“Come on, y’all. Go get your heads on straight. I gotta warm up my team.” He waved and jogged off to the back. Time to get it on.
Chapter Five
Dillon sat on the little bench in the locker room, staring at his legs.
They kinda looked like they’d been shot at and hit. Black and blue and purple all over. Hell, he hadn’t even been in the way. Really. He’d been back behind the cage, and the bull had come flying around the arena, completely in the wrong direction.
Adam Taggart, the safety man, had roped that stupid bull and Dillon had made for the cage then the catastrophe happened.
Rope, meet Dillon. Dillon, meet rope and cage.
Bam.
Some days, he was just forced to remember that his job was a teeny, tiny bit dangerous.
“Put ’em up.” Coke’s voice was husky, sympathetic.
“Huh? Gonna rob me?” See, he could still try for funny.
“Rub, not rob.” Coke straddled the bench and patted those muscled thighs, a tin in his hands. “Come on, son. This’ll help.”
Blinking, Dillon lifted his legs, resting his feet on Coke’s thighs. “Okay. Rub away.”
The stuff that came out of that tin was gray and slick and stinky, but Coke pulled out a huge finger full, rubbed it between those huge hands then started working his legs.Oh. Oh, sweet bleeding Christ. That was amazing.
He moaned, his head falling back as his toes curled. “Oh. Damn, Coke. Wow.”
“Yeah. It’s good stuff. I always keep it around.” Those thumbs dug into his calves, pushing hard, working the muscles.
“You’re the good stuff, Coke.” That was the God’s honest truth. Coke was a good man, and he had the best hands.
“Thank you. Poor legs. My damn heart stopped when that rope snapped.”
“Yeah. You should have seen Adam’s face.” It had been almost comical. Poor Adam had looked like something out ofGhost Shipor something.
“Yeah. He’s all worried about you. I bet Brian’s riding safety next week.”
“You think?” Frowning, Dillon made a mental note to call Adam. The man had been good to him when… Well, when David had done his “decide he wasn’t into dick because he wanted to have babies” thing. All the Taggart boys were decent men, even if no one could tell the triplets apart.
“Yeah. He’s okay. He just hated that he hurt you.” The massage moved to his feet.
“I might have to thank him.” That felt like heaven. Hell for him would be someplace really cold, with no Coke.
“Hmm?” Coke rolled one of his feet, then the other, working his ankles.
“Nothing. I’m kind of a puddle of goo.” Goo. Just… Woo.
“Goo is good. That means I’m doing my job.” Those hands moved up.
“You are. You so are.” It really wasn’t even sexual. It was just the care Coke took. No one in sports medicine would treat him so good.
He got a warm, weirdly gentle smile. “Have to make sure my people aren’t hurting, you know?”
Pushing up on one arm, Dillon stretched up and touched Coke’s wrist, smiling. “Am I one of your people?”
“Well, of course you are.”
“I like that idea.” He really,reallyliked that idea.
