Dillon backed off, though, pulling his own shirt off and heading for the shower, wiggling and dancing to show he’d forgotten all about it. Nate wouldn’t let him in that charmed circle for nothing. Nate defended Coke like a pit bull defending a bone. He’d have to get Coke alone.
Coke and Nate had been working together for years—way longer than he’d been with the tour—and while he was higher up the rungs than anyone else for the boys, those two were locked tight. Hell, Nate’s Tracy had named their first baby Coke.
Most of the time Dillon didn’t even mind it. Sometimes, though? Sometimes he wished he and Coke were a little closer.
A lot closer. Like, rubbing and bouncing and sweating together closer.
Speak of the devil, in walked Mr. Coke, solid as a stone, heading for the hot water. From the back he could see the effects of a back surgery, a dozen or more hookings, an arched scar from a hoof, and a tattoo. Hell, even now there was a big-assed bruise, right over one kidney.
“No Tylenol for you tonight, buddy,” Dillon said, handing over the big bottle of shampoo they could all agree on. Just made it easier to have one locker room ditty bag for all of them.
“Huh?” Coke turned instinctively, even though the man’s neck didn’t swivel a bit, trying to see.
“You got a big old bruised kidney.” His fingers trailed right over Coke’s skin, his brain not even processing it. “Right there.”
“Mmm.” Oh, fuck him. That was a fine sound, pure male appreciation. “Good to know, son. I’ll have to drink it away.”
“Oh, yeah, that will help.” He laughed, too, letting himself enjoy all that tanned skin. All of it. Coke’s ass wasn’t blinding anymore. “You got some sun out at Jason’s, huh?”
“Yeah. Yeah, we went swimming in the pond.” There was a little hint of something there, just a bit. Sort of like the little cow skull tattoo on Coke’s shoulder that nobody ever saw, with a feather for every finals he’d worked. Just a hint that things weren’t exactly like they seemed.
“Well, I know how you love to swim.” Every hotel, every pool and hot tub, even if it was too damned cold to go out there. Of course, he knew from the polar bear club more than Coke did.
“I do. There’s nothing like the water. This was just a little pond, but it was nice.”
He’d push a little more later, after beer. “Well, at least you’re not signaling alien beings anymore.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. My ass is gonna get a complex, the way y’all go on about it.”
His mouth opened to tell Coke what a fine ass it was, but Fred came trotting in, so he just laughed it off. “Well, if it glows, the bulls can see it better.”
“Butthead.” A handful of suds slapped against his chest.
“I am not. People would look at me way weirder.” He pushed back, just a little, slapping his chest against Coke’s arm.
Coke got to laughing, buzz cut hair actually seeming brown while it was wet, cloudy hazel eyes sparkling.
Dillon felt a little stirring down below again, and he had to dunk under the water and turn it to cold, just about making him shout.
“Hoss, man. We eating at the hotel?” Nate took the shampoo from Coke.
“Yeah. Beau’s buying beer, and I could use a steak in the worst way. You coming, son?”
“I am. I’m just gonna go get dressed.” He slipped out of the damned showers, feeling like the worst kind of perv. Coke was obviously not interested.Son. Jesus.
Fred followed him, getting dressed quickly, splashing on the smell-good. “There’s some fine Sheila buckle bunnies heading for the after-party. You sure you aren’t interested in that? You don’t have to hang out with Gramps and Nate, you know.”
Chuckling, he rolled on some deodorant and pulled on his soft boxer-briefs. “I’m not that much younger than Coke, you know.”
Besides, it was one of those buckle bunny types who’d finally caught Dillon’s ex, David, and married him, and that put him off after-parties for near a year.
“No way.” The kid seemed truly shocked. “So does he look old, or do you look young?”
“I lookgood.” That was always his response, but even his mom said he was getting old around the eyes these days.
“Hell, our Dillon looks like a teenager; he has to if he wants to compete with them Wrangler butts.” Coke smiled at him, patted his ass on the way by.
His cheeks heated right up, and Dillon ducked his head. “You know it. Besides, everyone is staring at my legs, not my face.”
