Aced (15 page)

“Well, you need to hang up now so I can go and have a”—Dylan coughed a little—“shower.”

“Why do I need to hang up?” I asked him, enjoying the tease more than I’d ever imagined. This guy was making me feel things I’d only dreamed about. “You can too, you know.”

“Ha. It’s a shame to hang up when Ace Locke is calling me from his bed with what I know has to be one hell of a morning hard-on. But if the only way I’m going to see you today is to leave you hanging, then…”
 

And before I could respond, Dylan hung up.

LATE FRIDAY EVENING, I was standing in my trailer staring at the stranger reflected back at me. I’d pulled on a baseball cap over a ridiculous wig Frank had shoved in my bag early this morning, wore my dark Aviator glasses, and shrugged into a lightweight flannel shirt, trying to appear as unlike myself as possible. And it was working. There was no way I’d wear something like this by choice, especially not this time of the year. But I rolled the sleeves up and consoled myself with the fact that in ten minutes I could take it the hell off.
 

I tugged the strap of my gym bag up my arm and shook my head. Was I actually about to make my way, by foot, over to Dylan’s apartment to spend the night?
Yes, yes, I was.
 

It didn’t take me long to get to his place, and as I walked up the stairs after a nearly fourteen-hour day, I couldn’t believe I still had a raging hard-on from the conversation I’d had with the guy before dawn. It was insane. But I was starting to think that none of my reactions to Dylan would ever be anything less than extreme, whether it be sanity, arousal, or paranoia.

When I stopped at his door, I kept my head down and knocked, and when it opened before I’d even lowered my arm, Dylan stepped aside so I could brush by. His awareness, and acceptance, of my need to be discreet was appreciated. He had a way about him that let me know, even without words, that he was okay with just hanging out. The two of us on the down-low. Because he knew that was the only way it could be. But somewhere in the back of my mind was the niggling hint of doubt:
What if that stops being enough?
 

As the door shut behind us, Dylan let out a laugh. “Good God, don’t ever grow your hair long and dye it blond.”

I dropped my bag by my feet and tugged the cap and wig off my head. Then I unbuttoned the flannel and took it off before facing him where he was leaning up against the door.
 

“No?” I asked, as I tossed the items on his couch and walked back in his direction.
 

“No,” Dylan said, shaking his head. “I like you buzzed like this. Or dark and short, like it was in
Never Let Go.
”

When I stopped in front of him, I crossed my arms over my chest and raised an eyebrow. “Just how big a fan are you, Dylan?”

He shoved his hands into his pockets, and then sank his teeth into his bottom lip. “Well, I’m not like a stalker fan, but, umm…I wasn’t lying when I said I’ve watched all your movies many times over.”

The flush in his cheeks was endearing
and
alluring as I continued to watch him squirm.

“How many times is…many?”

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked.
 

I took the final step to bring me within inches of his body, and then placed my hands on either side of his head. “I am, actually. I think this is the first time you’ve ever been nervous around me. Well, except that first day. You were…” I drew my finger down the line of his jaw, finally allowing myself the freedom to touch this man. “Adorable that day.”

“Just the word every man wants to be called by someone he wants to have sex with.”

I took his chin in a tight grip and, refusing to be sidetracked, asked again, “How many times is
many
, Dylan?”

I saw him swallow, and then wet his lip with the tip of his tongue. “Well, my roommate back home used to go with me to watch them on the big screen. And then I’d buy them, and then, well, if it was on TV I would always watch…and, and—”

He was so damn cute, stammering away against my mouth, and it struck me as ironic that in some ways each of us were very confident, yet in others, we were more…vulnerable.

“And?”

He reached for my hips then and tugged me forward. “And…I have watched them too many times to count, while alone, in my bed.”

“That,” I said, as I kissed my way up his jaw to his ear, “makes me fucking hard.”

He turned his head against the door so our noses brushed. “Yeah? That doesn’t freak you out?”

I nipped at his lower lip. “No. It might’ve had you shown up on the set and come on to me.”

“Really?” he asked, his lips curving against mine.

I thought about that and then said honestly, “Probably not. The minute I worked out who you were, I wouldn’t have cared if you had my name tattooed on your ass.”

Dylan pressed a kiss against my lips and then raised his hands to push me back a little. Then he gave a flirty wink as he stepped around me, saying, “How do you know I don’t?”

“Don’t tease me. I will pants you right here, right now.”
 

As Dylan laughed, he shoved me away and said, “So would you like a tour first before you get me naked?”

“A…tour?” I looked around the small studio apartment. “Uh, sure?”

Dylan took my hand and led me to a door about six feet to my right. “Here we have the master bathroom. It’s quite luxurious, as you can see. Can fit one whole person at a time, so don’t get any ideas about fucking me in the shower.”
 

I stuck my head inside and took in the tiny shower area and freshly painted cream walls that couldn’t quite cover how old the apartment really was.
 

“I think the inside of my car is bigger than this,” I said, as Dylan pulled me into the kitchen. Or at least I think it was the kitchen. There was something that resembled a short refrigerator, and the smallest microwave I’d ever seen sat on the countertop.

“And this,” he said, waving his arm in a grand gesture, “is the kitchen, where I prepare masterpieces you’d salivate over.”

“Most impressive. But, uh…” I glanced behind me at where a couch was pushed up against the far wall next to a counter area that separated the space from the kitchen. There was a TV in the far corner, and in the opposite corner was a tallboy. “Where the hell do you sleep?”

“Now, this might blow your mind,” Dylan said, walking past me into the mostly empty space. “Stand back.” Then he pulled on a string hanging from the wall and eased a bed down onto the ground. It was already made and took up almost the entire room. “Ta-da!”
 

“Holy shit.”

“I know. Try not to be too blown away.” Dylan looked all kinds of amused as he stared at my expression. “So, what do you think?”

“
Cozy
is the word I’d use.”

Dylan burst out laughing. “You can say it. It’s tiny as fuck.”

“It’ll just force us to get a little closer, is all,” I said, squeezing past the end of the bed to where he was standing by a sliding glass door. My hands went to Dylan’s hips and tugged him forward. As I leaned in to give him a kiss that reassured him I didn’t give a shit about where he lived, a shriek sounded.

“
Dylan! You need some Sunshine in your life!
”

I jerked back and looked down to where the noise was coming from his pants pocket. “What the hell is that?”

Dylan reached into his pocket, silenced the noise, and then grabbed a hold of my shirt. “Where were we?” As he brought his face closer to mine, the shriek sounded again.

“
Dylan! You need some Sunshine in your life!
”
 

“Oh come
on
,” he said, and this time he pulled the phone out and hit a button.
 

“Is that your ringtone? Isn’t Sunshine your mom?”

“Yeah, it’s my mom,” Dylan muttered, and then he did a double take at the screen. “Shit.”

“What’s wrong?” I asked, as the blasted thing lit up again.
 

Dylan held up a finger. “Sorry, give me a sec.” Then he hit the answer button, smiled broadly, and said, “Hey, Sunshine, how’s it going? Yes, I was going to answer… No, I’m not in the middle of having sex… No, I didn’t forget our Skype date. I just got in from work. Can we reschedule for tomorrow inste— Oh, right. Yeah, okay, give me a minute and I’ll call you.”

When he hung up, he gave me an apologetic look. “Sorry, I forgot about our weekly Skype, and I need to give them a call. I promise it won’t take long.”

“That’s okay. And stop apologizing.”

“Sorry.”

I cocked my head and he held up his hands in surrender. Then he took out the laptop under the television and went over to the counter to set up.
 

“Don’t worry, I won’t get you on camera. Just go sit on the bed over there.”

“You don’t want me to meet your family?”

Dylan looked up from what he was typing. “No. No, it’s not that. I just figured…well…they’re a lot to take in, so I thought I’d spare you. For now, anyway.”
 

“If you say so.” I went over to the head of the bed where he’d indicated and plopped down onto the firm mattress, as he dialed in to the call. And what came next was something I hadn’t been expecting.
 

“Daydream! You rotten thing, not answering when I call,” came a female voice just like the one that’d been on his ringtone. “I guess you weren’t lying about not being in the middle of any extracurricular activities, since you’re fully dressed.”

Daydream?
When I shot Dylan a curious look and mouthed the word, he flushed a bright shade of pink.
 

“Or maybe I’m wrong,” the woman continued. “Why’s your face so red?”

I leaned back against the wall and waited to see what would come out of the mouth of the gorgeous man standing at the counter. In ripped jeans that sat low on his hips and wearing a t-shirt with the words “Sunset Cove Surf Shop,” he looked entirely edible, and I wished he wasn’t standing on the opposite side of the room so I could run my fingers through his still-wet brown hair. It wasn’t as long as it used to be, but there was still enough to grab on to.
 

Fuck
, that thought had me squirming, and the move wasn’t lost on Dylan, whose gaze landed on my hips before meeting my eyes.
 

“Hey, Sunshine,” he said, looking back at the screen and giving the person on the other end a big smile. “Nice mustache, Ziggy. Very Frank Zappa.”

“See?” a man said. “I knew Daydream would get it. The boy knows the icons.”

“I didn’t say he wouldn’t get it. I said he’d think it was more Freddie Mercury. You know how he likes those queens.” The woman sounded amused, like she was proud of her joke. “Get it?” she said. “Queen?”

Dylan laughed and nodded. “Yeah, you’re a riot, Sunshine.”

“I try,” she said. “Hang on, let me see where Lennon went.”
 

I heard her call out for whoever that was—
seriously, what’s with the names?
—and then a voice straight out of
Dude, Where’s My Car?
got on the line.
 

“Heyyyy, bro, how’s the surf up in Hollywoooooood?”
 

Holy shit, that guy is a stoner
, I thought, chuckling to myself.
A sibling, maybe?
I couldn’t see Dylan’s family from where I sat, but listening to them, I never would’ve imagined they were related to him. He seemed too…normal, but then again, there was a lot I didn’t know about the guy yet. And he
was
wearing a surf shirt.

“Haven’t gotten a chance to check out the waves in a while, but you’d love it out here,” Dylan said. “Happy birthday, by the way. Your gift from me should be there soon.”

“Aw thanks, maaaan. We went to the sweat lodge yesterday, and whoaaaaa. It was so spiritual, man. Like, out-of-body experience. And then I woke up today, and my dick, man. It’s, like…bigger and shit. I swear, it’s like all the bad juju was weighing it down, but I sweated that stuff out and now it’s, like…free.”

What the holy fuck is he talking about?
I knew my eyeballs had to be the size of saucers when Dylan glanced my way, because he choked out a laugh and then coughed to cover it.
 

“You sure that’s not the horny goat weed talking?” Dylan asked.
 

Uh…the horny what?

“Naw, maaan. I wasn’t having trouble getting it up, it was just…heavy, bro.”

“Well, I’m glad you set that shit free,” Dylan said, and I had to cover my mouth to stop the laugh that wanted to break out.
 

“Honey, what are you looking at?” the woman named Sunshine asked. “You got someone there?”

“No, of course not. Just me.”

“Well, show me your place again. I want to see where it is you’re staying.”

“It’s a mess right now. I’ll show you guys next week.”

“Ziggy, I bet once Daydream turns that camera around, we’ll see a little guest. We won’t bite.”

“Heyyyy, bro’s got companyyyyy,” stoner dude said, and that was when I decided I had to see who was on the other end of that call.
 

I pushed off the bed and walked over to the counter, and though Dylan didn’t dare look at me to give me away, he was shaking his head like I didn’t want to invite what I was asking for. Before he could stop me, I peeked over his shoulder to see three blond-haired, blue-eyed faces looking back at us, and when they saw me, their jaws dropped.

“Hi,” I said, and when they all began to talk over each other at once, Dylan held up his hand.

“Guys, guys,” he said, and when they finally got quiet, he continued, “This is Ace.”

“Oh boy. Not so little, is he?” Dylan’s mother said, with an admiring glance my way. She looked exactly as I thought she would from the little I’d heard. Long, wavy blond hair cascaded over her shoulders, and though she wore no makeup, her skin was flawless.
 

On her left was a man with laugh lines crinkling his eyes, and the mustache he was stroking was indeed just like Frank Zappa’s. And then to the right was a younger guy, and even if I hadn’t heard his name, I would’ve guessed Lennon, McCartney, Starr, or Harrison by the long bowl cut he wore, with the front covering most of his eyes. From the way he’d sounded earlier, he could be half-asleep behind all that hair.