“You’ll probably have to give me a day or three, but I’ll get on it.”
“I can give you all the time you need, babe. If I get desperate, I know what drawer you keep your stash in.”
Oh. Oh, good Lord and butter.
“Dillon!” He was going to set on fire. “I shoulda moved that picture… I… You. I mean.”
Damn.
“Why? I like that you have that. There. Here. Whatever.” Now it was Dillon’s turn to go pink and stutter.
“Yeah. I…” He took a deep breath, grinned. They were idiots. “You know how I look on you. I have from the start. Let’s have our lunch and we can find a movie.”
“Sounds like a plan, babe.” Easing away, Dillon got the tray set up again, right where it was easy for him to reach, the expression in those eyes purely happy.
They were figuring it. Now if he could only get unbroke enough to get back to the make-up nookie…
Epilogue
Dillon sang, shaking his ass, so glad to be back at Coke’s after the last two weeks of events that he could possibly explode with joy. Boom. Little sparkly bits of Dillon Walsh. Everywhere.
Which, really, if he exploded would probably break his contract and God knew, CEO Sandy and his lawyers would be all over that shit. Hell, they’d been extremely clear about how Dillon needed to get his ass back to work the second Cowboy Christmas was over, work out the rest of the summer, even if Coke had to stay in Texas and recover.
Good thing they had more and more breaks through August and September.
He grinned at himself. He was becoming a homebody—even if that home was Coke’s.
He was making iced tea. Iced tea. Him. Mister I Like Pop. Damn. Coke was a heck of an influence on him.
Coke had gotten his neck brace off—even if he couldn’t go back to work—and Dillon had been really patient. Really, really patient. He hadn’t even screamed when he found outthat AJ and Bax were the ones who took the stitches out and removed the brace, not the doctor.
Of course, it had been close. Especially when Nate shrugged, still sporting a black eye from where Dillon had popped the bastard, and grinned. “At least he didn’t tell Jase do it, Dillweed.”
Dillweed.
Great.
Of course, that hard punch he’d thrown at Nate seemed to go a long way toward them being buds. Nate had been a lot more open and teasing with him since then.
“I like that song.” Coke came ambling in, looking around. Doc had sent Dillon with instructions to get Coke fattened up and into physical therapy in Austin or Dallas.
“Yeah? I’m thinking of doing a few songs at the after-party next time.” He loved to be on stage.
“Excellent. I’ll come with.” Coke stopped, head tilting. “You hear that?”
“Hear what…?” Oh. Oh, shit. He’d gotten in late the night before, sneaking in while Coke was asleep, and he’d brought a present, which he’d forgotten he’d left in the garage.
A live present or two that had probably made a terrible mess.
“Fuck! Be right back.”
“Uh. Okay.”
He could hear Coke, moving slower behind him.
Dillon burst into the garage, hoping the presents hadn’t destroyed anything important. Of course, it was impossible to have puppies and nice things, right?
Two floppy-eared basset babies bounded out, barking, white-tipped tails held high. The yarping was… Wow.
