“Ha.” Dylan snorted. “Lieutenant, you are all about the taskmastery. In fact, I’m sure you put the fear of God in your subordinates before you came home. That’s why you’re not pissed at me—you already bit off your quota of heads.”
Apollo laughed as he worked on the sticky mess on the range. Dylan already knew him too well. “You’re not wrong. I was in a mood, having my day off interrupted.”
“See. I knew it.” Dylan took a swig of his beer and started clearing dishes off the island.
“The admiral I work under has our whole group double—and triple-checking things. Busywork.”
“You really miss being out on missions, don’t you?”
“Eh. I try not to think about it,” Apollo admitted, which was something of a lie—he did think about it, more than he should. There was nothing like the rush of being out in the field. And seeing that young LT today... Yeah, he’d had a moment of hankering to be back out there, leading the men, and not being the one delivering a lecture. “After Neal died, taking this lateral move seemed like the only logical choice. Admiral Carson wanted me for this role for quite a while, and I’m lucky to have it. I’m home more, which is what the girls need.”
“It’s okay to be lucky and complain about it too. Trust me. We all have crazy bosses. And it’s okay to miss fieldwork too—Dustin always said you were the best operator he knew out there.”
“I don’t need permission to feel.” Apollo scrubbed the counter next to the stove with far more force than necessary.
“All I’m saying is you don’t have to be so damn stoic all the time.” Dylan didn’t seem to care about Apollo’s bark. It was a weird thing to find attractive, but Apollo kind of dug how Dylan never backed down from a point, infuriating as it could be.
“There’s no point in standing around wringing my hands over a lousy day.” Apollo bent to put a casserole dish in the dishwasher. Ow. Fuck. He’d forgotten about his back. “Mother—heck.”
“What?” Dylan was instantly beside him. “Did you get hurt today?”
“No. It’s nothing. Just my back.” Apollo put another dish next to the casserole for good measure, forcing himself not to grimace.
“That’s not nothing.” Dylan plucked the next dish from Apollo. “You aggravated your old injury, didn’t you?”
“How’d you know about my injury?”
“Duh. Dustin. He...mentioned it on the phone. I even sent you a silly card in the hospital, remember?”
“Yeah. And your mom sent one too.” Apollo had a feeling Dylan had pumped his brother for the information years ago when the incident happened, but he wasn’t going to embarrass Dylan by reminding him of that old crush. Now that he mentioned it, though, he did remember the funny get well card. He’d been showered with cards and flowers in the hospital, something that had made him deeply uncomfortable at the time. All he’d done was take a nasty fall on a mission. Wasn’t even like he’d taken a bullet or a lost a leg. Everyone had made a big fuss over a stupid misstep.
“That’s how you met Neal, right?” Dylan finished lining the dishes up in the dishwasher. Apollo liked how Dylan never danced around the Neal subject, just brought him up in conversation like it was a normal thing, not the hushed tones that others used.
“Yeah. He was the physical therapist assigned to me.”
“Cute.” Dylan smiled indulgently at him as he ran hot water for the dishes that wouldn’t fit in the washer. “Let me guess, he was won over by your docile acceptance of the need for rehab?”
Apollo laughed so hard it made his back ache more. Dylan had his number, that was for sure. “I was a total pain in the ass. And I hit on him shamelessly. Took me forever to wear him down.”
“You loved the challenge.” Dylan handed him a sheet pan to dry. “Bet him being impervious to you was a turn-on.”
“Guilty.” Revisiting these early memories was like eating a hot fudge sundae—sweet and comforting, warming his insides even as it made him shiver. “Man, he made me work. Weeks of flirting. Then he transferred me to another therapist. Bastard. I was pissed. But then he called.”
“I love that story.” Dylan passed on another pan. This working together and talking was nice, even if Apollo’s back did hurt like a bitch. “And he wanted the whole house-and-family thing from the start or did you have to sell him on that too?”
“He didn’t believe I was the settling-down type,” Apollo admitted, pausing to take a drink of his beer. “I had to convince him there too.”
“Smart man. Dustin’s told me stories about the two of you at the academy and when you were first on the teams. And I thought I had a manwhore phase—you were a freak.”
Apollo blinked hard at the reminder of Dylan’s dating history. “Manwhore phase?”
Dylan sighed like he was eighty, not twenty-three. “I’m more of a serial monogamist, but yeah, I fucked around. Nothing like you though—”
“I have a feeling Dustin greatly oversold my reputation.” Apollo shook his head, trying to get the vision of Dylan “fucking around” out of his head. God, he’d almost managed to forget about last night and now all that want came rushing back with the reminder that Dylan was a sexual being. “I wasn’t a complete dog.” Except for last night when I used you as jerk-off fodder. That now, that was total dog.
“Nah. And I’m sure Neal saw that too. You totally secretly wanted all of this.” Dylan gestured at the house and kid toys in the dining room.
“I did.” Apollo couldn’t help a wistful sigh. “But a lot of it was him. He made me want things I hadn’t even thought about before him.”
“Funny how love works like that. It changes you.” Dylan finished up the last dish, then wiped down the sink. “I spent a whole semester learning all about rugby just because that’s what my guy was into.”
“Kids are hardly the same as taking up a sport fandom.” Apollo had to laugh. And fuck. That hurt.
“How bad is it?” Dylan’s forehead creased. There was no fooling him. “Do you have meds?”
“If I take a muscle relaxer, it’ll be hard to work tomorrow. They make me groggy as f—heck. Some ibuprofen will have to do. I was thinking of doing the hot tub—”
“But then you got sidetracked with my kitchen mess. My fault. Sorry.” Dylan patted him on the shoulder. “Go. Get in the hot tub. I’ll get you some over-the-counter painkillers and a water.”
“Join me?” The words were out before Apollo could overthink them. It was weird how much he enjoyed talking to Dylan, even when he was hurting.
“Absolutely.” Dylan grinned like Apollo had handed him a gift. “Give me a sec to finish up here, and I’ll be right out.”
Ordinarily, this late at night, Apollo would skip the swimsuit, but he wasn’t ready for that with Dylan. No, his still-damp trunks from swimming with the girls last night before dinner would have to do. And maybe wrestling them on could serve to cool down his overheated brain.
Not likely. Once in the tub, he positioned himself against the jets and tried to tell himself that asking Dylan to join him was absolutely no big deal.
“Hey.” Dylan bent down to hand Apollo some pills and a big mug of ice water. He was shirtless and in those ridiculous purple trunks and he shouldn’t have looked so damn edible, yet that was exactly where Apollo’s brain went.
To Apollo’s surprise, Dylan didn’t enter the water, instead sitting right behind him on the pool deck, leg on either side of him. His leg hair rasped against Apollo’s sides, and all Apollo’s blood rushed south.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to rub your shoulders.” Dylan said like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“That’s not what’s injured.” Man, his voice was prim.
Dylan ignored him, settling his hands on either side of Apollo’s neck. “It’s not the same thing, but
I’ve had enough sports injuries to know that everything hurts after a while as your body compensates. I pulled a hamstring last year, and I swear, my good leg ached almost as much as the injured one.”
“I don’t need a massage.” Apollo’s body betrayed him by sinking into Dylan’s touch. “Mmm phf.”
“Yeah, you totally do.” Dylan didn’t let up, digging his thumbs into Apollo’s tight traps. “And trust me, I’m probably not as good as what you’re used to, but I’m not terrible either.”
No, he certainly wasn’t terrible. And Apollo wasn’t really thinking about Neal’s practiced, almost clinical touch right then. Neal had always approached Apollo’s back flare-ups by going into health care professional mode, and his touch, while welcome, had usually had a certain detachment to it that Dylan’s lacked. There was a sensuousness to his movements—
No that’s all you reading into it. He’s just trying to be helpful. There was nothing overtly seductive about Dylan’s voice or his strong hands, which kneaded Apollo’s muscles but didn’t caress or linger.
“So how’d you get ‘not terrible’ at this?” Apollo asked to distract himself from how much he wanted the contact to linger. Dylan didn’t answer right away, thumbs digging into Apollo’s delts. “Fuck. Right there.”
“Yeah, you didn’t need this at all.” Dylan laughed. “I’m a nice guy with a thing for athletes. Plenty of sprains and strains and hard practices to recover from. And I picked some stuff up from the team trainers too.”
“Athletes?” Apollo couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice. “Not...”
“You know, contrary to the impression I gave you eight years ago, my type isn’t really too-old-for me bad boys.”
Damn. Apollo tensed, wanting to evict that traitorous thought from his brain. No, he didn’t care if Dylan’s tastes had morphed from macking on his brother’s friends to jock boys.
“But I did have this...thing with one of the trainers my junior year.” Dylan laughed.
“Why’d it end?” Apollo stretched to meet Dylan’s touch, drawing this conversation out just to keep his hands on him.
“We had differing definitions of exclusive. Like I said, I’m better as a boyfriend than someone’s hook-up on the side.”
“Good for you. Stand up for...oh. There.”
“Yeah?” Dylan’s voice seemed deeper, but that might have been Apollo’s overheated brain. “Want me to go lower?”
Yes, yes, yes, Apollo’s dick volunteered. He means your back, horn dog. And as much as logic told him to end this pleasant interlude, his sore muscles answered for him. “Okay.”
Apollo moved to sit on a higher step so that he was still lower than Dylan but more of his back was exposed. He twisted so that he could point on his back. “Here. Not here or here.”
“So avoid the scar essentially?” Dylan’s touch was more tentative now. “I’m sure you’re sick of hearing it, but man. You are one lucky guy to be able to still walk, let alone get back to active duty.”
“It’s not that big of a deal.” Apollo wrenched away, not wanting to be inspected like some sort of medical freak show.
“Chill.” Dylan scooted closer, stroking Apollo’s flank like he might gentle a horse. “Just tell me if I’m about to make things worse.”
Just being here like this is making it worse. It was the truth—they were walking a knife edge between casual friendship and...something else, something Apollo refused to name. All of a sudden, he was all too aware that this was the first time another man had really touched him since Neal. And these exploratory, cautious touches were very un-Neal-like. Dylan ran his knuckles down Apollo’s spine, making Apollo shiver. There was something unbelievably sexy about Dylan’s hesitance, and Apollo’s cock stirred.
“This okay?”
No. “Yeah,” he said, voice too gruff. He needed to end this, but then Dylan found a knot of nerve-endings that seemed to have been waiting for his thumbs, and Apollo gasped from how damn good it felt. His head fell back, connecting with Dylan’s shoulder. His eyes fluttered open to find Dylan’s summer sky eyes right there, watching him. Waiting for him.
Fuck. His face was so close that his warm breath tickled Apollo’s cheek. “This good?”
He continued to work that spot, and Apollo moaned, low and lusty.
No. Not lusty. No lusting. This is—
Dylan. Dylan, who was right there. Did he arch up? Did Dylan bend forward? Such questions flittered away as soft lips grazed his mouth. And oh holy fuck, Apollo needed this every bit as much as he’d needed those hands on him. His tongue snaked out, tracing the seam of Dylan’s lips, desperate for a taste.
“Oh.” Just that single, soft surprised sound from Dylan cut through his fog. What the fuck was he doing? Kissing Dustin’s little brother? Kissing someone not Neal? That last one made his throat burn as he pulled away. Fucking thinking with your dick, idiot. He didn’t get to have trysts with the babysitter while Neal was...not here. Not ever going to be here again.
It was all too much for him. “We can’t do this.” Pulling away, he stood. And yeah, he was hard, and Dylan probably wasn’t going to miss that, but fuck. He couldn’t stay in that tub another minute.
“Wait. Let’s talk—” Dylan stood too.
“No talking.” Apollo buried his face in a towel. His ring caught on a loose thread, sending a jolt of guilt straight to his heart. He was the worst kind of idiot, letting this happen.
“It was just a kiss. Doesn’t have to mean anything—”
“It didn’t,” Apollo said far too curtly, but his chest felt cracked open and hell if he could moderate his tone.
“Well, okay then.” Dylan’s voice was sharp as he stepped around him. “I just don’t want things to be weird.”
“They won’t be,” Apollo lied.
“Of course they will be.” Dylan’s laugh was like bitter taffy. Sweet with a bite. “I’m just saying. We’re both adults. There’s no reason we couldn’t—”
“We are never going there.” Apollo cut that argument off before Dylan could convince him to be stupid. “Again. Ever. Am I clear?”
“You. Kissed. Me.” Dylan poked him in the chest, clearly not going to let him have the fantasy where Dylan had been the one to close the gap. “But, sure, lecture away if that makes you feel better.”
“Sorry.” Apollo knew he was being a dick. “I just don’t want to lead you on—”
“Oh, trust me, there’s no risk of that.” Dylan shook his head. “Night, Apollo.”
Dylan headed back into the house, leaving him standing there. Apollo watched him, stood there until the second-story window to Dylan’s room lit up, leaving him all alone in the dark, dripping wet, impervious to the cool night air thanks to super-heated kisses that were not meant to be.
Chapter Eight
Dylan was done with this week. Apollo had worked long hours all week and avoided him when home like Dylan was contagious. Ha. If he was suffering from anything, it was awkwarditis, caused by one stubborn SEAL who refused to talk about what had happened like adults. But whatever. Allie and her friends wanted to go out, so out he would go.
“That shirt doesn’t fit,” Chloe observed from the doorway of Dylan’s room. “You should put it in the giveaway box.”
“It fits.” Dylan tugged it down a bit.
“Why’d you put goop on your head?” Sophia asked. “It smells.”
“It’s hair product. It makes my hair look nice.” Dylan gave himself a last glance in the mirror. He did look smoking. Close fitting lavender shirt with little white buttons, black jeans with a silver belt, and his favorite clubbing boots—thick enough to protect his toes from stomping, but still light enough for easy dancing.
“I want some!” Chloe grabbed for the can of mousse.
“Your Baba would roast me if I did your hai
r all crazy.” Dylan took the can back.
“Please!”
“Please!” Both girls stuck out their lower lips and did their best pout, crowding him when he tried to leave the room.
Oh what the heck. It wasn’t like he and Apollo were already on great terms. “How about buns? And then it really is time for pajamas.”
He had just finished taming the last of Chloe’s curls into a space-age-looking bun when he heard the door downstairs.
“Baba!” The girls ran toward the door.
“What’s this?” Apollo gestured between the girls and Dylan as he made his way downstairs.
“Dylan’s leaving.” Chloe did the mock pout again as Apollo lifted her up with a grimace. Damn it. The man needed to see someone about his back acting up, but when Dylan had mentioned it earlier in the week, he’d waved off the concern.
“Leaving?” Both Apollo’s eyebrows went up. “Like that?”
“I’m going out with some friends after you get the girls settled.” Dylan tried to sound casual, control the inexplicable racing of his heart.
“Girls. Pajamas and teeth brushing. Now.” Apollo gestured at the stairs. “I’ll be up to do the story in a moment.”
Dylan waited until the girls were headed up the stairs to speak. “You know the stern parental thing really doesn’t work on me. I’m not some teenager sneaking out of the house.”
“You didn’t let me know you’d be going out.” Apollo didn’t drop the ‘tude. Still in his uniform, he looked more rumpled than his usual perfection, deep lines bracketing his eyes and mouth.
If he wasn’t being such a colossal dick, Dylan would offer another back rub. And it wasn’t like Dylan had had some grand plan to seduce Apollo the other night. The kiss had just kind of happened. And then Apollo flipped out, and now, instead of a beer and back rub, all Dylan had to offer was his absence. Hell, Apollo should be happy he was leaving for a few hours.
“You texted that you were running late. I didn’t want you to feel bad if you got trapped at work. I was ready to text my crew and bail if that happened.”
At Attention Page 7
