“It’s good to see you, Dylan.”
August’s voice was low, the rumbling sending shudders running down the length of Dylan’s spine.
“You too.”
Unlike August, Dylan’s voice was high and breathless, making him feel like a squeaky teenager.
“Okay you guys, break it up,” Ryker said, sounding amused. “The food is getting cold.”
August let go of Dylan’s face and stepped away, though he put his hand on Dylan’s back as he guided him over to the sofa.
“Hi, Steve,” Dylan said, feeling awkward at having put on such a show.
Steve was watching him with an intent expression, his pupils blown wide open. When Dylan spoke to him, he visibly startled and the intent expression was replaced by a friendly smile. He rubbed the back of his neck, drawing Dylan’s attention to his bulging bicep and the width of his shoulders.
“Hi, Dylan, it’s nice to see you again.”
Dylan swallowed, wondering what would happen if he sat down next to Steve and just pushed his face under the man’s arm and burrowed into his pit. The desire to feel Steve’s body – to smell him and feel his heat – was unexpected in its intensity.
“You too,” Dylan said, mortified at his raging libido. With Steve, he didn’t even have the excuse of addictive werewolf sperm to account for his craving.
“You can sit between me and Ryker,” August said, pushing Dylan down onto the couch and taking a seat next to him. Steve was forced to scoot over, and Dylan didn’t think he imagined the brief look of disappointment on the alpha’s face.
Dylan sat between August and Ryker, their arms brushing against his shoulders, and stared at the food laid out on the coffee table.
“I hope you’re hungry,” Ryker said, scooting over and giving Dylan a bit more room. “August went a bit overboard.”
August made a noise of protest. “I did not. This isn’t going to last us past tomorrow, and you know it.”
“It looks really good,” Steve said, leaning forward and putting his hands on his knees to survey the table.
“Help yourself.” August leaned forward, too, reaching for the plates and handing one to Dylan.
Dylan’s family had never been the type to eat in front of the TV. He helped himself to a serving of rice, green curry and spring rolls.
“I’ll get drinks,” Ryker announced, putting his plate down and standing up. “What do you guys want?”
Dylan asked for a beer, and August and Steve asked for the same.
“Do you want a grilled pork skewer?” August asked, reaching for the container they were in and holding one up for Dylan’s inspection. “They’re delicious.”
“Sure,” Dylan said, holding out his plate. “Thanks.”
August looked pleased. He scooted back, leaning his back against the seat rest and balancing his plate on his left thigh. He grabbed one of the skewers off his plate and tore the meat off the stick.
Dylan watched him chew, transfixed by the way his sharply defined jaw moved up and down with each powerful bite. August caught him staring, winking at him as he picked up another skewer.
“Your food is getting cold.”
Dylan blushed, picking up his spoon and helping himself to a mouthful of curry. For a minute, Dylan forgot all about August and his weirdly sexy chewing. The curry was the best he’d ever tasted. Perfectly spiced, the flavors of lemongrass and ginger balanced out the mellow coconut, and Dylan couldn’t help closing his eyes and moaning in delight.
When he opened his eyes, both August and Steve were staring at him. Dylan swallowed, self-conscious at the attention, and took another bite. “It’s very good,” he defended himself.
Thankfully, Ryker chose that moment to come back with the drinks. He set the bottles of Stella down on the table and took a seat, picking up his plate and looking between August and Dylan with a quizzical expression.
“Why do I feel like I just walked in on something?”
“It’s nothing,” Dylan said, leaning forward and grabbing his beer. He took a quick drink, determined not to make any more sounds no matter how good the food was.
