Page 91 of Naughty Dreams
DJ removed the glasses. Roy managed to keep his expression neutral, but the disinterest in food was showing more starkly in his face. DJ didn’t have a lot of fat stores to draw upon.
“Did you get her a gift?” DJ asked.
“Last month. A Jeff Foxworthy show at Harrah’s in Cherokee. She took her two best friends to see it.”
“Not her son?”
“Her son was too busy watching your narrow ass.”
DJ considered him. “Plus, you don’t like sitting with your back to anyone. Makes you itchy.”
“I do hate feeling itchy.”
DJ’s lips pursed. “I’ll pick her up a gift on the way.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“If it’s her birthday, I’m bringing her a gift. I’d bring her one even if it wasn’t her birthday. That’s what you do when you meet a mother. Anyone’s mother.”
“So we’ll pick her up some flowers.”
DJ rolled his eyes. “Unimaginative. Are you sure you’re gay? What does she like to do? Does she even like flowers?”
“I’m ignoring your insensitive stereotyping. She likes to work in her yard.”
“Gardening? Or mowing?”
“Gardening. I pay for a landscaper to mow, edge and weed eat for her. It leaves her free for the fun stuff. That was her birthday gift about eight years ago. She fought me on it tooth and nail, and now she acts like it was her own idea.”
DJ’s lips quirked. “So we stop at a garden shop and get her something. One of those suncatchers or something.”
“Okay.” Roy pushed the raft forward and back. DJ had looped his arm around his leg. “Anywhere else you want to go?” Roy asked casually. “Since Moss cleared your calendar, we can go anywhere.”
DJ put the glasses back on and laid his head back. “Nowhere comes to mind.”
“Take the glasses off, Dory. I want to see your eyes.”
When DJ shot him afuck youlook, Roy let his gaze slide to the pool. “Easy enough to dump you and take care of that bath right now.”
DJ sneered, but tossed the glasses onto the concrete. Roy leaned forward, keeping his anchoring foot in place. “You need to eat, man. You look hollowed out.”
“I’ve lost three souls.” DJ’s gaze flicked away from him.
“Dory, look at me. I didn’t say you could look away.”
DJ dragged his gaze back. The belligerence faded away, leaving something painful and portentous.
“Grief is a hurricane, and you’re on a boat with no navigation equipment,” Roy said. “You’re stuck in the worst of it, being cooped up here.”
DJ put his chin down, but as he started to look away, his gaze snapped back. He’d remembered. More importantly, it had mattered to him to remember.
Roy gave him an approving nod. He rose, casually leaned down, and flipped the raft.
As he sauntered away, he grinned at the sputtering as DJ surfaced. He’d reached the conservatory when he heard DJ coming. Roy stopped to watch DJ stride in his direction, with a wet and clingy T-shirt. The weight of the water pulled the jeans low on his hips. Nice view.
“You son of a bitch,” his submissive snarled. “You better run.”
“Not likely.”
