Another silence fell.
They exchanged a quick look, and Dylan could have sworn Aidan’s brown eyes flickered with heat.
Don’t even think about it.
“Anyway, I’m sorry I dragged you into the fight. I just wasn’t sure how far Masterson would go.”
“No, I’m glad you got me.” Dylan sighed. “Seth can be a total moron sometimes.”
“How long is his girl staying at your place?”
“A few days, I think. Maybe longer.”
“How old are her kids?”
“Six.”
Aidan chuckled. “Well, if you don’t feel like sharing a house with a couple of kids, you’re welcome to stay here for a bit. I’ve got a spare room.”
To his extreme disgust, his c**k actually twitched again.
For the love of God, buddy, this is not happening. Chill the f**k out.
His lower body finally received the memo, much to his relief.
“Thanks, that’s good to know,” he said. “I’ll definitely consider it.”
“Cool. Come on, I’ll show you to the guest room.”
Dylan set off after Aidan, his gaze taking in the smooth expanse of Aidan’s sinewy back, the defined muscles that rippled at the guy’s every step. It wasn’t until he found himself mesmerized by the taut ass flexing beneath Aidan’s pants that he realized what he was doing.
Jesus. You’d think he’d been on the receiving end of a blowjob tonight, only to get interrupted right before he could ejaculate, and was now in a state of painful arousal…oh wait—that’s exactly what had happened.
Fuckin’ Masterson.
He wrenched his eyes away from Aidan’s ass and took a breath, deciding that it had now become imperative for him to jack off tonight.
Otherwise he might do something very, very stupid.
Chapter Nine
Two days. Two whole days, and not one word from Miranda about the conversation they’d had Monday night. Defeat wasn’t something that sat right with him, which was probably why Seth was being unnecessarily harsh on the punching bag at the moment.
He was in the garage, trying to distract himself from his continuous state of unfulfilled arousal by using every piece of exercise equipment. He’d already lifted weights, hit the treadmill, and used the chin-up bar, and now he was on the punching bag, sweat running in rivulets between his pecs and down his back.
Thwack, thwack, thwack. He executed a series of jabs that made his knuckles throb, despite the fact that he’d wrapped them up. The soreness was the wake-up call he’d needed, the unspoken warning that it was time to stop. He couldn’t bust up his hands, not when he was scheduled to spend the day at the target range tomorrow mastering a new assault rifle the spec ops community was considering utilizing.
Breathing hard, Seth stilled the swinging bag. He unwrapped the white cloth from his hands, grabbed his bottle of water, and chugged it all in one gulp.
He’d just finished drinking when he heard the footsteps. Two sets of footsteps, both far too quiet to be Miranda’s, he realized in dismay.
Sure enough, he glanced over in time to see Sophie and Jason pop through the door that led from the kitchen to the garage. They scampered down the short flight of stairs and plopped down on the last step. Two pairs of brown eyes proceeded to watch him. One suspicious. One curious.
“What?” he said irritably.
“Whatcha doing?” Jason asked, that inquisitive gaze moving around the garage.
Seth reached for the towel he’d draped on the weight rack and patted the sweat coating his neck. “What does it look like, kid? I’m working out.”
“Why are your arms so much bigger than mine?”
He shrugged. “I’m older. And bigger. And I train.”
“Will I get as big as you when I get older?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
There. He’d officially met his kid quota for the day. Seth had promised Miranda that he’d be nicer to the rugrats, and he’d been trying his hardest to keep his word. For the past two days, he’d made small talk with the kidlets over meals, put forth an effort to answer the billion questions Jason hurled his way, pretended not to notice Sophie’s perpetual scowl every time she looked at him.
He’d been polite, cordial, respectful…and had that expedited Miranda’s thinking process in any way? Not at all.
Seth headed for the minifridge and got another bottle of water. He uncapped it, feeling the twins watching his every move. They disturbed him on a whole other level, those two. Especially Sophie, who was currently playing with the end of one of her pigtails and tapping one tiny ballet slipper on the wooden step.
Finally he couldn’t take it anymore.
“What?” he grumbled.
She pursed her lips for a moment before answering. “I don’t like you.”
Her brother looked absolutely horrified. “Soph!”
“Well, it’s true! And you don’t like him too!”
“But I’m not gonna tell him!”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not nice.”
“He’s not nice. He doesn’t like us.”
“Yes he does!”
“No he doesn’t!”
Seth watched the verbal ping-pong match without comment. Despite his better judgment, he found himself smiling, a reaction that startled as well as annoyed him. Shit, he wasn’t supposed to be amused by these rugrats. He was supposed to keep an indifferent air, give them the absolute minimum amount of attention, and high-five himself when they were finally gone.