Six Ways from Sunday by Mercy Celeste Read Free Book Online Page B

going to the knife he kept strapped to his leg just above his boot. Bo’s ghostly pale face and terrified eyes penetrated the haze, and he didn’t pull his jeans leg up. Standing quickly, he pulled Bo to his feet.
    “Don’t do that, man, okay? Just don’t. I can kill you. And I don’t think your owners would appreciate that too much.”
    He didn’t reach for the card. He just stood there trying to act like this was normal. That he didn’t just freak out in front of civilians.
    “Fuck, Dyl, you just outran me in fucking combat boots. You have got to be shitting me.” The sound of laughter was all that Dylan could remember after that. The coach who turned out to be Dale Shannon, the offensive coordinator, put the card in his jacket pocket and slapped him on the back.
    “Something to think on, kid, maybe I’ll see you back here in two years’ time. Until then give ‘em hell.”
    “I’ll do that, sir.”
    “Show’s over. You’d think you lot would have something better to do the day after you won the fucking Super Bowl. Don’t you have people to be celebrating with? Or we can start working on next year’s—“ Shannon shouted out and people started to scramble before this became real work.
    “Come on, Rambo, you have a tattoo to buy me. And I need some pointers on that over the shoulder takedown thing you got going on. Wonder if it’s legal in the NFL… Who the hell cares? It was wicked. Just thanks for not pulling the knife.” Bo punched him on the shoulder and laughed as they walked from the training area to his truck.
    “Sorry about that, I’m usually more in control.” Dylan turned the radio from the rock station to a country station, because he knew that Bo didn’t mind, just to get his mind off the fool he’d made of himself.
    “Nothing to be sorry for. Just, you know, when we get home, I’m going to want to be thrown over your shoulder caveman style and maybe you can hold me down and stick other things in me. I promise not to fight too hard.” Bo put the truck in reverse, and before he backed out, he reached over and grabbed Dylan’s gearstick too. “Just so we’re clear on what I want stuck in me. Okay? This bad boy right here. Not the pig sticker.”
    “Yes, sir,” Dylan said, feeling the flush come on again. This time though, he knew exactly why he was turning red. And it had a lot to do with Bo’s hand on his dick. In public.
    “Now that’s what I’m talking about. And you can call me sir while you’re fucking me. I just got all kinds of horny.” He laughed and hit the gas, burning rubber to get out of the parking lot just as fast as he could. Because the day was wasting and there was fucking to be done.
    Dylan put the card in his wallet without letting Bo see it. He’d think about that later. When he could see a future that didn’t involve desert sand and bloodshed.
     

Chapter Four
    “I am so going to fuck you up, six ways from Sunday, Sunday,” Bo moaned as he leaned over the dashboard. His back burned like a million tiny bees decided to use him for a pin cushion.
    “How is this my fault, Murphy? You’re the one who decided to get a tattoo. I didn’t tell you to. In fact, I do recall telling you that the spine is probably not the best place to get your first one but you had to be bad ass and do it anyway.” Dylan glanced over at him as they drove through town. Bo was thrilled that he didn’t smirk—too much.
    “I wasn’t nearly drunk enough for that. You should have talked louder. Something. This shit hurts.”
    “You only bled a little bit and there’s hardly no swelling. You’re just being a baby.”
    “Oh yeah? Well, how drunk were you when you got yours?” He wanted desperately to rub something in after the hosing back at the practice field.
    Dylan didn’t say anything; he just stared ahead and tapped his thumbs on the steering wheel as he navigated based on the GPS’s directions.
    “I don’t fucking believe you. You had to be drunk or something