“Well, you keep it all covered up in makeup, son.” Coke bent over, tugged on some tighty-whities.
“You know, I’m not your son.” He snapped it out. Didn’t mean to, but all of that talk about Coke being old was depressing.
He got a shocked, wide-eyed glance, then Coke turned red and nodded, tugging on his jeans. “Sure. No offense meant.”
“I’m out of here, guys.” Fred looked between all of them, shrugged. “What time tomorrow, boss?”
“Noon.” Coke nodded over, grabbed a shirt. “Have fun, kid.”
“Always do, Gramps.”
Dillon waited for Fred to close the door, and made sure Nate was still bellowing Waylon in the shower, before he clapped Coke on the back. “Sorry I snarled. You’re not that old, though, you know?”
“No big deal. I get familiar. It’s the Texan in me.” Coke dug out a ball cap, dumped his wallet out of his boots.
Bumping hips with the man, Dillon grabbed his shirt, laughing, trying to lighten the mood. “Well, if you want to get familiar, that’s cool, but I don’t see you as fatherly.”
“I don’t mean nothin’ by it. I’m the old man of the group—well, me and Thicket on the camera crew, we got everybody beat by a year or two.”
“Yeah, yeah. But you make it up in stamina.” Gracious. Listen to him, flirting like an idiot.
“Hell, yeah. I ain’t bendy no more, but I can go the distance.”
“I always thought so.” Clearing his throat, he pulled on his jeans. “So. Do I need to get a cab, or can I ride with you and Nate?”
“Shit, no—man. There’s room for you in the truck. Always.”
“Thanks.” He gave Coke a bright smile, trying to keep things light for a while. “Thanks, Coke. You always make a bad night better.”
Coke patted his back. “It’s my job. I fix shit and keep them bulls from running us into the ground.”
“You do.” Now, if Coke would just buy a clue and see that Dillon wanted to jump his old bones, life would be perfect.
Looked like that one he’d just have to take one day at a time.
Chapter Two
Lord have mercy, he was wore. He’d taken a hit that sent him flying around the arena and half of Tulsa. Coke headed back behind the chutes, shoulders rolling.
“Coke, man!” AJ waved at him, waggling a phone at him. “It’s Bax. Wants to talk to you.”
“Wants to mess with me, I figure. That pretty gal of yours doing good?” He climbed up the chute, reached for the phone.
AJ nodded, the big old boy grinning like the fool he was for his Missy. “She’s good. Here you go.”
The little phone felt warm and tiny in his hand, the rail cool where he held it, but Andy Baxter sounded large as life on the other end. “Hey, Coke.”
“Howdy, friend. How’s the leg?” The poor bastard had busted it but good. It was hard to keep your mind in the middle when you was worrying about things.
Serious things.
“It’s still there. How you doing?”
“I’m good. Took a bit of a hit.” Which is why Andy was calling, of course. “Did it look good on the TV?”
“Looked like you were never gonna land. Jason said he could hear it.”
“No shit? Anything… Anything new there?”Please, God. Say yes. Say a miracle’d happened and the boy’s eyes were right again.
