Page 79 of Saving the Rockstar

Dylan's smirk only grew wider. "Thinking, huh? That's a dangerous pastime for you. Wouldn't want you to strain something."

Mason scowled, but I could see the hint of a blush creeping up his neck. "I'll have you know I'm capable of deep thought on occasion."

Dylan laughed, the sound bright and joyful in the heavy atmosphere of the room. "Sure you are, buddy. And I'm capable of going five minutes without cracking a joke."

We all headed back to my place. The moment we stepped in, Mason’s expression shifting abruptly as a rare vulnerability crossed his face. He looked between Dylan and me, then let out a sigh. "I can't keep doing this," he said.

Dylan blinked, a look of confusion crossing his face. "Can't do what? Are you talking about yesterday's shenanigan at Jared's place? Because I told you, that wasn't my fault. How was I supposed to know that the dog would go crazy over the squeaky toy I bought?"

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What happened at Jared's place?"

Dylan grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "So, I bought this squeaky toy for Jared's dog, right? And I thought it would be funny to hide it under Mason's jacket while he was sitting on the couch. But when the dog found it, he went absolutely ballistic. Started jumping all over Mason, trying to get to the toy. And Mason, being the big tough guy he is, startedscreaming like a little girl. I swear, I've never seen him move so fast in my life. He was up on that couch, trying to fend off the dog with a pillow, yelling at me to do something. It was priceless."

I couldn't help but chuckle at the image, picturing Mason's usually stoic face contorted in terror as he tried to escape the overeager dog.

But Mason wasn't laughing. In fact, he looked more serious than I had ever seen him.

"That's not what I'm talking about," he said quietly, his gaze finally settling on Dylan. "I'm talking about us, Dylan. We've been sitting here, telling Jared and Asher to be honest about their feelings, to stop denying what's right in front of them. And the whole time, we've been doing the exact same thing."

Dylan's eyes widened, his mouth falling open in a silent gasp. For a moment, he looked like he might argue, might deflect with a joke or a snarky comment. But then, slowly, he closed his mouth, a deep blush spreading across his cheeks.

"Mase," he said softly, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. "What are you saying?"

Mason took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. Then, in a rush of words, "I'm saying that I've been thinking about you since the day we met. I'm saying that every time we bicker, every time we tease each other, it's just a way to deflect from what I'm really feeling. Because I'm scared, Dylan. I'm scared of how much I want you, of how much I need you."

Dylan stared at him, his eyes wide and vulnerable. "Mason, if this is a joke..."

But Mason was already moving, crossing the distance between them in two long strides. And then, before any of uscould react, he was kissing Dylan, his hands cupping Dylan's face with tenderness.

For a moment, Dylan stood frozen, his hands hovering uncertainly at his sides. But then, with a soft, desperate sound, he was kissing Mason back, his fingers tangling in Mason's hair, pulling him closer.

I watched, feeling like an intruder in my own home, as the two men I loved most in the world poured out months of pent-up emotion, of longing and desperate, aching need.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathing hard, their faces flushed and their eyes bright. Dylan, usually so composed, so quick with a quip or a comeback, looked utterly shattered, his lips parted and his gaze dazed.

For a long, charged moment, they just stared at each other.

Then, with a nervous laugh, Mason said, "So, uh. Do you maybe want to go on a date with me sometime?"

Dylan blinked, as if coming out of a trance. Then, slowly, a shy smile spread across his face, his blush deepening. "Yeah," he said softly. "I really do."

I cleared my throat, feeling awkward and out of place. "Well, I guess I'll just third wheel in my own home, then."

Dylan startled, as if he'd forgotten I was there. Then, with a sheepish grin, he said, "Sorry, Ash. I guess we got a little carried away."

Mason, looking more relaxed than I'd ever seen him, smirked. "Speak for yourself. I've been waiting to do that for months. If anything, I showed remarkable restraint."

Dylan scoffed, some of his usual bravado returning. "Please. If you'd made a move months ago, we could have saved ourselves a lot of time and sexual tension."

Mason raised an eyebrow, his expression playful. "Oh, so it's my fault? I seem to recall a certain someone flirting with anything with a pulse, just to get a rise out of me."

Dylan grinned, unrepentant. "Had to get your attention somehow, didn't I? And besides, it's not like you were any better. 'Dylan, your taste in music is trash.' 'Dylan, you're going to break your neck if you keep stage diving like that.' 'Dylan, stop leaving your dirty socks on my side of the tour bus.' Sound familiar?"

Mason scowled, but there was no real heat behind it. "I stand by every one of those statements. Especially the socks. Seriously, it's like living with a teenager."

Dylan clutched his chest, feigning hurt. "You wound me. Here I thought you liked my youthful charm and boyish good looks."

"I like your ass in those jeans," Mason shot back, his eyes glinting with mischief. "The rest is just a bonus."

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