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  “Just for the record, I don’t mind a little...monkey action.” Dylan gave a sassy smile and swam away to the far end before Apollo could do the only sensible thing and dunk his insolent ass. The air was mild, but Apollo wasn’t deceived—it was going to be a long, hot summer.

  Chapter Five

  “So do you have a girlfriend?” Allie asked as she and Dylan sorted kid artwork into alphabetical order, ready for pickup.

  The kids were all with the high school and college aged counselors having their afternoon snack and story. The day camp had taken over a small community center near the park, and Dylan and Allie were at the front of the multipurpose room, working at the welcome tables set up to check campers in and out each day. They were coming up on the end of the first week of day camp, which meant he’d been living with Apollo a week now. And he really shouldn’t be thinking about Apollo in response to Allie’s question—the guy appeared impervious to Dylan’s teasing and flirting, and it didn’t matter how many of his fantasies Apollo starred in, nothing was ever happening there.

  “Nope. No boyfriend.” Dylan smiled as he gently corrected her. Allie was around his age with long dark braids and a ready smile. The kids adored her.

  “Darn it. Why are the cute ones always gay?” She mock pouted. She didn’t seem particularly surprised either, confirming Dylan’s suspicion that this was a fishing expedition. “I’ve got this friend I was dying to set you up with. You want to come out with us tomorrow night anyway? Just for fun.”

  “Maybe,” Dylan hedged. What was wrong with him? Ordinarily, he’d love the chance to go out. “I have to see if I’m needed with the girls.”

  “Oh that’s right. How’s that working out? The dad is hot.” Allie fanned herself.

  “Yeah, he is.” Dylan couldn’t help agreeing. And indeed, Apollo in his uniform when he’d picked up the girls yesterday had been a sight to behold. Every now and then, Dylan would catch Apollo looking at him with clear appreciation, but those moments always evaporated as soon as Dylan returned Apollo’s gaze. “And the girls are great. It’s no hassle helping out.”

  He wasn’t lying—the girls were fun, even if their dad seemed bound and determined to act like Dylan was still fifteen.

  Buzz. Dylan’s phone vibrated in his pocket. Since they weren’t with the campers, Dylan pulled it out. The message was from Apollo, who as usual skipped any sort of greeting.

  Work emergency. Going to need to stay late. Can you take point with dinner and bedtime for the girls? Lasagna in the fridge for you to reheat. I’ll update with an ETA when I can.

  Dylan smiled to himself. Take point. He liked the SEAL lingo that Apollo could casually toss out.

  I’m on it, he replied. No worries. Good luck. He tried to ignore the floppy sensation in his stomach. Dustin was still overseas, and even the sound of emergency had Dylan’s pulse racing, even though he knew Apollo’s job dealt more with training than live mission stuff.

  Apollo’s reply was almost immediate. Thanks. And can’t tell you much, but this isn’t to do with Dustin’s team. Wow. The dude was one hell of a mind reader, and why that made Dylan’s face heat, he couldn’t say. Apollo could be as grumpy as the troll in the girls’ favorite book, but then he’d go and be all considerate and Dylan would feel the edges of that old crush, ready to drag him back under Apollo’s spell.

  Not gonna happen, he reminded himself as he began the end-of-the-day checkout chaos, handing out the artwork and making sure no backpacks or lunch boxes were left behind.

  “Okay,” he said to the girls when it was finally time for them to head to their car. “Here’s the deal. Daddy has to work late—”

  “You mean Baba? Daddy’s in heaven,” Sophia corrected him, very matter-of-fact.

  “No one has to work in heaven,” Chloe added.

  Okay. How was he supposed to respond to this? “Yeah. I meant Baba. He has to work late, so we’re going to have to be extra good—”

  “Did you know Daddy?” Chloe asked as Dylan buckled her into her seat.

  “No, pumpkin. I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

  “We have pictures,” Sophia announced. “I can show you. Ya-Ya made us special books.”

  And so Dylan ended up with a lap full of girls back at the house, “special books” in tow as they looked at picture after picture of Apollo and Neal with the girls. Neal had been a tall, pale brown-haired man with a slight build and shy smile who looked a bit older than Apollo—not at all what Dylan would have guessed as Apollo’s type, but the adoration between the two was clear.

  “You don’t cough.” Chloe studied Dylan carefully. “Baba always coughs when he reads the book.”

  Damn. Now Dylan’s throat was painfully tight. Poor Apollo, forced to see reminders of the guy he’d loved just so the girls kept his memory alive. What a sucky position to be in.

  “Let’s eat,” he said, blinking hard.

  “I want to play dress-up while you cook.” Sophia scampered off in the direction of the dress-up box. The living room had one wall devoted to kid stuff—play kitchen, dollhouse, carefully labeled bins and shelves with other toys, and a fanciful dress-up corner that Dylan bet was the handiwork of Mrs. Floros.

  By the time Dylan reheated the lasagna and got a vegetable ready, the girls had completely destroyed the organization in the living room.

  “We need to clean up,” Dylan told them after they ate.

  “Ya-Ya never makes us clean.” Chloe frowned. “Baba will clean when he comes home.”

  “Baba does not need to come home to a mess,” Dylan said. This was the first time he had to get firm with the girls. “Now, can we make a game of it?”

  “A game?” Sophia perked up.

  “Yeah. Let’s pretend we’re giant trash trucks eating up all the mess!” Dylan summoned a last burst of energy, because damn, it had been a long day, and it wasn’t over yet. Apollo’s sheet with the bedtime routine had cleaning followed by pajamas and stories, and Dylan tried to stick to it even though drama over needing to find Kitty the Elephant pushed them thirty minutes behind schedule.

  “Dylan?” Chloe said sleepily from her side of the room as Dylan closed the story book.

  “Yeah, pumpkin?”

  “I’m glad you’re here.” She cuddled Bee Baby closer and shut her eyes.

  “I’m glad I’m here too.” Dylan’s throat felt wrapped in wet wool. Please don’t let me mess things up for this family. “Sleep tight.”

  * * *

  Apollo groaned as he hefted himself out of the car. He’d left for base at oh-six-hundred, and while sixteen-hour days were hardly anything new for him, he was still beat. Working for SEAL operations was different than being out with his team, and he was still getting used to the changed routine. Fewer runs, less time in the grinder, no more challenges and inter-team contests. Instead, he was the one helping to devise the training exercises that all teams relied on, and that meant long days of meetings, triple-checking logistics, and being ready to explain when things didn’t go according to plan.

  He opened the door to the house carefully, prepared to pick up a line of toys littering the entryway. But to his surprise, the entry was clear, and the living room looked like the twins hadn’t even played in there, everything back in its place. A quick peek upstairs revealed two girls sleeping in a room that had clearly been picked up before bed, stuffed animals and dolls in a neat line on the shelves.

  Huh. Well that certainly meant less cleaning time. Now he could just focus on the kitchen before bed. But the kitchen wasn’t empty, and it certainly wasn’t the mess Apollo had expected. Instead, the counter and table gleamed and the sink was empty. Dylan had earbuds in and was sweeping the floor, a little smile on his face as he nodded along with whatever he was listening to.

  Apollo cleared his throat loudly, narrowly missing bumping into Dylan.
<
br />   “Oh! You’re home.” Dylan yanked his earbuds out. “Emergency handled?”

  Apollo nodded because he really couldn’t say more than that. All the training-related work he did was strictly confidential, and as much as he might like to bitch about a jump training exercise where everything short of injury that could go wrong had gone wrong, he kept his mouth shut.

  “You couldn’t tell me if it was all FUBAR, could you?” Dylan laughed. The kid had clearly picked up some SEAL lingo from his brother. “But thanks for telling me it wasn’t Dustin’s team.”

  “I knew you’d worry.” Apollo opened the fridge. Everything was back in its place, with the exception of a dinner plate covered with plastic wrap. Big portion of lasagna, steamed broccoli, and a slice of bread. “This mine?”

  “Yeah.” Dylan took the plate from him. “Let me heat it up for you. Want a beer?” He gestured at a half-drank bottle of Heineken on the counter. “I know I needed one after chasing—”

  “You were home alone and you drank? What if one of the girls had gotten sick? Or there was an emergency—”

  “Chill.” Dylan got right in his face, clearly not cowed by his anger. “I know you have the overprotective thing going, but give me a little credit. I had two huge servings of your lasagna—really good meat sauce by the way—and I’ve been nursing half a beer while I cleaned. After the kids were asleep, I might add. I doubt my BAC is more than strong mouthwash at this point. I’m twenty-three now, not fifteen and sneaking a beer. Dustin and your other friends had several beers each at the barbecue, and I didn’t see you wringing your hands about whether they should drive.”

  Apollo stared at Dylan. Like really looked at him, maybe for the first time. Not in the guilty, I-shouldn’t-find-you-so-attractive way nor in the you-look-like-a-memory way, but in the who-are-you way because maybe all this time he’d been seeing an assumption and not a real guy. Broad shoulders and sturdy torso, he packed the muscle on. No one would accuse him of being skinny anymore. Hardworking hands and ropey forearms. He could make it through boot camp, no issue. Light brown hair with curls that looked like Dylan had scrubbed at his head, probably while trying to get the girls to listen. Tired blue eyes. Strong jaw. Obstinate tilt to his chin. Adult. Absolutely 100 adult, all traces of the kid Apollo once knew gone.

  “You’re right,” Apollo said slowly. “Zack’s your age. Doesn’t bug me when he drinks.”

  “Is it because he’s a SEAL and I’m just the babysitter?” Dylan still hadn’t backed down. Man, he was something when he got all fired up. Fearless the way he just lit into him—few would dare that.

  “No.” Apollo leaned against the counter. “It’s more that I feel responsible for you—”

  “Well, stop.” The microwave dinged and Dylan took Apollo’s plate out, set it on a pot holder. “Here’s your dinner.”

  “Thanks.” Apollo took the plate. God, he really was a first-class grump these days. “I’m sorry, okay? I was rude. It’s just...my girls...”

  “They’re everything to you. I get it.” Dylan’s tone was far gentler now, and he patted Apollo’s arm. “But I’m here to help, okay? Make things easier on you, not harder.”

  “You do.” Apollo gestured at his food. “Making me a plate was nice. And you didn’t have to clean.”

  “Hey, you make it easy. I just follow your system.” Dylan gestured at the binder that Apollo’s mom only grudgingly ever opened. Even Neal, disloyal as it felt to think about it, had scoffed at some of Apollo’s methods.

  “You don’t think I’m too... I don’t know...anal?”

  “You really want me thinking about you and anal in the same sentence?” Dylan’s grin was utter mischief.

  “You know what I mean.” Apollo resisted the urge to tell him to behave and took a bite of his food instead.

  “Yeah. I know what you mean. And no, I don’t think you’re too organized. I love it, actually. My parents, God love them, are great people but they’re both so into their careers. Nothing at Mom’s house has a place, and Dad’s always running late and losing shit. I tend to get all scattered myself. I like having your system to follow. It’s like on the soccer field—I like improvising, but I also like when coach calls a play, and I know what spot to get to.”

  “My mom’s a lot like your parents—doesn’t see the need for my system.” Apollo liked how Dylan had called it that, like it was a positive. “But my dad was always into cleaning and everything being in its place. One of the few things I remember about him.”

  “That’s awesome. You’re carrying his legacy on, one label at a time.” Dylan laughed and took a swig of his beer.

  “That’s one way to put it.” Apollo sighed and tried to focus on his food. Thinking about his dad these days always led to thinking about Neal and whether Apollo was doing enough to keep him alive for the girls.

  “Well, I’m going to put the broom away and head upstairs. Enjoy your food.”

  Hell. Apollo had let the conversation lag longer than was polite. And strangely, he didn’t really want to be alone in the kitchen with his dinner. He liked having Dylan around, even when he was challenging Apollo. Maybe especially when he was challenging him.

  “Hey, Dylan?” Apollo stopped him as he put the broom back in the pantry. “What do you usually do at night?” Why didn’t he know this already? It had been over a week, and most nights, Dylan slipped off to his room after dinner. When his mom was there, she had often done the same thing, heading back to watch her B-list celebrity reality shows in her room. Apollo’s back tightened. Being alone all the damn time got old.

  “You have awesome Wi-Fi.” Dylan grinned at him. He took Apollo’s now empty plate from him, added it to the dishwasher. Man, he was so damn good at anticipating Apollo’s next move like that. “I usually watch a show on my tablet. Sometimes I play War Elf with some friends from home. That sort of thing. Why?”

  Why this felt like such a huge deal, Apollo couldn’t say, but his pulse suddenly sped up. “I’m too keyed up to sleep yet. Would you want to watch something together?”

  “Absolutely.” Dylan brushed by him, heading to the living room. He grabbed the controller from the high shelf where Apollo hid it from the girls. “What do you usually watch?”

  “Uh.” Apollo struggled to keep up, taking his usual seat on the far side of the sectional. Dylan came and sat right next to him, ignoring the recliner and other chairs in the room. “Not reality shows. And nothing like CSI—no crime shows.”

  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.