“We’ve got the long break. There’s only so much I can do with Jase, you know.”
“I know.” Forehead wrinkled up with thought, Dillon lay there for a minute, as quiet and still as he ever was. “I’ll need to work with him in the arena. Start small in AJ’s ring.”
“Yeah. We’ll bring Nate, too. Get it down. We can’t let the fucking sponsors know, you know?”
“I do.” Dillon nodded once, kissing his cheek. “I’ve got your back. We’ll keep it quiet. God knows it’s not like I can’t say I need practice in the barrel.”
“We’ll all need practice. Shit, we’ll need luck more than that.” He chewed on his bottom lip. God, this whole thing was all landing on his head. Hell, it was his idea.
“Yeah, but I mean it won’t seem weird if it’s my whim, asking you and Nate to come somewhere and practice with me.”
He nodded. “It couldn’t hurt any of us, to get things better practiced.” Hell, Dillon needed to keep himself safer.
“Well, that’s a date, then, but we’ll have holidays.” Grinning, Dillon snuggled back in, like it was all settled.
“We will.” We. Coke liked the sound of that.
“Cool.” Dillon was quiet so long that Coke thought he’d fallen asleep. Then that blond head lifted off his shoulder and Dillon smiled for him. “Wanna share my Snickers?”
Chapter Sixteen
Dillon liked Coke’s place. A few acres of land, a simple ranch house with non-breakable furniture, pictures hung everywhere on the living room wall from twenty-three years of cowboy protection. A pool.
Oh, what a pool. Dillon hadn’t even been in it, and he could write odes to it. Two tiers of water, rough cut stone all around, solid loungers propped up and tied to the fence to save them from the Texas wind. There was an outdoor kitchen set up that made some kitchens he’d seen seem paltry. Hell, Coke’d shown him the thing like it was a new baby—running water, a fridge, a smoker, everything. And that didn’t even count the hot tub.
Oh, sweet Jesus, that amazing hot tub.
They just had to wait for the filter to cycle through, and they could go in.
He couldn’t wait.
Bouncing, he made another circle of the living room, dancing a little, just because it felt good. He wondered if Coke had weights. He hadn’t seen the whole house yet. If not, he’dput on some music and run in circles or something. A clown had to stay in shape.
“You want the rest of the tour, honey?” The bags were still waiting, the air conditioner starting to whirr, cool the place down. Coke pointed to a big old wardrobe-looking thing, hulking and dark in the corner near the bay window. “That’s where the movies live. I got a lot of them, ‘cause we don’t have cable, and I gotta do something with that big assed TV that Beau give me.”
“Yeah? Do you have popcorn, or will we have to shop?” Dillon be-bopped over and kissed Coke right on the mouth, grinning into those surprised eyes.
“I… I have popcorn, but we’ll need real food.” Coke’s hands landed on his hips, strong as all get out. “I seem to remember a request for hot wings.”
“Oh, yeah. You said you couldmakethem. I didn’t know you could do that.” Swaying, he rubbed a little, happy as a pig in shit.
“I can. I got the great barbecue thing.” Yeah, as simple as Coke’s house was, that patio was swanky, huge fans, a long dining table, cushioned chairs, pool of joy. Hot tub.
It bore thinking about over and over. Coke. Hot tub. Nakedness.
Rooorwwl.
Grinning, he bumped their hips together. “So. What does your bed look like?”
“It’s big and it’s remote-controlled for when I’m stiff. The Taggarts brought it for me. Grab your bags, honey. I’ll show you round.”
A remote-control bed. That had serious possibilities. Especially if Coke was stiff…Woo.He grabbed his duffle and followed, staring curiously at everything.
There were photos all over the walls in every room, notjust the one—family and folks he knew from the tour, something that looked like a baby Coke. Too damned cute.
Coke showed him the bright, white and yellow kitchen with its little round table and ancient chairs with Texas flags painted on the back. There was a long hallway, then what Coke called the blue room, the guest bed and bath, as normal and simple and neat as could be. The office was next—with a little writing desk and a huge weight machine and one of those inverter deals that dangled a man upside down, stereo speakers on the wall.
He didn’t offer to put his bag in the blue room. No, sir. He was holding out for Coke’s room. Oh, yeah. That room took up half of the house, with a big-assed bed, a whirlpool tub, a flat screen TV that put the one in the living room to shame.Oh, now. Look at this. It was like sensualist heaven.
