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)
Those had been Neal’s thing, and since his death, Apollo just didn’t have the stomach for any police drama.
“Hmm. No tipsy bachelorettes handing out roses and no hard-boiled detectives. I can live with that. What do you like? Cooking shows?”
Apollo was not going to dignify that with a response even if the answer was yes. There was something soothing about Chopped or Iron Chef, and he wasn’t going to apologize for kicking back with them when he couldn’t sleep. Even so, he wasn’t sure he needed Mr. Perceptive guessing.
“Figured.” Dylan laughed. “Your cooking is too good for you not to be getting tips somewhere.”
“Thanks, I think. But we can watch something you like.”
“Yeah?” Dylan’s smile widened, and he turned toward Apollo, tucking one leg under him. He looked like an overeager pelican, and yet there was something undeniably appealing about his enthusiasm. He flipped around with the controller until the icon for a show starring a pretty woman in a silver suit appeared on the screen. “How would you feel about sci-fi? Dystopian future with a war between rival time-traveling gangs? I’ve been dying to share this show I found with someone. I don’t mind going back and watching the first season again with you.”
“Anything that has you this worked up has to be good.” Despite himself, Apollo laughed. It was hard not to smile around Dylan, not to feel lighter. Neal never really cared for sci-fi, so it was nice to find someone who shared...
No. He wasn’t going to think like that. Neal hadn’t needed to share Apollo’s taste in TV. He and his Castle and Law & Order obsessions had been perfect. And Apollo was certainly not going to think about how nice it was to be hanging out with another adult, how good it felt to banter with Dylan, to not be alone in the dark with only the TV yet again.
“The chick is the star of the show, but wait until you see the guy she pairs up with.” Dylan winked at him. “Insta-crush, I promise you.”
Apollo made a scoffing noise. The last thing he needed was an “insta-crush” on anyone. Especially not the too-happy guy next to him who bounced along to the theme music and smelled...
Nope. No insta-crushes allowed.
Chapter Six
“Man, I love this show.” Dylan stretched and took a swig of his beer. In the week he’d been indoctrinating Apollo via the streaming app on his TV, this had fast become his favorite time of the day.
“Cliffhanger!” Apollo groaned and flopped back against the chaise end of the sectional couch. “You could have warned me.”
“Oops.” Dylan laughed and shoved at the immovable wall that was Apollo’s chest.
“You’re not sorry.” Apollo shoved right back. It wasn’t really play wrestling and absolutely wasn’t cuddling, but they’d gotten a lot more touchy over the last week.
“Guilty. Shall I put part two on?”
“Crap, it’s late.” Apollo gestured at the mantel clock.
“I’m not that tired, old man.” Dylan reached for the controller.
“Who you calling old? Okay, okay. One more episode.” Apollo settled back against the cushions, dragging Dylan down too. Still not cuddling, but...
No hopeless crushes, remember? Just because Apollo seemed to be unusually touchy-feely didn’t mean anything. He’d been happier than usual when he came in after work loaded down with groceries. It was beyond cute how the big guy looked forward to his cooking marathon days off. And a hot uniformed guy hauling two eager kids around as he hefted huge packages of meat and potatoes? Be still, my heart.
Your heart has issues. No crushes. None.
Next to him, Apollo yawned and stretched, one arm coming down on the sofa back. Guy was probably too exhausted to realize what he was doing, and a nicer person would slide to the other side of the couch. But all Dylan did was sink further into the couch, yawning as the opening credits rolled. Their bodies weren’t quite touching, but it was just close enough to drive him crazy. Apollo smelled like tea tree and something else woodsy—he’d showered after putting away the groceries, emerging ready for the weekend in beat-up cargo shorts and a faded T-shirt.
Dylan was dying to snuggle into that scent, see if the shirt was as soft as it looked, feel more of Apollo’s warmth. But he wasn’t some kid with delusions. They might have been having a great time the past week watching TV together, and Apollo might have loosened up considerably, but that’s all this was—two dudes sharing a show. He yawned again. Fuck. He really was tired.
Too bad he’d seen this episode twice already. It was getting hard to keep his eyes open...
Cough. Dylan’s eyes shot open. On the screen, the heroine was having a choking fit as a deadly gas was released into her hiding spot. Wait. That didn’t happen in part two of the cliffhanger. That was like three episodes down the line. He blinked at the mantel clock. Two o’clock. What the what?