“Anyway,” Aidan was saying, “I’m not sure how much longer the arrangement will last. The three of us haven’t hooked up in a few months, actually.”
Dylan inspected the other man’s face for signs of anger or disappointment and found none. Aidan looked relaxed as hell as he flicked his ashes in the ashtray before bringing his cigarette back to his lips for another drag.
“Maybe they got sick of you,” Dylan joked.
“Doubt it. I’m pretty frickin’ good in bed.”
Aidan’s tone rang with humor, but there was nothing humorous about the way their gazes collided again. Or the current of heat that coursed between them.
Breaking the eye contact, Aidan gave a small shrug. “Matt’s going to propose to her soon.”
“Seriously?”
“I helped him pick out the ring. Nothing too flashy—Savannah hates showy displays of wealth. According to her, only flowers are allowed to be showy.” An indulgent smile quirked Aidan’s lips. “They’re good for each other. They just…fit, know what I mean? I think they’ll be happy.”
A short silence descended over the terrace, each man getting lost in his own thoughts. Dylan had to wonder if he’d ever meet that one person who fit him. He’d been told that he wasn’t “relationship material”, accused of being too impulsive and fun-loving, qualities which apparently weren’t conducive to a serious relationship. Who knew.
“So where are you going to get your ménage fix now?” Dylan asked with a grin.
“No clue. I might have to start inviting myself to the orgies you keep going on about.”
“I’m afraid my orgy calendar isn’t as hoppin’ as it used to be. Cash bowed out when he started dating Jen, and Seth has been panting after Miranda the past few months. Which leaves Jackson, who was always the weak link in my three-way circle. He prefers one-on-one, claims it’s the Texas way.”
They both laughed. Observed each other again. Reached for their beers.
A groan got stuck in his throat, joining the ball of frustration and lump of unease already taking up residence there. This had never happened to him before, damn it. Lusting over another man? Just another man? With no woman around to balance everything out?
Fuck.
The lack of estrogen on the balcony became glaringly apparent the longer he and Aidan watched each other. Unsettled, he chugged the rest of his beer, but the liquid was lukewarm by now and did nothing to extinguish the fire raging down below.
Enough. He was tired of the strange waves of tension palpitating in the air whenever he and Aidan were alone together. He needed to get laid, damn it. It was the only way to purge his body of this tight, antsy feeling, the only way to vanquish this inappropriate craving.
“Shoot, I forgot, I have to return this chick’s call.” He scraped his chair back and reached for his two empty beers.
Aidan beat him to the bottles. “Make your call out here. I’ll take the empties in.”
“Oh, thanks, man.”
“No problem.”
Their fingers brushed as he handed Aidan the bottles. A tiny shock wave coursed through his veins, making him gulp.
With a knowing twinkle in his dark eyes, Aidan headed for the sliding door and quietly moved through the threshold.
Dylan stared at the other man’s retreating back and resisted a groan. Crap. He was approaching a critical point here. A potential point of no return.
Grabbing his phone, he scrolled through the contacts until he found one entry in particular. Rachel Carver. The blonde he’d met at the club last week.
Lord, please let her answer the phone.
To his overwhelming relief, she chirped out a hello on the second ring.
“Rachel?” He cleared his throat. “Hey, it’s Dylan. Dylan Wade. We met at OMG last week, remember?”
She sounded absolutely delighted to hear from him. “Hi! I’d almost given up on you! I’m so glad you called.”
His peripheral vision caught a blur of movement. He turned his head to see Aidan in the living room, one sculpted arm flexing as he pointed the remote at the flat screen before flopping down on the leather couch.
Tearing his gaze away, Dylan forced his attention back on the phone call. “So. Rachel. You feel like hanging out tonight?”
Chapter Twelve
The following week, Miranda moved back to her apartment, leaving Seth feeling oddly dejected and more than a little discouraged. Even with her kids constantly underfoot, he’d liked having her in his house. They may not have slept in the same bed, or even spent all that much time together, thanks to their busy schedules, but he’d drawn comfort from her presence.
And as expected, living with the woman had taught him quite a lot about her. For example, he now knew what a nauseatingly chipper morning person she was, that she cooked the best breakfasts on the planet, and that she sneezed every time she smelled the scent of dish detergent. He’d also discovered that she preferred classic rock to anything contemporary, the History Channel to reality television, and boxing above all sports.