Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90685 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90685 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
I wrap my arms around his back. “Mm, true. Getting you into bed is the best thing I’ve accomplished in a long time, and that’s saying something because Mike Bravo are national heroes.”
“Sure. Heroes. But that aside, I should point out we haven’t actually had sex in a bed. Like, ever.”
“Huh. We’re going to have to rectify that at some point.”
“At some point?”
“I’ve been waiting for you to get to this place.”
Dylan cocks his head. “Your best friend’s house?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I mean,” I say dryly. “I mean here. With me. Where I can do this whenever I want.” I grab his ass and squeeze.
“Oh, you mean so desperately screwed that I need to turn to you for help and then decide to use each other as a sex toy for a distraction?”
Ouch. I mean, it’s true, but ouch. I’m doing a great job of convincing him to be with me. “And you say I’m frustrating,” I mumble.
“I’m starting to see why taunting me is fun for you.” Dylan goes back to the coffee machine and makes us both a cup of coffee. “What’s on the agenda for today?”
I wish I had an answer for him, but I don’t. “I was thinking of sending one of my guys to go buy you some clothes in your size. As much as I’d love for you to wear mine where they’re falling off you”—I reach out and tug on the back of the sweats he’s wearing, and they fall to his ankles—“I don’t want any of my guys seeing this.” My gaze roams down his tight muscles to his pert ass that’s right there in front of me.
“I vote for clothes that fit me. Whosever pants you gave me yesterday are too tight—”
“No they’re not. They show off your ass, so they’re perfect.”
“And the shirt is already stanky with man sweat.”
“I like your manly smell.”
Dylan pulls the pants back up and turns to glare at me.
“I’ll get Atlas to go by a store today and drop some clothes off for you,” I relent and immediately send off a text. “What size?”
“I can’t even go shopping for my own clothes?”
“You shouldn’t have been in public looking for Hale. You shouldn’t be in LA at all.”
“What if Atlas has poor taste?”
“He can’t have worse taste than the shit I’ve seen you in over the years. Boring suits and plain tees. What happened to that mesh top you were wearing that night we met?”
“Pretty sure you ripped that while you were fucking me.”
“Oh. Right. Ahh, memories. At least your T-shirts are always tight. That’s a bonus. Ooh, I’ll put that in my text to Atlas. Must bring tight-fit tees. Only the best for my man.” I tap away at my phone. “I’m going to dress you up all pretty-like and then objectify you.”
“Is there any point in fighting you on this?”
“Yes. You won’t win, but it’s our special way of flirting.”
“I think your definition of flirting is different than the real thing.”
I shrug. “It got us here.”
Dylan slow claps. “And it only took you seven years. Flirting master. You could run a class.”
“Smartass.” But at least he’s an adorable smartass.
Chapter Seventeen
Dylan
We make coffee, and then Trav leads me down the steps on the outside of the house to the back deck, where the high sun tells me it’s early afternoon. I sit back and enjoy the warmth and the view of the canyon when something occurs to me.
I bolt upright in my chair. “What day is it?”
“Wednesday. Why?”
“Fuck. I missed Tuesday family dinner last night. My mom is going to be freaking out. If I can’t make it, I always call. It’s official. If I do survive the hitmen and Walker, I’m dead anyway because Mamá will kill me.”
She has to be fretting like crazy, and it kills me there’s nothing I can do to reassure her.
“I know you’re genuinely worried, but can I please tell you how cute it is you’re scared of your mother?”
“Like you aren’t?”
“Please. My mom is the sweetest little thing. Whenever she worries about me, I pat her head and tell her I’ve got it covered.”
I wish I had that kind of relationship with my mom. She might have been the first one to accept me for being gay, but she hates that I became a cop. Law enforcement have always treated us like second-class citizens, labeling us as illegals whether we’re in this country legally or not. We don’t have the same protections or care that white people do, and my entire family sees me as a traitor for becoming one of them. But none of them realize I did it so I could try to change the broken system from the inside out. No matter how many times I tell them that’s why I joined. They all ask how that’s going for me when very little has changed. In fact, nothing has changed. Every dig, every mention, guilt hits me for not reporting some of the things I see and failure looms over my head, but I have to play the long game in this, and I’ve known that from the beginning.