Hotter Than Ever
Page 27
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
“I doubt it.”
“So stubborn, aren’t you, sweetheart? Must be a redhead trait.” Still grinning, he slid off the stool and picked up his empty plate. “Hurry up and finish your breakfast, Claire. We’ve got games to watch. And believe me when I say I’m going to thoroughly enjoy watching your team get their asses kicked.”
Chapter Six
Dylan did an honest-to-God double take when he walked into the living room later that afternoon. Followed by a triple take, because the last thing he expected to find was Aidan and Claire on the couch watching football together.
Almost instantly, a strand of irritation wrapped around his spine. “Hey,” he said curtly. A glance at the flat screen only added to his bad mood—San Fran was losing 17-3.
Aidan nodded hello. “How were the waves?”
“Nonexistent.” He marched over and dropped a green Tupperware container on the glass coffee table, right in front of Claire. “Here, this is for you.”
She looked confused. “What is it?”
“Cupcakes. Our buddy’s wife, Shelby, owns a bakery in Coronado, and she insisted I bring something back for you.”
“For me?” Claire’s confusion deepened. “Why?”
“Call it a getting-dumped-at-the-altar present.” His tone was harsher than he’d intended, but he wasn’t in the mood to apologize.
He’d been looking forward to coming home and shooting the shit with Aidan, not spending time with his brother’s ex, but it was clear that Claire wasn’t going anywhere. She was curled up on the couch with her knees tucked up, and either he was imagining it, or her socked feet were pressed up against the side of Aidan’s thigh.
Nope, not imagining it.
Didn’t they look cozy.
“Oh, that was nice of her, I guess,” Claire said. “Tell her I said thank you.”
“Will do.”
“Grab a beer and join us,” Aidan told him. “Your team is playing like garbage, but on the bright side, mine isn’t.”
“Yeah, because I’m so invested in your big, bad Bears.”
Rolling his eyes, Dylan strode to the kitchen. He returned a moment later with a cold bottle of Bud in his hand, but he didn’t sit on the same couch as Aidan and Claire. Rather, he flopped down on the second sofa, twisted off the bottle cap and took a long slug of beer.
“How are the boys?” Aidan asked.
“Same old. Seth and Miranda are having people over for dinner on Christmas Eve. They want us to come.” Dylan glanced over. “Do you know if you’re heading back to Chicago for the holidays?”
“I haven’t talked to my dad yet, but I’m guessing going home won’t pan out. He’s not big on the holidays.”
Since Aidan rarely spoke about his father, Dylan was damn tempted to push for more details, but he knew the other man would just clam up if he did. And with Claire sitting there, the chances of Aidan opening up were even slimmer.
Or so he thought.
“Are you and your dad close?” Claire spoke up.
Aidan shrugged. “More or less.”
“What about your mom?”
Dylan tensed. There was an unspoken rule in the condo when it came to Aidan’s mother—don’t talk about her. Ever.
And so it came as a genuine surprise when Aidan actually answered the question.
“She died when I was six.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Was she sick?”
“No. She…she got run down by a drunk driver when she was picking me up from school one day.” His voice thickened with pain. “She pushed me out of the car’s path but didn’t manage to get herself out of the way in time.”
Shock smashed into Dylan’s chest with the force of a jackhammer. Jesus Christ. This was the first he’d heard of it, and he had no idea how to respond.
Next to Aidan, Claire gasped. “Oh my God. That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard. I’m so sorry, Aidan.”
There was a flash of movement in Dylan’s peripheral vision. When he looked over, he saw that Claire was gripping Aidan’s hand and stroking his knuckles.
Dylan locked gazes with his roommate, unsure of what to say to the confession. “You never told me that before,” was what came out.
Aidan shrugged. “I’ve never told anyone.”
And yet he’d opened up to Claire.
The jealousy or resentment Dylan expected to feel did not come. Instead, he was overcome by a strange rush of gratitude. He didn’t know why Aidan felt comfortable enough around Claire to share such a private snippet of information, but the revelation offered the insight Dylan had been seeking for months. It allowed some of the puzzle pieces to slide into place and explained the shadows in Aidan’s eyes.
“Anyway, the holidays were my mom’s favorite time of year, so it makes sense that they bum my dad out.” Aidan’s voice took on that careless note that hinted he was about to change the subject. Which was exactly what he did. “By the way, Claire roots for the Niners too. So you two can console each other after your loss.”
Claire was wise enough to drop the subject, sparking Dylan’s grudging approval. “You don’t need to win games to be awesome,” she said in a haughty tone. “Our guys can go oh-and-seventeen and would still be better than your Bears.”
Dylan raised his beer in a mock toast. “Can’t argue with that.”
The leather cushions squeaked as Claire leaned forward to pick up the plastic container he’d left on the table. She snapped open the lid, peered inside and made a delighted sound. “Oooh, these look so good.”
“So stubborn, aren’t you, sweetheart? Must be a redhead trait.” Still grinning, he slid off the stool and picked up his empty plate. “Hurry up and finish your breakfast, Claire. We’ve got games to watch. And believe me when I say I’m going to thoroughly enjoy watching your team get their asses kicked.”
Chapter Six
Dylan did an honest-to-God double take when he walked into the living room later that afternoon. Followed by a triple take, because the last thing he expected to find was Aidan and Claire on the couch watching football together.
Almost instantly, a strand of irritation wrapped around his spine. “Hey,” he said curtly. A glance at the flat screen only added to his bad mood—San Fran was losing 17-3.
Aidan nodded hello. “How were the waves?”
“Nonexistent.” He marched over and dropped a green Tupperware container on the glass coffee table, right in front of Claire. “Here, this is for you.”
She looked confused. “What is it?”
“Cupcakes. Our buddy’s wife, Shelby, owns a bakery in Coronado, and she insisted I bring something back for you.”
“For me?” Claire’s confusion deepened. “Why?”
“Call it a getting-dumped-at-the-altar present.” His tone was harsher than he’d intended, but he wasn’t in the mood to apologize.
He’d been looking forward to coming home and shooting the shit with Aidan, not spending time with his brother’s ex, but it was clear that Claire wasn’t going anywhere. She was curled up on the couch with her knees tucked up, and either he was imagining it, or her socked feet were pressed up against the side of Aidan’s thigh.
Nope, not imagining it.
Didn’t they look cozy.
“Oh, that was nice of her, I guess,” Claire said. “Tell her I said thank you.”
“Will do.”
“Grab a beer and join us,” Aidan told him. “Your team is playing like garbage, but on the bright side, mine isn’t.”
“Yeah, because I’m so invested in your big, bad Bears.”
Rolling his eyes, Dylan strode to the kitchen. He returned a moment later with a cold bottle of Bud in his hand, but he didn’t sit on the same couch as Aidan and Claire. Rather, he flopped down on the second sofa, twisted off the bottle cap and took a long slug of beer.
“How are the boys?” Aidan asked.
“Same old. Seth and Miranda are having people over for dinner on Christmas Eve. They want us to come.” Dylan glanced over. “Do you know if you’re heading back to Chicago for the holidays?”
“I haven’t talked to my dad yet, but I’m guessing going home won’t pan out. He’s not big on the holidays.”
Since Aidan rarely spoke about his father, Dylan was damn tempted to push for more details, but he knew the other man would just clam up if he did. And with Claire sitting there, the chances of Aidan opening up were even slimmer.
Or so he thought.
“Are you and your dad close?” Claire spoke up.
Aidan shrugged. “More or less.”
“What about your mom?”
Dylan tensed. There was an unspoken rule in the condo when it came to Aidan’s mother—don’t talk about her. Ever.
And so it came as a genuine surprise when Aidan actually answered the question.
“She died when I was six.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Was she sick?”
“No. She…she got run down by a drunk driver when she was picking me up from school one day.” His voice thickened with pain. “She pushed me out of the car’s path but didn’t manage to get herself out of the way in time.”
Shock smashed into Dylan’s chest with the force of a jackhammer. Jesus Christ. This was the first he’d heard of it, and he had no idea how to respond.
Next to Aidan, Claire gasped. “Oh my God. That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard. I’m so sorry, Aidan.”
There was a flash of movement in Dylan’s peripheral vision. When he looked over, he saw that Claire was gripping Aidan’s hand and stroking his knuckles.
Dylan locked gazes with his roommate, unsure of what to say to the confession. “You never told me that before,” was what came out.
Aidan shrugged. “I’ve never told anyone.”
And yet he’d opened up to Claire.
The jealousy or resentment Dylan expected to feel did not come. Instead, he was overcome by a strange rush of gratitude. He didn’t know why Aidan felt comfortable enough around Claire to share such a private snippet of information, but the revelation offered the insight Dylan had been seeking for months. It allowed some of the puzzle pieces to slide into place and explained the shadows in Aidan’s eyes.
“Anyway, the holidays were my mom’s favorite time of year, so it makes sense that they bum my dad out.” Aidan’s voice took on that careless note that hinted he was about to change the subject. Which was exactly what he did. “By the way, Claire roots for the Niners too. So you two can console each other after your loss.”
Claire was wise enough to drop the subject, sparking Dylan’s grudging approval. “You don’t need to win games to be awesome,” she said in a haughty tone. “Our guys can go oh-and-seventeen and would still be better than your Bears.”
Dylan raised his beer in a mock toast. “Can’t argue with that.”
The leather cushions squeaked as Claire leaned forward to pick up the plastic container he’d left on the table. She snapped open the lid, peered inside and made a delighted sound. “Oooh, these look so good.”
