Looking for Trouble(12)
When Clayton laughed this time, it sounded like a real one. It sort of echoed around inside Dylan, making him smile and want to hear the sound more often.
“You’re trouble, is what you are.”
“And trouble isn’t fun?” Dylan batted his eyelashes playfully, trying to ignore the anchor that still sat in his chest.
“You’re good,” Clayton said.
“Well, yes, but at what?” Dylan replied.
“At pretending.”
He gasped, closed his eyes, because no one had called him out on it like that before. Had anyone ever seen? Maybe that was the real truth of the matter. Most people didn’t take the time to see the Dylan he tried to keep hidden from the world. The one who always felt scared, alone, and stupid, among other things.
“You’re not so good at it,” he finally replied. There was no hiding Clayton’s sadness. He wore it like his skin.
“What are you going to do?” Sad Eyes asked instead of acknowledging what Dylan had said.
“I’m going to live cheaply and look for a job. Then I’m going to get the work done on my dad’s car. It’s close to three grand. Once that’s done…” He shrugged. “I don’t know. Go home, I guess?” But really, it didn’t feel like home. Not without his father. He wasn’t sure where he would ever feel at home.
“You don’t have a job there you need to get back to?”
Defensiveness reared up inside him, angry and harsh. “No,” he snapped. “In case you didn’t know, I obviously don’t have my shit together.”
“Hey, don’t put words in my mouth. Where did that come from?” Clayton’s eyes softened, showing his pity, which Dylan hated. He was defensive when it came to anyone making him feel stupid or lazy. He’d had enough of that in his life, when he couldn’t sit still in school or couldn’t understand something. When he spaced out and daydreamed either because things didn’t hold his attention or because they didn’t make sense to him. Dylan wouldn’t let it go anymore.
“You’re right. I jumped to a conclusion. Just don’t…don’t ever make me feel like you think I’m stupid or lazy—because I’m not.”
Clayton’s brows pulled together, and Dylan knew he’d said too much. He felt naked. Actually, that was a lie. Dylan had no problem being naked around people. He was quite proud of his body. He felt…exposed…raw. The real stuff that was down deep and not the surface shit he showed the world.
“I don’t think you are.”
Dylan knew Clayton was just saying that to make him feel better. He was that kind of guy—sad and gruff but also kind, Dylan thought. Still, to pacify him or not, the words settled comfortably in his chest. “Well, whatever. As long as you know I’m not.”
He still couldn’t believe he’d lost it the way he had tonight. God, how embarrassing that Clayton had seen him like that. Dylan vowed to himself that would never happen again.
When his eyes latched on to Clayton’s again, Dylan realized the man was still watching him. His chocolate-brown eyes were slightly large. Not too big for his face, but just wide, like they had a whole lot of story to tell, and even though he knew he shouldn’t, Dylan wondered what that was.
There were small wrinkles around the edges, like maybe he squinted a lot in the sun. And the scruff, God, the fucking scruff. He loved it.
“Why don’t I…um… I could lend you the money.”
“Huh?” Dylan’s jaw dropped. He wasn’t sure he’d heard Clayton correctly.
“For the car. I could lend you the money to fix the car.”
That was enough to make anger spark a wildfire in his gut. “I thought that’s what you said but didn’t think you would be that crazy. Are you kidding me right now?” He poked his finger into Clayton’s chest. “I’m. Not. Helpless. I would never take your money like that. I wouldn’t take anyone’s money like that. I can take care of my own shit.”
He was still poking, wasn’t he?
He dropped his arm. Clayton looked down at his chest, then at Dylan, then down at his chest, and then again at Dylan before a loud, hearty laugh jumped out of his mouth.
It took Dylan by surprise. Part of him wanted to take a moment and revel in the joy of it, but then he remembered that Clayton was laughing at him—the fucker—and suddenly it wasn’t so sweet anymore.
“You’re an asshole, Clayton.” He turned to walk away, but Clayton reached out and grabbed his wrist before he could.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh. I don’t usually succumb to unexpected bursts of laughter, but it was just…” He wiped his mouth with his hand, and Dylan knew he was trying to hide his smile. “You’re such an ornery little shit. It’s not often people surprise me.”
“You’re welcome because you need it. What would you have done without my coming around and removing the giant stick from your ass?” He pulled his hand away and said, “I’m still not taking the money. My car, my screw-up, my responsibility.” He walked into the bathroom, left the door open, and began taking a piss.
“Are you going to the bathroom with the door open?” Clayton asked.
“Yes. Afraid you’ll see something you like? You were quite enthralled with me that first night.” If Clayton could laugh at him, Dylan could make him feel uncomfortable. See how he liked that.