“Dylan.” Apollo stopped him before he could leave the room. “Don’t. Don’t wait.” His voice cracked. Fuck. Fuck emotions. “There’s about nine hundred reasons why this should never—”
“And one why we should.” Dylan crossed back over to him, bent and brushed a kiss across his mouth. Despite himself, Apollo responded, taking what was a sweet gesture and cranking the heat back up to high.
“Fuck.” He pulled away with a gasp.
“Night.” Dylan laughed. He headed for the stairs, then paused on the bottom step, sticking his head back into the living room. “And for the record, I’m about sixty seconds away from replaying that whole thing in my shower. You know where to find me when you’re done...thinking.” He gave Apollo a cheeky wink before bounding up the stairs.
Apollo flopped backward onto the chaise part of the couch, stretching out. No way could he face his room right then. Not after what had nearly happened right here. An angry symphony gathered force in his head. Neal. Dustin. Him. Everything good and decent he thought about himself.
“If something ever happens to me out there—”
“It won’t.” Neal hated this topic, and he shoved at Apollo’s chest.
“I’m just saying. I’d want you to be—”
“Not happening. You’re it for me.”
“Ditto.” Giving up on the conversation, Apollo tugged him down for a kiss.
Damn it. The memory made his sinuses sting and his throat burn. Neal was supposed to have been it for him too, not this inconvenient lust for the last guy he should want. He tried to focus on the memory, hold it close, but it slid away, maddeningly out of reach, replaced by that lust, images of how Dylan had looked and sounded.
Fuck. Apollo punched the pillow. He was a mess. Sort himself out? Hell, he had more chance of winning the lottery.
Chapter Nine
“I just want the wrapper.” Sophia pointed at the plate of tortillas Dylan had warmed up.
“I want the wrapper and the avocadoes. No fish.” Chloe glanced over from where she was setting the table—last Dylan had seen, he had three forks, but she was “helping.”
“You liked this dinner last week.” Dylan tried to keep his voice even.
“That was last week.” Sophia continued wrinkling her nose.
“I liked the wrappers.” Chloe gave herself two water cups.
“You can’t eat just tortillas,” Dylan said reasonably. God, he sounded like such a parent. But it had been a long Monday at the day camp, followed by a long evening cooking for kids who were apparently only going to eat the part of the meal that had taken twenty seconds to prepare.
“Wow. It smells amazing in here.” Apollo came in, all official-looking in his uniform, and just like that, all Dylan’s work was worth it.
“It smells like fish,” Sophia corrected him. “I’m not eating that. It’s slimy—”
“You will take a no-thank-you bite.” Apollo gave each girl a hug. “Dylan worked hard on this dinner. You will try it.”
“Baba!” Chloe protested.
“Have you girls washed your hands?” Apollo asked.
“Maybe,” Chloe said as Sophia mumbled, “Not really.”
“Go and do that, and I’ll help Dylan with the plates.” He came around the island to stand right next to Dylan, grabbing the stack of plates with his large, capable hands. The same hands that had gripped Dylan’s hips—
Stop that. It had been a couple of days. A few awkward days. He should be over his memories of Friday night by now. But Apollo smelled so good standing next to him and looked so commanding in his uniform that it was hard to remember he was supposed to be putting his lust on a back burner. He’d put the ball in Apollo’s court, knowing full well Apollo might never want to play, because pressuring the guy into sex wasn’t his style. But damn, he’d been this close to coming in his jeans.
And he’d spent the past few days kicking himself for even mentioning going upstairs. He should have known that would trigger some sort of guilt avalanche for Apollo. And frankly, Dylan didn’t particularly want to fuck in the room Apollo’d shared with his husband, which was full of happy memories, but at the time all he’d been able to think about was the need to get Apollo naked.
“This really does look delicious.” Apollo snatched a piece of fish off the plate as he assembled tacos for the girls.
“It’s really just a matter of getting stuff ready to assemble.” Dylan knew he was flushing from the praise.
“Well, I appreciate it.” Apollo’s cheeks were duskier than usual. Yup. Still living squarely in Awkwardville. “Got a great workout in earlier, so I’m starving.”
“Lucky you.” Dylan hadn’t managed a good workout in days between work and the girls.
“Go for a run after dinner. It’s cool enough out. You can use my weights after if you want. I’ll handle baths and bedtime.”
“Thanks.” God. This was just so freaking domestic. Lovely, really, but why couldn’t Apollo see their potential as a couple? Hell, even a fling—Dylan didn’t need forever. But they could be good together.
That thought carried him through dinner while the girls shared stories about day camp and Apollo seemed genuinely interested in Dylan’s day. It wasn’t just that he wanted into Apollo’s khaki uniform pants—which yes, yes he absolutely did—he liked hanging out with the guy in a way he hadn’t with past crushes that were all sex and no substance. As he pounded the pavement with his favorite playlist blasting in his ears, he tried to tell himself to get over it.
You’re falling for him again, and he can’t even bring himself to let you touch his dick. This is going to end ugly. Just keep things professional. Distant.
As he headed for the shower after his workout, he heard Apollo reading to the girls, making his voice higher for the girl character. Dylan’s heart squeezed like he hadn’t just spent the past hour lecturing himself against such softness. He resisted the temptation to replay Friday night in the shower. No more fantasies.
He pulled on a pair of shorts, skipping the shirt for the moment because he was still hot from the shower and the run, and headed to his room to veg, but ran straight into Apollo coming out of the girls’ room.
“Sorry.” Apollo stepped back, eyes roving around like he was trying hard not to look at Dylan’s half-dressed state.
“It’s okay. Girls down?”
“Finally.”
“Well, night.” Dylan turned back toward the guest room.
He got a few steps down the hall when Apollo called after him, “Wait. Dylan?”
“Yeah?” Hope beat a frantic tattoo in his ears.
“You want to watch the show? It’s still early.”
“I’d love that.” Dylan couldn’t help grinning at Apollo. “Let me grab a shirt, and I’ll be right down.”
“You don’t...that is, I’m fine...it’s just us.” Apollo fumbled for words. Man, Dylan was never getting tired of his ability to twist the big-shot SEAL lieutenant into knots.
“Fine. I’m hot anyway.” Dylan followed him downstairs.