Page 54 of The Best Parts of Him
Dabbs nipped at his jaw. “Liar.”
And he kissed him again and kept kissing him until Ryland’s head threatened to float into the clouds.
chapter fourteen
The following morning, Dabbs took a virtual meeting with his coach, his organization’s head of media relations, the general manager, and the team owner. Sitting at the kitchen table with his earbuds in, he listened as the head of media relations—Lynne—walked them through the meeting she’d held with the producer who wanted to document the Trailblazers’ next season.
“There has to be a line,” Coach Madolora said, “between giving the camera people access to private spaces and ensuring the players don’t feel like their privacy and personal lives are being intruded on.”
“Agreed,” Lynne said. “And they do understand that, but conversely, we need to understand that unless they have access to those spaces, this documentary will never get made. If it’s something we’re truly interested in, we need to make concessions.”
“Have you asked the rest of the players?” Dabbs cut in before Lynne and Coach could butt heads. “Have you asked them how they feel about this and what kind of compromises they’d be willing to make for the good of the documentary?”
“Not yet.” Ramsey, the team’s GM, sat back in his office chair. Behind him was a painting of a generic landscape that could’ve been the south of France, Ireland, England, or even parts of Canada. “We want to iron out a few kinks first.”
“Talk to them,” Dabbs insisted. “Now, if you can. They’ll appreciate having the heads-up months ahead of time, but more importantly, you might learn that some of those kinks don’t actually exist.”
The team owner, Bill, a businessman who often let the conversation happen around him before jumping in with his own opinions, nodded.
“You might have a point.” Coach twirled a pen in one hand. “I’ll schedule a team meeting when we’re back from our road trip. The problem is that I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up.”
“Put it to them practically,” Dabbs said. “Not as a done deal, but as a maybe, and you want their opinions before you move forward. Just like you did with me.”
Movement caught his attention, and he glanced up to find Ryland entering the kitchen dressed in nothing but a towel and a tiny nose ring.
Dabbs made an aborted sound that would not have been appropriate.
Water droplets clung to Ryland’s tanned shoulders. His chest was smooth, his nipples darkened nubs, his stomach toned. His dark hair, often a mess of waves, was now a damp mess of waves.
Christ, he was sexy. A walking wet dream right out of Dabbs’ fantasies.
Dabbs hadn’t exactly meant to kiss him yesterday—or, rather, hadn’t meant to goad Ryland into kissing him. But Ryland had been right there, all concerned—after he’d finished laughing, anyway—and Dabbs had been done. He’d given up. Or given in, he wasn’t sure which, but he was absolutely done resisting the temptation that was Ryland Zervudachi. They’d kissed for a long time in the bathroom until hunger had sent them in search of food. They’d put the pumpkin carnage away to deal with later, then put the hockey game on and pretended to watch as they’d kissed some more.
Casually as you please, Ryland opened the final bag of apple bread—he’d already eaten the other two in the past few days—and popped two slices in the toaster. He noticed Dabbs watching him and pointed at the bag, eyebrow raised.
Want some?
Dabbs shook his head slowly. No, apple bread was very much not what he was hungry for at the moment.
Ryland seemed to catch on to what he was hungry for—probably by the way Dabbs was looking at him, which Dabbs was sure was full of lust—and smirking, he undid the knot at his waist. With a flourish, he whipped the towel off.
Dabbs would’ve choked on his own spit if the voices in his ear hadn’t reminded him of where he was.
Ryland, shameless, comfortable in his own skin, and tempting as fuck, leaned back against the kitchen counter—almost posing—right in Dabbs’ line of sight. He looked down at his erection, at Dabbs, at his erection, at Dabbs again.
A clear message: Are you going to do something about this?
Dabbs’ own erection pressed against his pants, but he was more concerned about getting Ryland’s in his mouth.
“Hey, sorry, uh . . . ” His graceless interruption of the conversation was met with silence. He couldn’t take his gaze off Ryland as he said, “I’ve got to go. The dogs . . . they, uh . . . got into . . . something?”
“Go ahead,” Coach said. “We’re wrapping up anyway. If you miss anything, I’ll catch you up when I see you.”
Dabbs didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t log off of the meeting. Just closed his laptop with a bang, pushed his chair back, and stalked up to Ryland, caging him against the counter with his arms. He smelled woodsy, like whatever body wash he’d used in the shower, and he felt like everything Dabbs wanted.
“You,” he said against Ryland’s lips, “are trouble.”
“Never said I wasn’t,” Ryland whispered back.
