“Come on, Dillon. I’m parked close.”
“Close is also good.” Knowing no one was around, he allowed himself to wrap an arm around Coke’s waist.
Coke eased him out, moving slow and careful. Dillon hummed a little, trying not to dance, because that would make Coke all ‘you can walk on your own’. That was not in the program. Walking on his own would mean not rubbing on that thick thigh, not noticing that heavy erection.
And he noticed. Oh, he noticed. He might even have rubbed on it a little when Coke helped him into the truck. Just with his ass.
Yep. That was a fine, fine moan.
Dillon settled his sore legs, grinning over when Coke got in the truck. “You okay, man? You hurtin’ any?”
“I’m solid as a rock.” Garth Brooks filled the air as the engine turned over.
“Oh. Just wanted to make sure.” Yeah. Coke was rock solid. Even in the low light from the dash he could see that. His mouth watered, and Dillon wanted to touch.
“You, uh. You want something to eat before the hotel?”
“No! I mean, uh, no. I would rather just get something sent up, you know? I’m not sharing this trip, so you could come eat with me.”
“Yeah? Works for me. Nate’s in a mood.”
“Is he okay?” Sometimes Dillon wondered, but Nate was married and lovin’ it, so he never asked.
“His little boy’s got a vicious cold, and his lady is pissed that he’s not flying home tonight.”
“Ah. We could probably get him out, if he really needsto.” It would suck to miss the hot tub, if they had to take Nate to the airport, but a man did what he had to.
“Nah. He’s got a flight at, like, five a.m. He’ll be there early. That’s why he was heading to bed.” Coke winked over. “No interruptions from the old guy.”
“What? Wait. What old guy?” He shook his head, not knowing if Coke was talking about Nate or himself. Somewhere he’d gotten confused.
“Uh. That would be me, son. Remember?”
“No. See, I told you, you’re not old.” Throwing caution to the wind, he reached over and pressed his fingers to Coke’s fly. “Not even close.”
“Oh, fuck.” Coke’s hips bucked, pushing right up toward his touch, the truck weaving.
“No killing us, Coke. We have to get back to the hotel.” Now that he was touching, he couldn’t let go. He rubbed.
“No. No killing. Dillon, Dillon, tell me you ain’t stoned or nothing.” That fat cock throbbed, pushed back against his touch.
“No drugs, and you know I haven’t been drinking.” Tracing that big bulge with his thumb, Dillon worked at the tab of Coke’s jeans.
“Dillon.” The sound of Coke’s voice in that strangled cry was definitely better than ‘son’.
“Oh, I like that. Like that sound. No running off the road, babe.” He was going to explode.
“You gotta stop. I can’t drive and think with your hand on me. Icain’t.”
“Okay.” One last push and he let his fingers slide slowly away. But only because he saw the sign for the hotel on the horizon. “Hurry.”
“You gonna change your mind?” Coke signaled, pulledoff,
“No. No, I just want to make sure you don’t.” If one of them was gonna get cold feet, it would be Coke.
“Only if it’s gonna make things weird between us. I don’t want that.”
“Never gonna happen.” Even if Coke never wanted to do it again, they were friends first. Always. “You’re important to me, Coke.”
