Her Billionaires_ Boxed Set(81)

He wiggled his toes, feeling flour. Brushing his hand through his hair, he was shocked by the not inconsiderable amount that rained down on his shoulders and chest. Then he took a good look at the counter. Man, he was a slob.

But a slob who cooked some damn fine food.

“You don’t think we should take the opportunity?”

“I do—just not this opportunity.” Dylan blinked, struggling to explain himself. Finally, he just let arrogance take him where he needed to go. “Look, Mike. She’s vulnerable and unknowing right now. What women want at times like this is certainty. She doesn’t need truth. Oh—eventually, sure,” he said as Mike opened his mouth to protest. “Not now, though. What we all need is a quiet, comfortable, fun night where we get to know each other and—” He winked.

“Uh uh. No—” Mike winked back, exaggeratedly.

“OK, fine.” He sighed heavily. “I was on the fence anyhow. Not that I don’t want to, but more that—”

“That she needs time.”

“I think she needs us.”

“And time.”

“Not too much time, I hope.”

“We’re fucking lucky she’s here, Dylan,” Mike whispered. No anger. No frustration. Just a matter-of-fact statement.

“Not lucky,” he argued.

“Then what?”

Pink. Soft swells. Blonde hair. “Hey, guys?” Laura asked, head peering around the corner. “Ready to eat? I’m starving.” She raised her eyebrows, the skin pulling her nose up a tad and making her lips fuller. A cheerleader’s face. No—a smart cheerleader’s face.

“Yep—ready!” Dylan nearly shouted, almost jumping out of his skin when she appeared.

“What’re you guys talking about?”

“You.” Mike! So blunt.

The three walked into the dining room. Mike had even lit candles. How romantic. How unnecessary, given the cockblocking.

“Me?” she asked.

“How great you are,” Dylan jumped in, eager hands slipping around her waist, his lips reaching out to press a kiss against her temple. The way she melted into him gave him more information than 1,000 words uttered from her lips.

Mike frowned at him. She pulled back from Dylan and said breathlessly, “Well, this is one amazing dinner.” Pulling out her own chair, she settled into what would normally be Mike’s seat. Dylan grabbed Jill’s old place and Mike settled into what they called the “guest” spot. No need for formalities, right? Tradition and habit were thrown out the window now anyhow. Everything they knew, from domestic life to finances to dating had gone out the window over the past two years.

Live a little, he thought. Shake it up. Sit somewhere new.

Ah, Dylan, you wild and crazy guy.

Homemade pasta, meatballs, salad and garlic bread was probably the most stereotypical Italian meal he could have cooked, but it seemed to hit the spot for everyone. Laura ate with great gusto and Dylan admired that. So many women he dated ate like they were competing in American Idol: Anorexia Edition.

She couldn’t possibly eat more than Mike, though, who managed to eat the share of a seventeen-year-old football player going through a growth spurt. With a tapeworm. And a hollow leg.

Three plates later, Thor pushed himself back from the table and finished off his wine. “Amazing, Dylan. Really.”

“Thanks.” Dylan’s stomach stretched just enough to make him want to unbutton his jeans. And he would have, if Laura weren’t here.

“Oh,” Laura groaned, setting down her fork. “I give up.” She turned to Dylan and put her elbow on the table, chin resting in her palm. “That was the best dinner anyone has ever cooked for me.”

“Ready for dessert?” he asked. They both groaned and put up their hands in protest.

“How about a movie, first?” Mike asked.

“Which one?” Mike liked some really weird shit, like those Christopher Guest movies. Not “The Princess Bride,” which was a classic even Dylan liked, but the ones where people talked to each other like they were on some pretentious stage doing improv designed by a philosophy professor at a dog show as filmed by the Farrelly brothers.

“Let’s let Laura pick.” Mike bowed slightly, in deference to her. Mike always knew what to say. It made Dylan feel like an idiot sometimes. So, in retaliation, he totally hogged the spot next to Laura on the couch, grabbed the remote, and turned on the television, flipping to an on demand service.

“Comedy?” Dylan suggested. Laura looked between the two men, reading them. Her cheeks were a bit flushed from the wine and she seemed to have let down her guard a bit, relaxing into the sofa with a patterned throw pillow in her lap. He loved seeing her like this. Just being. And there went his body, tingling and rising to the occasion.