“So, how’s Missy? And Benji? I feel awful, but I can’t remember the rest of AJ’s kids’ names.”
“They’re good. I wouldn’t be surprised if that gal don’t turn up pregnant again. She’s home schoolin’ the lot of them.” Everyone always talked about Missy like she was the most fertile woman alive.
“She’s a tribute to her sex. I would have killed AJ and run screaming by now.”Pregnant. Yikes.
“She’s stupid about that boy and more patient than Job.”Coke started the truck up, AC/DC screaming on the radio. The man jumped, turned the radio down. “Sorry.”
“No problem.” He could stand a littleBack in Black. “She is something. Did you hear about Cooper’s wife? She’s flat on her back, trying to keep that baby cooking.”
Coke nodded. “Lord. Women are something else.” It didn’t sound like a complaint, just a fond, confused truth.
“Yep. I sent her flowers. I put all of you guys’ names on them.” The bullfighters and him tended to do things as a unit.
“Thank you, man.” Coke reached out, patted his leg. “I appreciate it.”
“No problem.” He put his hand over Coke’s for a moment, loving the rough, hot skin.
Coke swallowed hard, staring at the road as they pulled out. “You ready to get back to work, shaking your heinie?”
“I am. I like to shake it. Good thing I get paid for it.”
Coke looked a little like he’d been beaned with a line drive. “Get paid pretty damn good, too.”
“I do.” He’d never denied that. Laughing, he patted Coke’s leg again. “And I give you a show, huh?”
“Now, now.” Look at that blush. “I’m busy working.”
Uh-huh. But in three years, Coke’d never once not commented on his show, his dancing.
“Oh, come on. You’re usually not working when I’m really doing my thing.” So he was pushing. So sue him.
“You sure? I’m a hard-working bullfighter.”
“I know.” That much was so true. “But I also know that you get water breaks.”
Coke grinned, winked. “Yeah. I get one or two.”
“Well, there you have it. You’re sneaky.” Either that or Coke was embarrassed because he hated Dillon’s dancing and didn’t want to admit it. “You don’t hate it, do you?”
“Hate what, son?”
“My show. When I dance.” That would suck.
Coke stopped at a red light, glancing over at him. “How could anyone hate that? You’ve got an ass like no one else on earth.”
“Well.” He stared into Coke’s eyes, hot on a whole new, as yet uncharted level. “Better than Balta’s?”
“Hell, yes.” No hesitation, no fluttering. Coke sounded damned sure.
“Wow.” Balta Silva had that bubble butt. He grinned, feeling it stretch his cheeks. “I like yours, too. Of course, I really like your arms.”
“Shit. I got white old man butt.” Those arms, though? They flexed for him as the light turned green.
“You’re not old.” White, sure.
“Old enough, huh?”
“Coke, you’re what? Two years older than me? Three?” Dillon set his jaw and waited for the not the age but the mileage crack.
