Getting Hotter

  If Seth didn’t have complete confidence that Dylan would never harm a hair on a child’s head, he might’ve given Miranda a slight shake of the head, as in, Say no. Now. But Seth trusted Dylan with his life. Whatever this was about, he knew it wouldn’t result in Miranda’s kids getting hurt.

  “Well, I guess that would be okay,” Miranda said, still looking baffled. “I can call the school tomorrow and let them know you’ll be picking them up instead of me. Unless you want me to come along…?” She let the question hang.

  Dylan flashed those pearly whites again. “Up to you, honey. I figured you’d enjoy having the afternoon off to go shopping or take a nap or do whatever. You know, treat yourself. But if you don’t trust me with your children’s safety, I understand.”

  Miranda snorted. “My children are probably safer with you than they are with me. You’re a SEAL, for Pete’s sake. And look at you.”

  Seth did not enjoy the way Miranda’s hazel eyes roamed the broad expanse of Dylan’s smooth chest. He glared at his roommate in an unspoken order to go put on a fucking shirt—and pants, damn it—but the guy remained completely unfazed.

  “What time are they done school?” Dylan asked.

  “Three. I’ll text you the address. You’ll have to show your ID to the school secretary and sign the twins out. It’s the school policy when someone other than a parent picks up a child.”

  “No problem. Can’t wait to see them.”

  “They’ll be thrilled to see you too,” Miranda said with a warm smile.

  Seth found himself bristling again. If Dylan’s plan had been to come out here and present himself as the sweetest, most thoughtful man on the planet while reducing Seth to antichild, pond-scum level in Miranda’s eyes, then he’d totally succeeded.

  “And if you decide not to join us, I’m sure Masterson here would appreciate the company,” Dylan said, proving that he always had a fellow soldier’s back. “Poor Seth gets really lonely sometimes.”

  Oh Jesus. Why did Dylan Wade make it so difficult to think bad thoughts about him?

  Asshole.

  “Oh no. Then I might have to come over and hold his hand for a bit.” Miranda’s expression made it clear that she’d be holding a lot more than his hand.

  She gave Seth a quick kiss on the cheek and then she was gone, leaving him free to interrogate his roommate.

  “You want to hang out with her kids?”

  “Yeah. What’s wrong with that? Those little dudes are tons of fun.”

  Seth crossed his arms over his chest. “Should I be worried about websites putting a little green dot over our house to indicate there’s a sexual predator living here?” he cracked.

  “Fuck you.”

  “Says the man who just arranged a date with two children while wearing a towel. Seriously, what the hell was that about?”

  After a beat, Dylan released a breath. “I have an idea for the birthday present, all right?”

  “No clue what you’re talking about, man.”

  “Miranda’s birthday is on Saturday.”

  “It is?”

  His roommate raised his eyebrows. “Do you know anything about the woman you’re screwing, bro?”

  Now it was his turn to say, “Fuck you.” He trailed after Dylan, whose bare feet slapped the hardwood floor on the way to the master bedroom.

  Dylan dropped the towel the moment he entered his bedroom, but Seth was too unsettled by this entire discussion to pay much attention to his roommate’s bare ass.

  “Anyway, remember when they were crashing here after the flood and the kids kept bursting into tears every other second?”

  “Yeah,” he said warily.

  “Well, turns out they weren’t just crying for the hell of it. They were working on a birthday present for Miranda—they drew all these pictures for her, and they were organizing them into a book. I think their teacher was supposed to help them bind it.”

  Seth’s brows dipped in a frown. “How do you know all this?”

  “They told me.” Dylan put on a pair of sweatpants and strode to his closet to find a shirt.

  “They told you,” Seth echoed.

  “Yep. Those kids love me, bro. Maybe because, unlike you, I don’t treat them like I’d rather have my back waxed than spend time with them.” A shrug. “They were pretty devastated, especially Jason. He was hiding the pictures under his bed and everything got destroyed in the flood.”

  “So you’re taking them out for ice cream to cheer them up?”

  “No. See, that’s the thing.” The guy was practically beaming now. “I was telling Jen about what a bummer it was that the present got ruined, and she came up with an idea. Sophie and Jason won’t have time to redo all those drawings, but Jen offered to take their picture. You’ve seen her photographs, right? They’re fucking amazing. She said she’ll take a whole bunch of photos of the kids and they could use them to make a new book. Good idea, right?”

  Seth stared at his buddy.

  “What?” Dylan said defensively.

  “You liked those kids so much that you actually spent time thinking about the birthday present they were making for their mother?” he said in a dull voice.

  “So? What’s wrong with that? I happen to be a nice guy.”

  Translation: I’m not an asshole like you are.

  Seth raked a hand through his hair, wishing he could make heads or tails of the eddy of emotion that swirled inside his chest. Shit, what was happening to him? Why did it matter whether Dylan liked Miranda’s kids? Why should he care that Sophie and Jason had confided in his roommate—and not him—about that stupid picture book? Whatever. Let Dylan spend tomorrow afternoon with the rugrats. That just meant Seth got more time with their mother.

  An entire afternoon with Miranda. Just him and Miranda.

  Yeah. Miranda. Whose birthday is on Saturday.

  His stomach clenched. Why hadn’t she told him when her birthday was?

  Why hadn’t he asked?

  Holy shit. If one more why so much as entered his brain, he was going to punch something.

  Curling his hands into fists, he left his roommate to get dressed and marched back to his bedroom.

  His sheets still smelled like Miranda. His pillow still bore the indentation of her head. And his heart? Well, his heart was having a very tough time remembering that it played no part in their deal.

  “Oh my gosh, they are just the cutest,” Jen Scott declared. She peered at the screen of her heavy-duty digital camera and giggled. “Look at this one. Sophie looks adorable.”

  Dylan leaned in for a peek. “Adorable indeed.”

  “I love how she kept insisting on changing her hairstyle at each location.” Jen started clicking through the insane amount of photos she’d snapped today. “Pigtails, pigtails…ponytail…hair loose…oh wait, here’s my favorite, the ballerina bun.”

  The two of them were sitting side by side on Jen’s couch, trying to pick which shots to send to Kinko’s for printing. At Jen’s suggestion, Miranda’s twins had decided to create a calendar for their mom, each month featuring a different picture of them. Dylan and Jen were footing the cost, unbeknownst to the twins, who just assumed professional calendars got made for free. But the kids were so excited about the project that Dylan was willing to pay for the whole damn thing if need be.

  “This was a really fun day,” Jen said happily, reaching for the iced tea glass on the coffee table. “Being around such cuteness kinda makes you want to have kids of your own, doesn’t it?”

  “A little,” he admitted. “But first I need a woman, don’t you think?”

  Jen smiled, and his breath actually caught. She was so damn beautiful that sometimes it hurt to look at her. Vivid blue eyes, tousled waves of golden hair, centerfold body—every inch of her was pure perfection, making Cash McCoy one very lucky man.

  “You and Cash talking about having kids yet?” he asked, sipping his own iced tea.

  “Hardly. It’s only been six months. I think the next st
ep is living together. Then marriage. Then kids. So talk to me in a couple of years.”

  “You guys are good, though? Still madly in love?”

  “Of course.” Her blue eyes softened. “Cash is amazing. I’ve never known anyone like him.”

  “And the new job’s going well?” Jen worked as a freelance photographer for several magazines, one of which happened to be very prestigious.

  “You know, the fact that you have to ask me all these questions just proves that we haven’t hung out nearly enough these past couple of months.” Her cupid’s-bow mouth puckered unhappily. “What’s going on with you, Dylan? Are you pissed off at me or something?”

  “What? Of course not.”

  “Are you pissed at Cash?”

  He took the camera from her hand and gently set it on the table, then slung an arm over her shoulder and pinned her with a firm look. “I’m not angry with you, honey. Or Cash. Or anyone, for that matter.”

  Except maybe himself, but she didn’t need to know that.

  “Then what’s wrong?” Jen’s exquisite features grew pained. “You hardly ever hang out with us anymore, and Matt says you haven’t been responding to his texts.”

  Damn it. Sometimes it sucked that Cash and O’Connor lived together. Those two gossiped more than the trio of white-haired ladies Dylan flirted with at Starbucks every morning.

  “I just haven’t felt like going out,” he said with a shrug. “I’ve been staying at home lately, working out, watching TV, shooting the shit with Seth. You know, just maxin’ and relaxin’, chillin’ like a villain.”

  Jen looked like she was torn between laughing and groaning. She settled on the former, but the amusement on her face faded fast. “I call bullshit, by the way.”

  He arched a brow. “On which part?”

  “The you-haven’t-felt-like-going-out part. What are you avoiding? Or should I say, who are you avoiding?”

  Strands of discomfort climbed up his spine.

  “Ha! So you are avoiding someone. I swear, Dylan, if you don’t confide in me, I’ll sic Cash on you. Actually, no, I’ll sic every single one of your teammates on you, my brother included. You know, your lieutenant.”

  He sighed. “We both know if I confide in you, it’s the same as confiding in Cash. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about it.”

  She looked hurt. “You think I’ll go running to Cash with whatever you tell me? You don’t trust me?”

  Another sigh shuddered out. “I trust you, Jen. Okay? I just don’t feel like talking.”

  “Why not? You like to talk. That’s the best thing about you—how open and honest you are about what you’re feeling. You’re not one of those men who bottle everything up and pretend the hurt and pain and all that crap doesn’t exist.”

  “Maybe I am one of those men,” he shot back.

  “No, you’re not. And this? You getting all flustered and bitchy? Clearly proves something is wrong. So what is it?”

  “Nothing is wrong,” he ground out.

  “Bull. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Quit lying and tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Jen, I swear to God…”

  “What’s wrong, Dylan?”

  “I want to fuck Aidan Rhodes!”

  The words flew out before he could stop them, stunning both himself and Jen into silence. Her mouth fell open, blue eyes widening.

  As heat suffused his cheeks, he averted his eyes, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut.

  “Wow. Okay, so…wow.” Jen shook her head once, twice, three times, as if trying to clear it of cobwebs. “You want to…um, have sex…with Aidan.”

  “Yes.” Pure misery shot through him, and yet with it came a feeling of liberation. This was the first time he’d said it out loud.

  “Does he…want to have sex with you?”

  I want the same damn thing.

  Dylan swallowed. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

  Jen went quiet again, and then she shrugged. “So have sex with him.”

  Now his jaw dropped. “Are you kidding?”

  “No. Are you?” She frowned. “Wait, do you not want to sleep with Aidan? Are you punking me?”

  “I’m not punking you,” he said in sheer aggravation. “But I’m pretty frickin’ confused—you think I should have, um, have…”

  “Sex,” she filled in, her voice dry.

  “Sex…with Aidan.”

  “You just said you wanted to. And if he wants the same thing, then why not go for it?”

  “Because…because it’s another man,” he burst out. “I’d be having sex with another man, Jen.”

  A laugh popped out of her mouth. “Are you kidding me? Dylan, the very first night I met you, you gave Cash a blowjob.” Her voice softened. “And I don’t think it was your first time, either. Was it?”

  He slowly shook his head.

  “So clearly you have no problem fooling around with another man.”

  “No, but…”

  “But what?”

  “Every time I’ve been with…” he felt himself blushing again, “…with another guy, there’s always been a girl there too. It’s never one-on-one.”

  “And one-on-one is bad?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” He shrugged helplessly.

  “You don’t want to think of yourself as gay, is that it?” Jen’s tone was so gentle, and so thick with understanding, that his throat clogged.

  “I’m not gay,” he answered honestly. “I love women way too much to be considered gay.”

  “Yeah, I noticed.” She paused. “But you’re into men too.”

  “Yes.”

  “So then you’re bi.”

  Amusement trickled through him. “I love how everything must always be defined. Gay, straight, bi. Why can’t people just fuck whoever they want without feeling the need to label it or explain it away?”

  Jen pointed her finger at him. “Ha! Exactly!”

  Crap. He’d totally walked into that one, hadn’t he?

  “Now change the word people to you, and whoever they want to Aidan.” When he didn’t respond right away, her blue eyes turned shrewd. “Wait a minute—are you freaking out about having sex with him because this is about more than just sex? Do you have feelings for Aidan?”

  That uncharacteristic rush of helplessness returned with full force. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I like hanging out with him, I know that much. When I stayed at his place last month, we got along really well. We have a shit-ton in common, he’s easy to talk to. So yeah, we’re buddies. I can’t fuck one of my buddies. That’d be like me hooking up with Matt or Ryan or Texas.”

  “Except you don’t want to hook up with Matt or Ryan or Texas. You want Aidan.” Jen got a dreamy look in her eyes. “And good choice, by the way. Aidan is gorgeous. And those dimples…Lord.”

  She pretended to fan herself, and Dylan had to laugh. “Dude’s not hard on the eyes,” he agreed.

  She smiled. “I’ll give you the same advice Annabelle gave me when I was hesitating about going after Cash—life’s too short. Go after what you want.”

  Uncertainty seized his chest. “I don’t know.”

  “Yes you do. You know exactly what you want, Dylan. And you’re placing way too much pressure on yourself. You’re acting like sex will lead to a relationship and a commitment ceremony and marching in the Pride parade—maybe it will, maybe it won’t. But maybe you should talk to Aidan and find out what he’s looking for before you make assumptions.”

  She raised a good point. “I guess I should, huh?”

  Really? You’ve only now figured out that avoiding him like the plague is a bad idea?

  He ignored the internal taunt. Yeah, maybe actually taking Aidan’s calls, instead of acting like the conversation they’d had on poker night hadn’t happened, would’ve been the more mature course of action.

  “You’re right. I need to talk to him.” He cleared his suddenly dry throat. “Thanks, Jen.”

  She rewarde
d him with that beautiful smile that never failed to take his breath away. “No problem.” The smile widened, curving into smirk territory. “And BTW? If you end up doing the deed with Aidan? I expect details. Like, a lot of details. Oooh, I can lend you my camera! And I’d expect a lot of pictures. Maybe one of you and Aidan making out, and one where he’s on his knees, taking you in his…”

  She was too busy verbalizing her fantasies—which she’d clearly put a lot of thought into—to notice that he was flipping her the bird.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Working on your birthday absolutely sucked. Miranda hadn’t minded teaching at the studio today, which hardly counted as work because it was something she loved to do, but spending her birthday night at the club? Sucked.

  At least Alex was here. She could always count on him to make her shift entertaining, and he didn’t disappoint. For the past ten minutes, he’d been mixing drinks to the music à la Tom Cruise in Cocktail, cracking Miranda up and eliciting a wave of oohs and aahs from the crowd of females gathered at the bar.

  “Miranda! You can go on break now!”

  She slid two Corona bottles in front of a customer, then turned to her manager. She had to shout over the hip-hop remix pounding out of the speakers. “I just took one an hour ago!”

  It was hard to tell in the strobe lights, but was that a secretive smile on Wendy’s face?

  “Take another one! Chill out in the break room for a while.”

  Uh-oh. Miranda got a very bad feeling as she untied her apron and tucked it beneath the cash register. She supposed she could’ve insisted she wanted to keep working, but who the heck turned down a break? Still, she had the sneaking suspicion that she wasn’t going to like what she found in the break room. Oh God, had Wendy somehow managed to organize a party? Maybe called in the other bartenders and bouncers who weren’t on duty tonight? Would there be a cake?

  Miranda’s stomach churned with anxiety. Aside from Alex, she wasn’t buddy-buddy with her colleagues here at OMG. And she hated parties. With a passion. The only time she enjoyed being the center of attention was when she was on stage, but even then, it didn’t exactly count as “attention”. When she danced, she blocked out everything and everyone, focusing only on the music, the rhythm, the sense of peace that washed over her and carried her away to another realm where life just made sense.