“Hey! Dyl!” Juan shouted, forcing Dylan out of his thoughts and back into his equipment-covered body. Jogging over, he learned they needed help with angling the ladder truck just so, a skill Dylan possessed.
It felt good to be needed.
And yet his mind wandered back to that blonde with the cat. Why did she evoke that crazy, sensual dream from the other night? Was the universe messing with his mind?
“After this,” Juan huffed as he lifted an oxygen tank, “wanna play pool at Ryan's?” Ryan's Bar was the bar on the same block as the station.
“As if I wouldn't.”
“Cool. Bring your roommate if you want.” Juan winked.
Oh, shit.
The guy thought he was – that they were -
“He can't. Hot date tonight. Found a chick who's up for anything, so...” Dylan shrugged, hoping that would be enough.
“Can I get her number if it doesn't work out?”
Dylan laughed, a hollow sound that made his teeth rattle, but he did it.
Surfaces mattered.
Even if they were fake.
Chapter 9
Dr. Harr had listened to him rant about how Dylan pushed him to sign up for this stupid online dating site. While Dylan pulled a twenty-four-hour shift, Mike had the apartment to himself.
It felt like an echo chamber, his own grief becoming a sound that pinged off the walls over and over, like a ricochet of agony.
Yep. Dylan was right.
He had to do something.
With a resigned sigh, he opened the laptop and navigated to the dating site Dylan had shown him. Logged in.
And discovered sixty-seven messages for him.
What.
The.
Fuck?
Sixty-seven messages of what?
It only took reading three or four messages for Mike to figure it out. Dylan had submitted a profile for him without saying a word, and the messages were from women looking for someone to date.
“You asshole,” he groaned. Lucky for Dylan, he was at work right now.
Mike's anger suddenly had a clarity that gave him some relief.
But then he looked at the messages.
A few of the women were drop dead gorgeous. A little too beautiful to be true. Some were from other countries, clearly seeking a green card marriage. A few looked a little too much like his mom to be of interest.
He read the messages with a strange sort of detachment, as if he were picking out the right cantaloupe at the store, assessing the perfect qualities before committing to one and taking it home, luscious and ripe.
Not that he thought about women that way. Or men.
Or human beings, period.
His head hurt, suddenly, and his feet began to twitch. This was precisely why he hated Jill so much.
Hated her for dying on him.
The thought made him sit up in shock. He didn’t hate Jill.
He loved Jill.
Loved her with an intensity so strong it burned bright even now, a year and a half after he’d last heard her voice, kissed her warm lips, been looked at with so much love in those eyes that he felt complete.
That’s what he missed. Being loved by her. Being able to love her. Having it all be so seamless.
The thought of going out into the crazy dating scene and finding another woman made him go half-mad, because if hell is other people, then the devil has a lot of fun with dating profiles and awkward first dates.
He closed the laptop. Later, when Dylan was home and rested, he’d chew him out. Right now, the entire process exhausted him. Thinking about being with another woman—any woman other than Jill—made his insides twist into a Möbius strip.
Bed. He needed to sleep. The oblivion of it was a welcome balm, and as he faded out he was grateful for an empty mind and a resting body.
At least the sorrow in his dreams didn’t follow him in real life.
Her heat was so soothing, the spread of silky skin along the length of his oversized body a blanket he could wear forever. She inhaled, then exhaled, a tiny sound of contentment coming from her, so cute it made him chuckle.
The sun peeked its rays into the room as it cracked its eyes open and began its morning routine, sunrise beginning. In the strange morning half-light, he watched her hair glisten like honey mixed with cream. His arm was around her and she nestled her cheek into his pecs, the feel of soft, pliant flesh against his own marbled body such a welcome contrast that he needed to feel more.
The steady march of his palm down her ribs, cupping her breast, made her sigh, a sound of encouragement all he needed. He moved his arm and pulled her onto him, her thigh bending just so and then, with a pleasant twist, he was in her.
Or, rather, she was on him.
Straightening up, her eyes sleepy and unfocused, she placed her hands on his shoulders and sank down completely, the feeling of encasement by her warm core the closest he could ever come to nirvana.
This unexpected morning delight gave him an unfettered view of her body, the heavy, round breasts with pert nipples, the loose, disheveled blonde hair still tangled from last night’s lovemaking. Her mouth stretched into an O of concentration, her own orgasm closer than his. He watched her, feeling blessed that she would offer him this glimpse of her sexual soul.
He began the slow, languid movement of his hips, thrusting up into her to find the sweet spot that would make her tighten, entice her to cry out, strip her of all control until she shuddered wildly. Each thrust up made her thighs clench his hips, and his hand reached up to take one nipple between his fingers, the other slipping between them as he—
Mike awoke with a start, cock at full mast and his heart slapping his ribs so hard it was like being spanked, a sob in his throat as he looked around the room, frantically grabbing the sheets to see what had happened to her. She was just here. Just here.
Where did she go?
His head swiveled left and right, eyes adjusting in the early morning light, the sooty grey of the room too dim. Sweat covered him and he chilled instantly, gooseflesh exploding on every inch of exposed skin.
Reality sank in.
She wasn’t real.
She was just a dream.
No. Impossible. He could feel her on his skin. His cock was wet from her juices, his hand poking under the covers to touch it, finding only his own wetness there. He could still smell her, the scent fruity with a touch of cinnamon and musk, her hair in his eyes, brushing against his chest.
No matter how hard he tried to make her real, though, the empty bedroom was testimony to the folly.
Dreams were where he saw her. Not in his arms, but in his subconscious.
Mike closed his eyes, willing himself to conjure her taste, her touch, how she looked, but the senses disappointed him as it all faded. Every bit of it, leaving only one final feeling:
Despair.
For a few shining moments in REM sleep he’d been blissfully wanted, stroked, tasted and loved.
And the dream woman wasn’t Jill.
How was he supposed to feel about that?
He didn't know. And when he didn't know how to feel, there was only one thing to do.
Run.
Chapter 10
His eyes met hers and she melted inside, as if he’d sent heat through her with the specific purpose of making her bones soft and pliant, as warm as her flesh.
Being asked to fuck a man made her heart pound in her ears so hard she wasn’t sure she heard him right. While both men could be dominant, and demanding in bed, the blonde one wasn’t the type to—