He slid into the water, humming along with King George, and handed Dillon a beer. “Happy?”
“You know it.” That bright smile came far more frequently, and reached Dillon’s eyes a lot more, now. Like the everyday stress was melting away. “You?”
“Mmm.” He was warm, home, naked with the man on the top of his ‘get naked with’ list. Life was good.
“I do love the hot tub. Though I might have to dip in the pool soon. It’s getting lobster-y in here.” Poor Dillon wilted a little in the heat sometimes.
“I’ll come with. I spend a lot of time going back and forth.”
“It’s a thing.” Dillon stretched, the little sunburn he’d gotten starting to fade into a tan. Oh, he was still pale as all get out, but light gold was a good look for him.
So were the freckles.
Coke was nut brown, even his butt, which would make Jase and Andy cackle.
“What are you grinning about?” Dillon’s toes floated up to the top of the water, wiggling madly.
“My butt.” Weird, but true.
“I grin about your butt all the time.” Dillon’s toes were doing a little salsa dance or something, bump, bump, bump.
“I was thinking about how it wasn’t so white now. The boys like to josh me about it some.”
That was sorta fascinating, those toes.
“Nope. It’s brown, now.” The toes finally sank under, but the rest of Dillon popped up, all shining and wet. “Pool time.”
“’Kay. I’ll check the food.” He slid out of the water, heart beating a little fast from the heat and headed for his grill. Everything was still cooking low and slow, so he turned back just in time to see Dillon do a somersault into the pool. Crazy man.
Coke chuckled and headed for the stairs, dipping under to push through the water, let it wrap all around him and shit. They played for a bit, Dillon giving him something to chase, that ass flashing above the water like a shark fin. Man needed to learn to keep his butt down. Finally he needed to rescue supper, grabbing the little terrycloth shorts he kept out here to cover up the bits that you kept covered at the table.
Dillon popped up beside him like a seal. “Need some help?”
“Surely. Pick some salad dressing and grab the bowl.” Four chicken breasts and four potatoes went on a platter. Some for now, some for later.
“Yum.” It was amazing, how at home Dillon was in his kitchen, indoors or out. Salad, dressing, crusty bread, butter and sour cream appeared. “You want barbecue sauce? Worcestershire?”
“Worcestershire. There’s ice cream for dessert.” Peach.
“You do know the way to my heart.” Be-bopping around, Dillon got plates and shit set out before grabbing a little robe and slipping it on. “You’ll spoil me.”
“Good.” He liked taking care. He was good at it. Hell, it was sorta his job. He grabbed Dillon on the way by, kissed the man good and hard, just because, then went on his merry way.
Blinking, Dillon stared at him a bit, then laughed and danced a little before settling at the table. The man did express himself with his whole body.
Chicken and salad, potatoes and bread—it was all good. The ice cream was best, though, when they got around to dessert. It was like porn, watching Dillon eat it. He kept his hand across his lap so he didn’t seem like a raging horndog. After all, he wasn’t all about the sex.
Really.
Dillon leaned back finally, patting his belly. “That was damned good.”
“Mmm-hmm. It’s one of the best parts about being home.” He liked to be able to eat real, simple food.
“It is. We have some good potatoes and cheese and stuff up my way. I should make you stuffed potato skins.” He’d found out that Dillon could make great homemade junk food. Even if the man didn’t know hot wings could be done right in the kitchen.
“Mmm.” He could go there. “I want to see the snow, huh?”
“Well, then you’ll have to come.” Those eyes cut to his, for a second, before sliding away. “Maybe Thanksgiving, if you don’t have a lot to do somewhere else.”
