. “It’sdone.”
“How do youknow?”
“Because the thigh bones are loose. My parents didn’t teach me much, but I can cook prettywell.”
“We should probably get married then,” Dylan deadpanned. “Because that’s literally all I want out of life?—great sex with a shit-hotcook.”
Angelo laughed. “What would your dad say aboutthat?”
“Not much. He’s down with the queer stuff, but he’s a total prude. Actually, I think he’s more uncomfortable when I bring girlshome.”
“Oh yeah?” Warmth spread through Angelo again. “Do that a lot, doyou?”
“No. I haven’t brought anyone other than Sam here in years, and Dad was always a bit iffy about him because he thought us being so close stopped me meeting anyoneelse.”
