by Sienna Blake
Dyson gave a little shrug. “I’ve been a bodyguard for a few famous people who are quite cold to their fans. Take them for granted. Stuff like that.”
“Yeah… I’ve seen that before. I got to admit, it pisses me off when I see it. Sure, some fans can be pushy. Sometimes they can be a downright pain in the ass. But the fans are the only reason I can do this for a living. This life I have? It’s because of them. I don’t intend to forget that.”
“You’re something else.”
Adam snorted. “Is that good or bad?”
“Good.”
The waitress came and took their orders. It wasn’t long before their food arrived. Adam had ribs. Dyson went with a barbecue burger with big fried onion rings.
Adam dipped a fry in his ketchup, eyeing Dyson. “Did you go into the Army to get away from Columbus?”
“You got it. Seems like a cliché, doesn’t it? Join the Army. Escape to see the world.”
“Was the Army good to you?”
“Yeah.” He took a bite of his burger, gathering his thoughts. “It was. Taught me all kinds of skills and discipline. Helped me get my head out of my ass sooner than most guys.”
“Good. You certainly seem to have your shit squared away.” Adam chuckled and leaned back. “I’ve been trying my whole life, but off the field, my life always feels like chaos. Or at least my love life does.”
“You mean like Missy?”
“The most recent example.”
“So what’s the deal? Can’t find a woman you like?”
He smirked. “More like they’re all too good for me.”
Dyson didn’t know what to say to that. It felt like Adam was hiding behind a self-effacing joke.
“As long as you’re happy,” he finally said, feeling like it sounded awkward and forced.
“Exactly.”
But it was clearer to him now. There was something about the way Adam had replied that caught Dyson’s attention and told him there was far more that the man was hiding. But Adam didn’t say anything more, so Dyson didn’t push it.
They talked a bit about sports and random chit-chat. Just two guys shooting the shit over burgers, ribs, and hot wings.
Things were easy between them now. He liked it this way. They acted more like friends than bodyguard and principal, which was something entirely new for him.
But Dyson kept his awareness about him, even now. Technically, he was on the clock. He was on the clock every time they left Adam’s condo.
Even though Howie Ford had confessed to sending the threatening letters, that didn’t mean Dyson wasn’t going to be a professional and continue to do his job.
After they ate, they watched some sports on the screens and then left for the suit store.
Roth’s Custom Suits was located downtown. The place reeked of high-end and luxury. The moment they stepped through the door, the tailor was waiting on them as if he were psychic and had envisioned them coming.
“A pleasure to see you again, Mr. Collins,” the tailor said, looking genuinely pleased. Either that or he was a great actor. “How may I help you today?”
Adam put a hand on Dyson’s shoulder and grinned at the tailor.
“Good to see you, Max. My friend here needs a new suit. Kiton. Brioni. Armani. Whatever he likes. I want Mr. Drake here to look damn good.”
“Of course, sir. Of course.” Max the Tailor bit his lip as he looked Dyson over. “Broad shoulders. Narrow waist. Good build. We will certainly be able to make Mr. Drake look excellent with minimal effort.” The tailor smiled. “Which means we will be making him turn every head in the room by the time we’re done.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” Adam said. He glanced at Dyson and waggled his eyebrows. “Max is great. He even makes me look good.”
Dyson doubted that was very difficult. The quarterback had a killer body, as Dyson already knew. Hadn’t he seen the guy almost naked already? Yeah. He wasn’t likely to forget that delicious sight any time soon. And every week, Adam was out there in those tight football pants that made Dyson have to stifle a groan.
He quickly forced himself to stop thinking about that. He didn’t want to be sporting a raging hard-on when the poor tailor was trying to measure his inseam.
That would be awkward.
The tailor was all helpful smiles and was laser-focused on their needs. Or Dyson’s needs. Adam was as good as his word, sparing no expense on the suits they were considering.
Dyson wasn’t badly off in the money department, but he saved most of it. He wanted to buy a little house on a beach somewhere or a ranch near a river. He couldn’t decide yet. Besides, it was probably just a pipe dream. Still, he wasn’t into the flashy spending that stores at this level demanded. He knew a good tailor in Highland Park who did good work at good prices. That was enough for him.
But if Adam insisted, who was he to protest?
As the tailor worked, Adam chatted easily with both of them. The quarterback had a way with people. He was very down-to-earth, very approachable. Dyson admired that about him.
Meanwhile, Dyson had the male version of resting-bitch-face. His face often appeared pissed-off or grumpy, even when he felt fine. It worked for him. Usually. Because people expected bodyguards to look scary and badass.
But it had a downside. He didn’t effortlessly connect with other people the way Adam did. No wonder Adam could charm the panties off women with such ease. And the quarterback had a good memory too. Adam asked after the tailor’s family, even remembering the name of the man’s teenage son, who played guitar in a high school jazz band.
Dyson watched as the tailor’s face lit up with joy when Adam asked after his family. It really meant a lot to him that a famous sports star like Collins would remember something like that.
Dyson had to admit he was impressed. The more time he spent with Adam Collins, the more impressed he was. Sure, the guy might be a womanizer, but he wasn’t married, and from everything Dyson could tell, he never cheated when he was in a relationship. He just kept those relationships very short.
Usually, Dyson couldn’t care less about hetero men and their girl problems, but he found himself curious about Adam’s deal. He was curious about all kinds of things about Adam Collins.
Adam ended up placing an order for two suits, catching Dyson off-guard. One Brioni and one Armani, both of which looked great on him. No one discussed prices, but he knew these were seven to ten thousand dollar suits, easy.
“Thank you,” Dyson said. He was feeling a bit staggered and was searching for the right words without gushing. Gushing was embarrassing. “That’s very generous, but you don’t need to replace my suit, much less buy me two of them.”
“I do,” Adam insisted. A fierceness glinted in his eyes.
“Why do I get the feeling you’re not going to take no for an answer?”
“You’re right. I’m used to getting my way. I told you I was an asshole.”
“All right. Fine. Thank you. But two suits? That’s overkill.”
“You look good in these suits.” Adam’s sudden grin was as charming as it could be. The guy could really turn it on when he wanted. “And since you’re going to be hanging around me, you need to look as good as I do. This is all just me being selfish and thinking of my own image.”
Somehow, Dyson didn’t quite believe that line. A man didn’t spend nearly twenty thousand dollars on suits for a bodyguard to shine up his own image.
Max told them the adjustments to the suits would be ready the next day. In Dyson’s experience, that was a staggering turn-around time.
Apparently, it did pay to pay for the best.
“How about dinner tonight?” Adam asked after they were back on the road, heading to the condo.
“Is it another team thing?”
“Nah. Just you and me. Out on the balcony. I already called a chef I know. He does Italian. He’ll take care of the whole thing.”
Dyson knew he could get used to this kind of life. That was what made it s
o dangerous. He didn’t belong here, living like this. But Adam made it all seem so easy to fit in. Ever since the night of the attack, everything had changed. That made sense, but the changes were bigger and quicker than Dyson had expected.
It was almost as if Adam wanted him as something far more than a bodyguard.
It felt like Adam wanted him for a friend.
Could that be right? Was Adam lonely?
No, he had plenty of friends. Friends like Kenyan and April Lewis. Or Anthony Smith. Or any of the crew on the team really. And that was just counting the Razorbacks.
No, Dyson should keep his professional distance. It was vital that he do so. This was a job, nothing more. He couldn’t allow himself to fall for this guy. He couldn’t allow it for all kinds of reasons. The first being that Adam wasn’t even gay.
It was hard to drive a car with no wheels. It was hard to fly a plane with no wings. And it was hard for a gay man to seduce a guy who was a notorious womanizer.
But at the same time, part of him wanted Adam as a friend. Not because the man was shockingly generous, but because he liked the guy.
True, that generosity had certainly surprised Dyson. He was used to rich people giving away money, but they usually liked a bunch of attention when they did so. Charity events. Big fundraisers where they were the belle of the ball. Things like that. Adam hadn’t even blinked as he dropped a bunch of money buying Dyson tailored Italian suits. He picked up every tab, no matter how much Dyson protested. On top of all that, Adam seemed like he was simply a nice guy on a deep level.
Which made him wonder why Adam seemed to have such a rocky relationship with women. Did he just pick the wrong ones? Was he only attracted to a pretty face and a big pair of tits? Lots of guys were like that. He shouldn’t be surprised. Tits turned men into idiots.
But Adam didn’t seem like lots of guys.
“Hey, it’s just dinner,” Adam said, grinning as he startled Dyson out of his thoughts. “I didn’t just propose to you. You don’t need to think it over for so long.”
Dyson felt an answering grin turn up his lips. “Yeah. Sorry. I got lost in my thoughts. My brain works slow.”
“Yeah, I doubt that. So what do you say? I warned the chef not to get too fancy and give us those tiny plates with barely any food on them. This is Italian. There should be a lot. Besides, I’m a football player. I gotta eat.”
“I hear you, brother.” Yeah, where had Adam Collins been all his life? The man’s zest and gusto and all of that? Completely catching. Completely endearing. It was strange to remember they’d gotten off to such a rocky start. “Sounds good.”
“I knew you’d agree. No, man can turn down a good meal.”
That was too true. And that was the problem. Because as much as Dyson was trying to put the brakes on his own feelings, Adam Collins was not making it easy.
Not by a long shot.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ADAM
He was as nervous as a kid on his first date.
It was stupid.
It was funny.
Actually, no. It wasn’t funny. Maybe in ten years, he’d look back on this and laugh. But right now, Adam had butterflies in his stomach and his heart in his throat. He didn’t even get this nervous before big games most of the time.
He could tell Dyson was curious about him. Especially since he’d gone from refusing Dyson’s protection to being friendly and generous. He’d pushed it with the suit thing. He knew that. But how the hell else was he supposed to show affection and gratitude? Because of his own secrets and constraints, he couldn’t tell the man that he’d spent the night tossing and turning, his dick hard as a damn rock because he kept thinking of Dyson. Dyson with his shirt off. All those muscles and tattoos. Dyson’s no-nonsense eyes tempered by those rarer smiles.
Dyson.
He hadn’t been able to sleep until he’d taken matters into his own hands. Literally. He’d grabbed his hard cock and stroked himself, gritting his teeth against the aching pleasure. He’d even indulged in a silly fantasy of Dyson fucking him from behind while reaching around to work his cock. That had been too much, and he’d come hard, biting his cheek to keep his moan of pleasure inside.
He was in trouble. That sleepless night, that wild fantasy had proved it.
And when he should be running in the opposite direction, he was deliberately provoking himself, setting up this dinner on the balcony like some half-assed Romeo. Why? Because he knew Dyson had been impressed by the view. So now Adam was like a peacock, strutting around and showing off the things he had going in his favor. Showing off as if trying to win Dyson’s attention.
What the holy hell was he doing? He was a complete fool.
This would not end well.
And yet, he didn’t stop it either. He meant to go through with it.
The chef, Lorenzo Russo, arrived at five p.m. sharp. He took over the kitchen with an assistant and a server. Adam didn’t tell Dyson this, but he’d paid Chef Russo and his crew to fly here from New York, where Russo was the head chef at a five-star restaurant in Manhattan.
Adam wore a designer suit tonight. One of his best. He wished Dyson could wear one of his new suits, but even paying extra, the suits wouldn’t be ready until tomorrow at the earliest. Luckily, Dyson had some decent threads of his own when it came to suits. He was a decently snazzy dresser when he wasn’t going completely casual. And even casual, he looked good.
Too good. Good enough to eat. Good enough for Adam to put his lips on the man’s stiff cock and suck and lick and tease for all he was worth.
Damn it! He pushed those thoughts away even as he felt his cock stirring. Suit trousers were terrible for hiding erections, and Adam wasn’t exactly small down there either.
True to expectations, Dyson came strolling out of the guestroom dressed to the nines, in a dark suit with a pale yellow silk tie.
Adam grinned. “Lookin’ good.”
Dyson smiled back, obviously believing Adam’s praise was some off-hand comment, but Adam really meant it.
They headed out onto the balcony. The server had set up a beautiful place setting on the table. The table was covered with a fine tablecloth. Adam’s best silver and plateware were in play. There were candles in decorative iron lanterns to protect the flames from the constant breeze coming up the side of the high rise building. It was going to be a cold night, but the propane fire was roaring in the fire pit, and there were two large heaters going, blowing warm air at them.
The meal had three courses. Asparagus risotto for a starter. Pollo alla Romana as the main chicken dish. Tiramisu for dessert. The server brought out the courses. It all smelled delicious. Adam’s stomach growled loud enough for Dyson to hear. The other man grinned. The grin was so infectious that Adam was immediately grinning back at him, nerves or no.
He didn’t know why he was so nervous, only that he badly wanted to impress Dyson. It had dominated his brain since that night in the club when everything had gone crazy. The night Dyson had saved his ass.
Tonight, Adam wanted to keep the conversation focused on Dyson. Adam was usually the focus of attention, and he was tired of it. Right now, he wanted to get to know this man so much better.
Dyson was slow to open up. It was clear the man valued his privacy. Or he didn’t feel comfortable talking with the person he was supposed to be protecting. Either way, Adam was up for the challenge.
After some back and forth and some jokes and smiles, he finally got Dyson talking a bit about his time in the service. The man had served active duty in Iraq. He didn’t go into that much, except to praise the men and women he’d served with. But he did talk about some of the pranks that had gone on in the ranks, the camaraderie, and his time in South Korea and Germany. He had been a lot of places in the world. More than Adam had.
After they finished the main course, the server brought out tiramisu.
Dyson groaned. “I don’t know if I can get anything else down.”
“Trust me. You’ll want to eat
this. It’s fucking awesome.”
“With that recommendation, how can I refuse?” He took a bite of the tiramisu. His eyes closed, and he groaned. “That’s good. Really good.”
The look of unabashed pleasure on Dyson’s face was turning Adam on. It was really damn sensual. And that groan…
“Glad you like it,” he said a bit unsteadily.
The two of them wolfed down the dessert without any more talk.
Finally, Dyson sighed and pushed his plate away, leaning back in his seat. “That was amazing.”
“I’m glad you liked it.”
“I don’t know if I mentioned it, but I love to cook. I mean, I’m nothing great, but I enjoy poking around in the kitchen. So it’s great to see a pro in action.”
Adam raised his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t have guessed that about you. But that’s because I suck at cooking. I even suck at barbecue, the ‘manly man’ version of cooking.” He nodded at the door leading back inside. “Do you want to meet the chef? I find most of them half-crazy, but I already paid for his time tonight. So he’ll probably play nice. Especially if you liked his food.”
Dyson quickly shook his head. “Nah, but thanks. I’m nowhere close to his league. I’ll admit to one personal failing. I hate to feel second-rate.”
“I get it.” He was pleased to learn that unexpected detail about Dyson. It was stupid to feel so special about learning something so random, but if cooking was important to Dyson, then he felt privileged to know about it. “Guess I was wrong about you being a meat-and-potatoes guy if you love cooking. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve put my foot in my mouth. Usually, I do it with cleats on because I’m a pro.”
Dyson snorted. “I’m not fancy or any kind of gourmet. And it’s a recent thing with me. Since I got out of the Army, anyway.” He shrugged. “It’s a hobby, I guess. No big deal.”
“Hey, don’t downplay something you like. If you enjoy it, it is a big deal.”
Dyson looked at him, held his gaze for a long moment before nodding. “Good point.”
The server came back out and cleared away the dishes. A few minutes after that, the chef and his assistant also came out to ask how the food was. Dyson was full of blunt praise that still came off as genuine. Chef Russo seemed thrilled.
