“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.