“And you know what? I’m perfectly happy to give you boys lovemaking lessons if you need to brush up on your skills. Call it a training demo.”

Carson’s voice snapped Dylan back to the present. Or maybe he’d been zapped into the twilight zone—because had the lieutenant seriously just uttered the word lovemaking?

“Lovemaking?” Matt echoed before breaking out in gales of laugher.

Seth shook his head in amazement. “Fuck, he’s gone off the deep end.”

“I’m serious. I imagine you’re all lacking when it comes to pleasing your women, so I’m happy to share my knowledge.”

From his chair across the table, Ryan Evans rolled his eyes. “Whatever helps you sleep better at night, LT.”

Carson feigned puzzlement. “Sleep? What’s that?” He broke out in a grin. “I’m too busy rocking my wife’s world.”

And Holly Scott’s world must have been rocked really f**king nicely last night, Dylan thought. You could always tell how many orgasms the lieutenant’s wife had experienced by the amount of food she served. Tonight, Holly had laid out an entire feast. Six different kinds of salad, homemade bread, a cheese tray, mini-sandwiches, pigs in a blanket. And who could overlook that saliva-inducing chocolate cake sitting in the glass dish on the kitchen counter. The woman was a damn saint. Of course, she had to be for putting up with Mr. Cocky over there.

That last thought gave him pause as he remembered Cash mentioning that Carson and Holly had been having problems a while back, around the time Cash had gotten together with Carson’s sister, Jen. But as far as he knew, the couple had worked everything out, and judging by the happy vibes Carson was radiating, their reconciliation had stuck.

Dylan sipped his beer, then snuck a peek at the two cards Ryan had just dealt him. A six and a queen, off-suit. Man, Lady Luck was not on his side tonight. He’d received nothing but shitty hands so far. When the flop revealed three completely unhelpful cards, he folded instantly and leaned back in his chair, watching the game develop. They were missing a few of the usual players, namely former SEAL John Garrett and the team’s CO, Thomas Becker, who were both at home dealing with sick kids.

As always, Cash’s crappy poker face divulged the awesomeness of his hand, which resulted in Carson, Matt, Ryan and Seth folding. Jackson, who was possibly the worst card player on the planet, stayed in for much longer than he should have and ended up losing his entire buy-in.

Cue: another round of heckling.

Hearing Jackson explain away his terrible poker decisions in that southern drawl of his was highly entertaining. For a man who hailed from Texas, Jackson sucked ass at Texas Hold ’Em, and Dylan was doubled over in laughter as he listened to the other man’s reasoning for sucking.

He was so absorbed, in fact, that he was caught completely off-guard when Aidan Rhodes strode into the living room.

“Sorry I’m late,” Aidan said in that deep, easygoing voice of his. “I had a dinner date and it ran late.”

Uh-huh. Of course he’d had a date. There was no shortage of women in Aidan’s life, or at least that’s what Dylan had witnessed the week he’d stayed at the guy’s condo. Aidan seemed to have a date every damn night. And every damn night, he’d take the chick into his bedroom and f**k her. Hard. So hard that all Dylan could hear was the goddamn thump-thump-thump of that headboard banging into the wall.

Not that he was jealous or anything.

“Beer’s in the fridge,” Carson said as he tossed a few green chips into the growing pile in the middle of the table. “Help yourself, Rhodes.”

Dylan noticed that Aidan didn’t even spare him a look as he headed for the kitchen. Just as well. God knew they’d exchanged enough looks during the week they’d roomed together. They’d completely exceeded their look quota, actually.

All the tension that had slowly been draining away seeped right back into Dylan’s body, congealing into an uneasy pretzel in his gut. For the next hour, he put on a good act, trash-talking, joking, laughing, but the entire time, he was wholly aware of Aidan on the other side of the table.

At one point, their eyes met and he could swear Aidan’s mouth took on a hint of a smirk.

After losing his second buy-in, he threw down his cards with a groan. “I’m sitting out the next round. I need to regroup here.”

Cash grinned at him. “Why don’t you regroup your way to the kitchen and get me a beer?”

He flipped his buddy the bird, but headed to the kitchen anyway because he could use a refill himself. Sticking his head inside the fridge, he welcomed the rush of cold air, hoping it would douse the flames licking his lower body. He didn’t have a hard-on, but his dick was aching. A dull, continuous ache, his cock’s way of expressing its unhappiness over Dylan’s refusal to give it what it wanted.

“So how long are you going to keep avoiding me?” Aidan’s amused voice sounded from the doorway.

He closed his eyes briefly, steeling his resolve, then ducked out of the fridge with two Coors bottles. He kept his tone light. “I’m not avoiding you.”

A chuckle. “Bull. You’ve been blowing me off for weeks.”

Damned if his dick didn’t throb at the word blowing.

Shrugging, Dylan leaned against the granite counter. “Things have been hectic. I saw you texted a few times after the night we played pool, but I’ve been hanging out with that blonde from the club so I didn’t have a chance to message you back.”