“I thought I was in charge last night,” Dylan said.
Alec continued to scan the crowd, eyes crinkled in humor. “After all this time, your mind still resides firmly in the gutter, Dylan Booth.”
“Hey, you might have rescued me from a garage, moved me into your home, and house-trained me, but life on the gutter side of things is fun.” He fisted the front of Alec’s shirt and leaned in to nip his shoulder before soothing the spot with his tongue. “As someone who visits me there daily, I’m not sure I understand the complaint.”
Alec turned a smokin’ blue gaze on Dylan. “I’m not complaining.”
A thrum of awareness rippled just beneath Dylan’s skin, and he reluctantly straightened up. This wasn’t the time or place.
“I didn’t think so.” Dylan smoothed out the wrinkles he’d left on Alec’s shirt. “And the answer to your original question is no. I don’t miss being in charge of the poker run. Four years was enough. I’d rather enjoy myself than organize the sucker.”
“Noah hasn’t stopped bitching all day.” Alec’s mouth quirked. “I think you hurt his feelings when you hired an event planner.”
Dylan cast a glance at Noah, now seated on the deck surrounded by participants sporting hardcore motorcycle gear. Unlike the chaps his tablemates wore, Noah’s leather pants were sleek. Chic was the word Noah used, whatever the hell that meant. During lunch, Noah had shared the price he’d paid for his faux crocodile T-shirt, and Dylan had almost bitten his tongue in half, ruining Dylan’s perfectly prepared hamburger with the taint of blood.
“Trust me,” Dylan said. “Noah just likes to complain. He’d much rather spend his time working the crowd. Besides”—he waved his bottle in the direction of the satisfied bikers—“the participants are pleased with this year’s arrangements. Especially the entertainment.”
“It’s definitely better than last year’s.”
Dylan groaned. “Don’t remind me.”
Noah never let Dylan forget that Destiny’s Bitch had received a standing ovation after her rendition of “I Will Survive.” Unfortunately, the reminder was more annoying than the incident itself. Every month or so since, Dylan’s cell phone rang, blaring the tune. He hadn’t figured out how Noah managed to keep swiping his phone on the sly and changing the ringtone. Or why the call always came at the most embarrassing moment possible, with the volume at full blast.
Last week, the old man behind Dylan in the NAPA Auto Parts store had nearly suffered a friggin’ heart attack.
Dylan caught Noah’s eye, and the man shot him a wink and a smile. Dylan volleyed back with a you’re-not-funny look.
He knew Noah would wait until Dylan let down his guard again before the repeat offensive. But, man, how long could a guy remain on high alert? He’d assumed Noah would eventually grow bored with the prank. So far, no such luck. One more time and Dylan was changing the keyless entry to the front door and not giving Noah the combination.
Ever.
“Dylan!”
Dylan turned his head and saw Savannah Urban approaching.
The petite blond he’d hired to organize this year’s event was a second year psychology student at Stanford, recommended to him by Jack Davis, an uncle of sorts. Besides the pretty features, sweet manner, and high-powered relative, the girl came with an added bonus: a twin named Sierra.
Two for the price of one, she’d said. And although Dylan had complained, trying to pay them both, Sierra had refused. What the two lacked in experience they’d more than made up for with enthusiasm, but sometimes their bubbly energy was almost too much.
Long ponytail pulled back through her visor, clip board in hand, Savannah—or was it Sierra?—approached Dylan. “I just wanted to go over tomorrow’s schedule again.”
“Savannah…” He hesitated, waiting for her to correct him, just in case he had the wrong twin. “I trust you. You and your sister have done a bang-up job. Today was spectacular. Everybody is saying this is the best year ever.”
The fresh-faced blond blushed to her hairline. Seriously, had he ever been that young?
Dylan sent her a reassuring smile as he went on. “You don’t need to keep checking in with me.”
That’s why he’d hired the two to begin with, to spare him from dealing with the details. With anyone else he might have felt annoyed, but she was just so friggin’ earnest and adorable. And wholesome. Raising them would have been fun, and he finally understood why some people made the insane choice to have children.
Of course, with Dylan’s genes, he’d probably wind up with a boy that was pure hell on wheels. He’d be better off raising Alec’s kid.
Jesus, where had those thoughts come from?
But he knew. This wasn’t the first time they’d popped into his head. The idea seemed to be following him around lately, nipping at his heels.