She was more of a stickler about vulgarities than Dylan, but she also put more effort into getting her teens ready for the world.
“Well, bitch?” Chelsea planted her hands on her hips, glaring at Miguel.
“Oh, yeah, I almost forgot.” Miguel slid off the bed, giving Dylan a finger wave goodbye before turning to Chelsea. “You sure you want to go with blue, pink, and purple? I get the whole bi pride blah, blah, blah, but your pasty ass face can’t handle those colors without looking like a wrecked ass meth head pop star doll.”
“Fuck off, fruitcake.” Chelsea shoved a laughing Miguel.
He sidestepped away from her and started twerking. “Not a fruitcake, but a poundcake.”
“More like a pounded out cake,” Chelsea scoffed.
“You two are about to be a grounded out cake if you don’t watch your mouths,” Jasmine said from afar, making anyone in earshot burst out into a raging cackle.
With that, Dylan left a little early to avoid any more conversation from the house and considered where his evening with Rus and Kaiden would lead. If he got lucky, he might be able to find someone for Kaiden to hit on so he could figure out if he and Rus had anything in common. Well, enough in common to determine if Dylan wanted more than friendship and more than a casual fuck. Although it had been a while since he’d rolled between anyone’s sheets.
He opened an app on his phone, doomscrolling through blank profiles, and contemplating just how much time he had before clubbing.
Dylan sighed. Was this a friend or afriend? He wanted to get clarification, but resigned himself to sending a polite, non-intrusive response.
Rus replied with a string of laughing cry faces.
So much for Dylan’s plan to break away from Kaiden. If Rus had a friend coming, then this truly was a group adventure. Which was fine—Dylan did want to be friends with Rus. Then again, maybe Rus was bringing a friend so when he and Dylan broke away from Kaiden, all would be well. Or maybe the friend was for Dylan because perhaps Rus had a thing for Kaiden. After all, it was his idea for the clubbing night. Hmmm. Maybe Dylan was overthinking this too much.
He decided to bury the what-ifs and focused on having a fun night out.
The drive to Kaiden’s went quickly, but Dylan waited in his car for about fifteen minutes when he arrived. Three cars were crammed in the driveway, which meant the whole house was home. Dylan didn’t know if he had the bandwidth for Kaiden’s entire family. He texted to let him know he was outside.
Dylan snorted with a tsk of disapproval. That meant thirty minutes minimum. Knowing Kaiden, he hadn’t even gotten dressed yet.
Dylan walked up to the house, knocked on the door, and planned on beelining directly to Kaiden’s bedroom.
Kaiden’s nephews opened the door—seven and nine, if Dylan remembered correctly. All he knew was they were pint-sized and rowdy.
“You got candy?” one asked.
“Money?” the other asked, shoving his brother.
Dylan simply stared blankly.
“Loser.”
“You’re a loser.” The little one shoved his brother.
“Wasn’t talking to you, idiot.” He shoved him back, and soon, they were running through the house, smacking each other and throwing things.
Dylan learned several visits back that if he froze and didn’t respond, they moved on like a T-Rex—or at least how movies made the T-Rex out to be. Who really knew, right?
Kaiden’s sister swept through the living room, smacking her boys on the back of the head and yelling at them to go to their bedroom.
“Why are you two still up, anyway?” she shouted. Not that she was entirely wrong since it was almost nine o’clock, but she probably shouldn’t be the one asking her kids why they were still awake past their bedtime. Assuming they had a bedtime—Dylan wasn’t sure about that.
Sandra stared at Dylan, sizing him up for a moment, and took a long drag off her cigarette. “A little dressed down for a fundraiser, wouldn’t you say?”
Was Sandra mixing up her dates, or was Kaiden withholding information? Dylan didn’t have the slightest idea, but it cost him nothing to play along.
“I’m getting ready before we head out,” Dylan lied with a big ole smile, much to Sandra’s disgust.
“Seems a little late.”
