“Yeah. Damn, we’re fixin’ to have a holiday, you and me. It… Shit, Cowboy. Sometimes it’s so good you just can’t believe it.”
“I believe.” That smile told him how frickin’ happy Dillon was.
How real it was.
“Come on.” He grabbed hold and stood, bringing Dillon with him. “Let’s go channel surf and play tonsil hockey.”
He had them cuddled up on the couch before he remembered the coffee.
Chapter Nine
Dillon got out all the stuff he’d picked up at the REI in Reno for Coke. Long undies. Double socks. A hand warmer. Flannel. Yeah. He knew Coke had hiking boots in his bag. That would do for Coke’s first foray out in the snow. They’d have to get Coke new gloves, as the ones Dillon had would be a bit tight, and Coke needed a new coat, but a man had to try those on.
“Babe? You about ready to get dressed?”
“I’m dressed, cowboy.” Coke wandered into the bedroom, stunning in a flannel shirt, a quilted flannel on top of that, and a pair of jeans.
“Do you have longies on?”
“Huh?”
God, that was cute.
Texans.
“Long undies.” Dillon picked up said longies and waved them.
“Man, I bet you look hot wearing that. You got ’em on?”
“I do.” He was vain enough to want to wear denim, but not crazy enough to make that his only layer. “You show me you wearing them—I’ll show you mine.”
“That’s fair, least for me.” Coke gave him a grin and started unbuttoning.
“Oh, it’s more than fair.” He would get to see Coke naked. Coke just got to see his underwear.
“Pshaw. You got that belly, that fine ass.”
His cheeks heated, pleasure warming him right up. “Thanks, babe. I like that you like.”
“I like. Lemme see.” The shirts were tugged off, giving him a look at that broad, fuzzy body.
Dillon’s fingers flexed, wanting to touch. He loved everything about Coke, from the scars to the tattoos. Coke opened his belt buckle, started working off the jeans. Oh. He’d splurged on some fancy boxer briefs for Coke—different colors, different fabrics. He hadn’t seen Coke wear them until today.
“Oh, babe. You wore the green ones!” Dillon was a little worried that they’d not make it out in the snow.
His bullfighter blushed, gave him a grin. “They’re real soft. I like them best.”
“I like the way they look.” He liked the way they felt, too, when he reached out and touched them.
Coke’s eyes crossed and that pretty cock jerked. “Careful, now.”
“Why? Unless you’d rather go tromp through the snow…”
“I want to see you now. You promised.”
“I did.” Backing up a step, Dillon stripped down to just the long underwear bottoms, wiggling a bit. He had millions of people staring at him in a year. Millions. But it was that expression—hot and happy, as if he was the center of the world—that did it for him. He struck a pose. “What do you think, babe?”
“I think that I am the luckiest fucker alive.”
