All the guys had done some celebration thing, but he’d snuck out, not even telling Dillon goodbye. Now his happy ass was in the hotel, in the tub, in the hot water, considering death as a viable option.
The knock came, soft and tentative, not on the outside door but on the bathroom one.
“It’s not locked, Dillon. Did you have fun?” He hated to be a party-pooper, but he was getting old.
“It was okay.” Dillon be-bopped in, standing by the tuband staring at him, all concerned-like. “Face looks good. You gonna make it?”
“I’m taking it under consideration.” He reached up, stroking Dillon’s thigh. “You had a good night out there. The crowd was rocking.” He loved this part, and he’d missed it tonight—the talking about the event, letting Dillon know he’d watched.
Dillon grabbed his hand and sat on the edge of the tub, kissing his beat up knuckles. “You did some damned good work, babe.”
“Mmm. Thanks.” That little ‘babe’ sent a zing through him. He closed his eyes, cock filling right up.
“You’re welcome.” Dillon let go of his hand for a moment, and he heard the sound of cloth hitting the floor, the now-familiar sound of contact solution being squirted into them weird little tube deals. When he opened his eyes, Dillon was dipping his toes in the bathwater.
“Come in?” He held his arms open, wanting himself a touch.
“You bet.” Naked and sleek, Dillon slid right into the water with him, kinda floating right on over to him, easing up against him.
“You get yourself something to eat, honey?” Damn, his man smelled good.
“I did. It’s all good.”
They rocked with the water, their bodies touching all up and down, but not hurting.
He let his hands travel, exploring all that skin. “You ready to come home with me for a few days?”
Andy’d said Jason wasn’t in the mood for training, so he and Jase were talking about heading to Miz Scott’s. Either that or hanging around and torturing Aje.
“I am. I so am.” Dillon chuckled, eyes closing as Coke’s hands traveled down to squeeze Dillon’s butt. “I’m ready.”
“Me, too. We can cook and swim and goof off for a little while.” Get to know each other outside the arena and shit.
“Sounds like a plan.” It was funny. Dillon could be a hell of a prima donna in the arena, but with Coke, he was easy as pie.
He nodded, floating a little, humming underneath his breath as his fingers slid up and down Dillon’s spine.
“So what are you going to cook me?” Fingers trailing along his new scars, learning them, petting them, Dillon wiggled a little, getting settled better.
“Mmm. Brisket and chicken wings and pork loin. Banana pudding and brats andborrachochicken.” Oh, yeah. “Lots of meat on the grill. There’s no better way.”
“I like protein. Banana pudding I’m not so sure about.” This from the man who loved sugar?
“No? You don’t like bananas or pudding?”
“It’s the combination.” Dillon lowered his voice to a whisper. “The slime.”
“Ah. Well, we’ll make pie instead.” That was easy enough. He liked his bananas.
“I’ve never had it homemade, though. Just from a buffet.”
Huh. That might just be un-American. “Man, that’s nasty. You know that, right?” Of course, Dillon lived where it snowed—on purpose.
“I know! Maybe you should make me some.” Dillon was leaving a trail of tiny kisses down his neck.
“Okay.” Wait. Didn’t Dillon say he didn’t like pudding? Oh. Oh, that felt good.
“I mean, just to see if I like yours better.” One of his hands got plucked out of the water, Dillon massaging it for him.
