“Hey, cowboy. I locked the door, barred it.” Coke leaned hard. “Called the Cajun. No news. He’s still under. Gonna be for a few days.”
Squeezing, he nodded against Coke’s breastbone. “Then I say we rest. He’ll be swamped with guys for a few days. When he’ll need us is, like, Wednesday, eh?”
“Yeah. We need to figure our shit out, I guess. We’re supposed to pick the pups up tomorrow.”
“I know. We may have to switch hotels.” Dillon knew Ace had fixed the whole trashed-room thing with a few quiet words to the manager, but they might balk at two loud bassets.
“No, I talked to them. We’re moving to Beau’s suite, keeping it for if we can get him to rest.”
Right. Like that was going to happen.
Still, it was a suite, and they could use it as a command center. That worked for him. “Cool. Let’s get you clean so you can soak in the hot tub when we get back.” He started running his hands gently over Coke’s body.
“I tried to get to them, Dillon. I swear to God.”
“I know.” They swayed a little, just like little kids who needed comforting. “I know, babe. You all try so hard. Sometimes it just happens, though.”
That sucked, but there it was.
Coke’s face twisted, and he stared up into the water, and Dillon knew he was trying to hold it together.
They finished up and dried off, and Dillon thought about giving Coke a blow job just to release tension, but he honestly wasn’t sure if that big body could take it.
“Can you drive?” Coke’s pupils were huge.
“I can. I’m good.”Poor baby. Definitely a blow job, but later, when they were at the hotel. Then Coke would sleep. “Come on. I got you.”
“You sure about the hospital? You sure Beau won’t mind?” Coke asked.
He privately didn’t think Beau would so much as notice.
“He’ll call us when he needs us, Coke.” He got towels, leading Coke out of the shower.
“I hope so.” Coke was a nice shade of bruised, really.
Wow.
“He will, babe.” Then they would go see Beau and make sure Sammy would recover.
Then he would take his bullfighter home.
Coke couldn’t sleep.
It was fucking insane. He had always been able to sleep before even if he was hurt, but he just fucking couldn’t now.
Coke wandered the suite, keeping quiet as a mouse so that the bassets didn’t wake up and begin their ‘need to go out’ dance. Every so often Beau would text him, which wasn’t helping him get any rest.
Hey cher. He’s moving.
Hey cher. He’s cryin. what do i do?
Hey cher. You still awake?
Hey.
Hey.
Yeah, he was still awake. As if he could sleep through the worry.
