“So get off the damn treadmill. For you, as much as Angelo... he ain’t the only one needs looking after.”
Rich coming from Rhys when he was giving up a job as a flight paramedic to work in Europe’s refugee camps with Jevon, but he was a hard man to ignore when he had something to say.
Dylan had known other men like that too, and he wondered what time it was in Poland—
“Hey.” Angelo nudged Dylan. “You okay?”
“Hmm?”
Angelo stared at him. “You’re miles away.”
“Am I?”
“Don’t be a dick.”
“I’mnot.” Dylan hauled himself back into the present. The curry detritus had been cleared away and Emma, who’d joined them at the last possible moment, had dumped an overflowing plate of mince pies on the table. The scent of spiced fruit reached Dylan, and with it came the first hint of festive cheer he’d felt since he’d packed up work for the holidays.
He squeezed Angelo’s hand. “Sorry. Was just thinking.”
“About what?”
The worry in Angelo’s earnest gaze broke Dylan’s heart. “About how I told you we were done angsting for the day, and I meant it.” He plucked a pie from the plate and shoved it in Angelo’s sinful mouth. “Get your crimpers round that and pour me some rum.”
For once, Angelo did as he was told, and the rum flowed. Emma disappeared, and eventually, Harry dragged Joe away.
“Behave,” he warned as he pushed Joe towards the stairs. “Christmas Eve is Joe’s only day off all year, so I’m gonna need your help tomorrow.”
Dylan laughed. “Hungover or not, how much help do you seriously think I’m going to be?”
“Enough help to get the breakfast on.”
Fair enough. Dylan would take cooking breakfast for a dozen people over shovelling shit any day of the week.
Harry and Joe disappeared. Rhys tipped the last of his drink down his throat and manoeuvred himself to his feet. “As pervy as I am, I’m not up for listening to my little brother get busy. You guys want to come back to the bungalow with us?”
Dylan glanced at Angelo and was greeted by rum-lively eyes and a big smile. “You wanna?”
Angelo grinned. “I could go for a couple more, but we should probably take it to the chalet, if Rhys doesn’t mind hopping over the mud. The horses don’t rest when there’s lights on in the bungalow.”
It was as good a reason as any to take the party back to the chalet. There was no rum left, but there was vodka, and warm cans of Lidl lemonade.
They sat around the tiny living room and shot the shit. Well, Dylan and Jevon did. Rhys seemed preoccupied with burying his face in Jevon’s neck, and Angelo had found a new place to hide his hand.
Desire rippled through Dylan, amping up with every graze of Angelo’s elegant fingers along his cock. He bent his knee further, shielding his crotch from view, but Jevon smirked at him anyway.
“I thought this might be weird,” Jevon said.
Dylan suppressed a pleasurable shudder. “What would?”
“Being here, lit and cosy with you two. I know you don’t play around with Rhys anymore, but I still figured it could be awkward if we were ever all alone together.”
Dylan couldn’t imagine Jevon ever being awkward about anything, but he considered the point and realised it was one he’d never given much thought to before. Rhys was a friend, but they’d rarely seen him outside of the club until their real lives had revealed themselves to be coincidentally entwined. And Jevon? He was brand new—to Dylan, at least. “I don’t feel awkward, but that doesn’t mean you can’t. We’d get it.” Dylan nudged Angelo. “Right?”
“Hmm?” Angelo blinked. “What are we talking about?”
“We’re talking about Jevon feeling weird about us all fucking before he met Rhys.”
“Oh.”
