“You’re for real going to check them?” Dylan pulled out his phone. “Give me your email and I’ll send my resumé right now.”
“You get to drive my kids around. Yes, I’m going to check the references.” Apollo rattled off his personal email address. His phone beeped seconds later. “That was fast.”
“Dude, you have no idea how many resumés I sent out before I got this job. Market is tight this year.”
“What do you want to do long-term? Teach?” Apollo leaned on the counter.
“Not exactly, and that’s why getting a job is hard. I want to direct an after-school program or a rec sports league for kids or possibly some hybrid of those things. I may end up needing my masters before I get the kind of job I want.”
“That’s...really specific.” Apollo was still struggling to reconcile this motivated guy with the teenager who had spouted War Elf knowledge and slept to noon most days. “Why not teach a few years at a preschool or elementary—”
“Why not hang out on a ship a few years, Lieutenant? Wait and see if you really want to be a SEAL?” Dylan fixed him with a hard stare.
“Fair enough. You know what you want to be. I respect that. I’m just curious about why.” To his surprise, Apollo wanted to know. It would be really easy to simply say goodnight to Dylan and check the references tomorrow, but for some reason Apollo needed to keep him talking.
“I’m the youngest, you know? Dustin and the others were already out of the house by the time I hit school, and with both my folks working, I spent a lot of time in after-school programs. And I had all this energy so there were always sports programs too. I’ve seen some really, really crappy ones, and some...” Dylan got a far-off look in his eyes. “Well, the good ones pretty much saved my childhood. I know that sounds really sappy—”
“No, I get it.” Apollo rubbed his head. “After my dad died, my mom was a single mother. I spent a lot of time in those programs or with relatives. I never really thought about how important the after-school programs are to so many kids, but I guess they are.”
“Yeah.” Dylan had the same stadium-lights bright smile Apollo remembered, but there was something more...tempered about it now. Wiser. “Your dad was Navy too, right?”
“Right. I was born here in San Diego actually when he was stationed at Coronado. We moved back to Fresno after he died in an accident on board a ship when I was six.”
“Your mom never remarried?”
“Nope. Never dated even, really. Guess he was it for her.” Like Neal was for me. Apollo wasn’t really the sentimental type, and he tried not to dwell on the fact that he and his mother both ended up bringing up kids alone. She still wore her wedding ring, even now, thirty years later.
“Who knows? Maybe she’ll meet some Greek tycoon on her big trip, fall madly in love—”
Apollo laughed like he hadn’t laughed in months. “Ha. Never happening. You’re a romantic though, aren’t you?”
“Guilty.” Dylan grinned at him again. He had one of those infectious grins, the kind Apollo, even as grumpy as he was, couldn’t help returning. “And I’m not going to apologize for it. Everyone needs some romance in their life.”
“Not me,” Apollo said firmly. Dylan opened his mouth like he had something to say about that, but Apollo shook his head. “Trust me, even Neal would have told you. I’m the least romantic person on earth. It’s the last thing I need in my life.”
“You’re wrong.” Dylan’s grin didn’t falter, not even a little bit. That smile was dangerous. All full pink lips and white teeth. And the dimples. God save him from the dimples. Apollo might be dead to romance, but apparently he could still feel a jolt of the worst-timed lust on the planet. Never happening.
“And I’m putting money on your mom and the tycoon.”
“You do that.” It was going to be a long damn summer, convincing Prince Charming here that he was dead wrong about the Floros family needing romance.
Chapter Four
June
“Do you like crispies?”
“Or waffles?”
“Unngh?” Dylan opened one eye to find two small creatures perched on either side of him, one wearing a unicorn costume, the other in a fancy purple party dress.
“Breakfast, silly! We wanna make you breakfast!” Chloe, the one in the unicorn costume, bounced on the side of the bed.
“It’s morning,” Sophia supplied helpfully, yanking away the pillow Dylan was using to shield himself from the glare of the sun. He’d gotten into San Diego late the night before thanks to traffic. He’d broken the fifteen-hour drive into two days, but he was still so wiped that he’d collapsed into bed moments after Apollo had shown him to the small guest room that would be his home the next few months. And clearly, Dylan was going to need to investigate the door lock situation.
“Get up!” Chloe commanded, butting him in the shoulder with the unicorn horn.
“Okay, okay. Give me a second—”
“Girls. What are you doing in here? And where are your school clothes?” Apollo appeared in the doorway, toweling off what looked like a freshly shaved face. He was in jeans and a gray button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, showing off his tats. Now there was a tasty breakfast.
“Sorry, Baba.” Sophia scrambled off the bed.
“Didn’t I say ‘leave Dylan alone’ before I went to get dressed?”
“It’s okay.” Dylan sat up, covers pooling in his lap. Apollo’s eyes went wide. Heck. Dylan didn’t have a shirt on. Better start sleeping with more on. He adjusted the covers so that Apollo could see the waistband of his flannel pants, lest he think Dylan was all the way naked.
“You have more hair than Baba,” Chloe announced with a critical eye. Great. Now Dylan was going to spend the rest of the day thinking about Apollo shirtless. “But not—”
“Chloe. That’s enough.” Apollo pointed at the hallway. “Dressed. Now.”
Both girls scampered away amid much giggling.
“I’ll sleep in a shirt tonight,” Dylan said because Apollo was still frowning. And still staring at Dylan’s chest. “Sorry. I know I’m kind of scuzzy. My last boyfriend was a total freak about waxing, so I’ve kind of gone the other direction as a rebellion—”
“Your last boyfriend?”
Dylan stood and stretched, letting Apollo get an eyeful. “Why, yes, Apollo, I have had boyfriends, plural. Sorry to shock you. Two in high school, six—”
“I do not need a rundown of your sexual history.” Apollo’s face was as red as Dylan had ever seen it. Good. “Your door locks. That’s all.” Apollo turned to leave, then stuck his head back in. “Oh and there’s coffee. If you drink it.”