Looking for Trouble(13)

He heard a groan from the other room and smiled. Two could play at this game. He finished, zipped up, and washed his hands. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go to bed so I can go look for a job tomorrow.”

Clayton’s doe eyes looked around the room and then at him. That’s what they were, Dylan decided—doe eyes—which was such a contrast to the rest of him that was so reserved.

“Ah hell,” Clayton said, then stood.

“Ah hell, what?” Dylan asked.

“Come stay at my house.”

Dylan’s heart dropped to his stomach, and damned if his knees didn’t get surprisingly weak. “Wanna repeat that.”

“You heard me.”

Yes, yes, he had. Dylan couldn’t make sense of it, though.

“I have a feeling I’m probably more shocked than you are.”

“Why would you ask me to move in with you?”

Clayton shook his head. “Don’t make it sound like something sordid.”

“Sordid?” What the fuck was he talking about? “I didn’t. But the question still deserves an answer.”

Clayton ran a hand through his thick, dark hair, looking flustered for the first time. Dylan had seen him look many things, but flustered wasn’t one of them. “Because no matter what happened, there was a time Mike was my best friend, and I feel like—”

“Nope. The answer is no.” He’d come here for his dad, not to have people offer him favors because of him.

Clayton sighed. “Because I respect you, then. I respect your drive—in coming here, in fixing your dad’s car, in not wanting to take handouts.”

“So you offer me one?” Dylan asked.

“That’s not what it’s meant to be. It feels like the right thing. You can save money faster if you’re not putting it out renting this place. If you want to compensate me, you can help me out in some other way.”

Dylan cocked a brow, opened his mouth, but Clayton cut him off, “No, not in sexual favors either.”

“Damn it, you’re no fun,” Dylan teased, and when Clayton smiled, he realized there was something he could do to help Clayton. He needed his life shaken up a bit, because right then, his eyes didn’t look quite as sad. “Fine. I’ll move in with you, but only because you insist.”

Clayton chuckled and nodded toward Dylan’s suitcases. “Get your stuff, Trouble. Let’s get out of here.”

Dylan saw him swallow as if he wasn’t sure he’d done the right thing. Dylan would prove to him he had.





CHAPTER EIGHT




Clay


What in the ever loving hell was he doing?

He mentally chastised himself the whole way from the motel to his home.

“What’s your house like, roomie?” Dylan asked, making him roll his eyes and again question his sanity. He didn’t do shit like this. He didn’t randomly make friends with most people, and he sure as shit didn’t ask sexy men half his age to move in with him. And that didn’t even take Dylan’s relation to Mike into consideration.

I’ve lost my damn mind.

“No, you didn’t.”

“What?” Clay asked as he pulled into his gravel driveway.

“You said you’d lost your mind. It’s really not that big of a deal. You’ll survive letting me crash on your couch. I promise.” Dylan reached over and patted Clay’s thigh as though placating him.

“Bedroom.” He killed the engine, and the interior light came on. “And my house is like a house.” How else was he supposed to explain it?

Dylan grinned. “You’re letting me sleep in your bedroom?”

“No. Christ, you’re a handful. A bedroom. I have an extra room. You won’t be on the couch. And don’t flirt with me.” It wasn’t often that Clay had a man flirt with him. He’d gone from Renée to Gordon to just going out to find someone to fuck once in a while. Didn’t leave much time for flirting.

“Ugh. You’re right. It’s different now that I know you’re my dad’s best friend.”

Clay’s gut coiled tightly. Did Dylan have to remind him? The connection to Mike made him uneasy…because he’d loved Mike, and Mike had ended up hating him, blaming him…and yeah, maybe also because Trouble was cute as hell and he’d definitely wanted to fuck him. Thank God he hadn’t.

“I was his best friend, but I’m not anymore. That ended a long time ago.” In tears and fists and pain. “Come on. Let’s go inside before I change my mind.” Which he should definitely try to do. If it wasn’t for the fact that he respected Dylan, he would. But then, it didn’t just end there, did it? There was a part of him that saw pieces of himself in Dylan, though he didn’t know how that was possible. They couldn’t have been more different.

He sighed and got out of the truck. As he walked around to help Dylan grab his bags, Dylan said, “You do that a lot.”

“What? Walk?” What the hell else had he done?

“No, sigh…or groan…though I’m wondering if that has to do with me.”

Shaking his head, he grinned. There was something about him, which again spelled trouble. “Yes, it’s because of you.”