Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
“He can have ducky!” Chloe held out one of the flotation toys kept in a bin by the pool.
“Dylan can swim.” Dylan emerged from the house, crossing the small yard to the pool. He wore purple board shorts and a gray nylon shirt that looked better suited for the surfers at the beach. “But can you guys?”
The girls giggled. “Of course, silly.” Chloe danced around Dylan.
“I’ve been working with them since they were babies. They can swim, but never, ever alone—”
“Apollo. I think you can trust me not to toss them in the deep end and walk away.” Dylan let out a long-suffering sigh.
Maybe he was being a bit hard on Dylan. “Sorry.”
The girls scampered down the steps for the shallow end, toys in tow. Not quite ready to get in the water, Apollo lowered himself to the side of the pool, legs in the water, senses on high-alert for the first sign of trouble. He was used to being in charge of a team of men on dives, but that didn’t make him near as nervous as supervising two active kids. Dylan sat next to him, not close enough to touch, but close enough that Apollo was only too aware of him right there.
“Nice ink. You didn’t have that one before.” Dylan gestured at Apollo’s chest.
“Thanks,” Apollo ground out. He hated this motherfucking tattoo like a bad Alanis Morrisette song. He could still remember Neal’s quiet teasing when he got it after the girls were born.
“You’re a sentimental fool, tough guy.” Neal walked around him, inspecting the still-red skin.
“It’s just ink.” Apollo shrugged. He hadn’t been sure exactly what he was getting until he was at his favorite tattoo artist, browsing designs.
“Putting ‘blessed’ in hundred-point font across your pecs definitely qualifies as sentimental. And a bird for each girl? Sorry to say it, but you’re a secret sap.” Neal’s laugh washed over him, familiar and comforting.
“All for you, babe.”
Three years later, Apollo had roared at the mirror the first time he saw the tattoo after Neal died, coming perilously close to shattering the fucking thing. And in the two years since, he hadn’t mellowed any toward the tattoo. Only thing keeping him from getting it lasered off was the girls—didn’t want them thinking he wasn’t happy to have them. But blessed? That ship had sailed the day Neal died.
“So what’s up next? A back piece? Another sleeve?” Dylan was way too chipper. In the pool, the girls were riding their floating ducks and splashing each other.
“Nothing. I’m done with tattoos for good.”
“For good? But you love—” Dylan’s eyes went wide, and his gaze dipped to Apollo’s chest again. “Oh.”
Damn kid was too fucking perceptive. Apollo slid into the water so that Dylan could stop inspecting him. Yeah, once upon a time he’d loved getting new ink. Then once upon a time blew up, and he couldn’t imagine getting back in that chair, getting something permanent and trusting it wouldn’t haunt him.
“Why don’t you have ink if you like it so much?” Apollo sounded like a cranky bear but couldn’t be bothered to try to moderate his tone. He did with everyone else. All day. Every day. And it was just hard. Somehow he just couldn’t seem to put up the same front with Dylan.
Dylan laughed like he either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care about Apollo’s biting tone. He waited until after he’d lowered himself into the water to answer. “Honestly? I’m scared of needles. Also, not all schools and programs look kindly on ink. I want to wait until I’ve got something permanent jobwise. Then I might take the leap. I’ve got an idea for a War Elf-themed one right here.” Dylan pointed at his forearm.
“The needles aren’t such a big deal. And it’s a hell of an adrenaline rush. You’d like that. If you get up the courage, wait until you come back down to visit Dustin. I’ll take you to my guy. He does quality work.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.” The smile Dylan gave him made Apollo feel even more like a heel for how he’d been acting much of the day. Dylan tugged his shirt down as it ballooned up in the water.
“What’s up with the shirt? It’s not that sunny out.”
“I...uh.” Dylan looked away, a dusky flush creeping up his neck. “You didn’t seem to like me shirtless earlier. Thought I’d cover up until I had a chance to manscape a bit.”
“I didn’t like it?” Apollo blinked. That wasn’t how he remembered it—only that he hadn’t been able to stop staring at Dylan’s sculpted body. Dylan didn’t have a twink’s body like the smooth young things Ben kept bringing around. His was a man’s body, with a surprisingly furry chest and chiseled muscles. And Apollo had been powerless to do anything other than stare, unwelcome heat traveling to some very underused locales in his body.