“I am. You do, too.” His bullfighter seemed rested.
“Yeah. So, I should do dishes, then you should give me the tour.”
“I can so do that.”
Coke stood up, started puttering, washing and humming and looking good in his kitchen. The man could be at home anywhere. Dillon liked that Coke was at home in his house right now, though. A lot.
They needed to talk about Thanksgiving, about decorating for Christmas, shopping. He bounced a little.
God, Christmas with Coke. How cool was that?
He knew that Nate was going to Mexico with his family. Coop had gone home to his. Hell, Fred was back Down Under. He got Coke. He got Coke in the best way.
His lover glanced over at him, soap bubbles up to his elbows. “What’re you staring at?”
“My Coke.” He couldn’t call it any other way. Dillon bounced again. “So what did your family do for Thanksgiving?”
“Huh? I usually spend it with the Scotts or the Taggarts.”
“Oh.” Dillon frowned a little. “I mean when you were a kid. Like, what kinds of traditions do you have?”
“I guess the same as anybody. Nate’s Tracy puts on one hell of a spread.”
His head tilted. “I bet she does.”
Coke nodded, went back to going dishes.
Dillon grabbed a dishtowel. “So, were you hatched from an egg?”
“Crawled from under a cabbage leaf.”
“Ah.” His nose twitched. God, he wanted to ask more, because no one ever talked about Coke’s family, least of all Coke.
The man knew everything about everyone—babies, birthdays, anniversaries—but no one had ever said, “I’m Coke’s aunt. Cousin. Brother. In-law.”
“So, what do you want us to do?” Dillon bumped their hips together. “For Thanksgiving.”
“I like to watch the parade. I reckon your family wants to get together, huh?”
“We usually do. We can wait on that until Christmas, though. I mean, my sis will do it at her house if she needs to.”
“Cowboy, I’m here for you, to have the holidays with you. Family, kids, food. Whatever. I’m happy.”
“Cool.” He took the next dish and dried it. “I’m tickled.”
“I am, too.” Coke grinned at him, and the fine son of a bitch looked truly happy.
Dillon turned off the water and stole away the cup Coke had picked up. He needed to kiss that smiling mouth.
One eyebrow quirked up. “Everything okay?”
“Uh-huh.” He grabbed Coke’s shoulders and moved in for a lip-lock.
Coke’s hand came up, cupped the back of his head, and the man kissed him like the world was ending. It wasn’t. No way. Dillon still thought it was okay to act on it, so he kissed right back.
Jesus, there was nothing like that focus, like that wild, breathtaking kiss. Coke was on fire, holding him like he wanted to keep Dillon from breaking and running. Like Dillon would. There was nowhere on earth he’d rather be.
Chapter Eight
