Looking for Trouble(14)

“You like me and you don’t want to.” Dylan handed Clay a suitcase, then grabbed another bag Clay didn’t recognize.

“You’re annoying.”

“Which you like.”

“Why would I like someone who’s annoying?”

“Because you’re boring?” Dylan closed the door.

“I’m not boring, you little shit.” Though he figured he was a bit boring. He was okay with being boring, though. It suited him.

“Okay, whatever you say, Sad Eyes.”

Clay sighed…then realized what he’d done and groaned…then realized he’d done it again.

“You’re going to be so much fun!” Dylan practically bounced as he spoke.

Clay ignored him, grumbling to himself under his breath, admitting what a damn fool he was to bring Trouble into his life.

As soon as he opened the door, Dakota came running.

“Oh my God! You have a dog! I love dogs!” Dylan pushed past him, dropped his bag in the middle of the floor, and sat down, letting Dakota jump all over him and lick his face.

Clay loved his dog like crazy, but he sure as shit didn’t let her rub her tongue all over his face. “You know she licks her ass, right?” he asked, closing the door.

“Your daddy is a big grump. Yes, he is. Don’t worry, I’m fun, and I’ll let you give me kisses.” Dylan nuzzled Dakota’s neck, and damned if Clay’s heart didn’t soften a bit. Dakota was…his truest friend, his confidante. She would never choose to leave him. When he’d lost Gordon and pushed all his friends away, he always had her.

“I need to let her out to go to the bathroom,” he told Dylan. He walked through the living room to the kitchen door and opened it. Dakota took off outside.

“You let her go out by herself at night? We’re surrounded by nature. What if something eats her?” he asked, which Clay had to admit was sweet.

“There’s a screened porch off this door, and right off that, a small fenced area where she goes when I’m not with her.” He let her run around his acreage too, but not at night and alone.

“Okay. I guess you’re a good daddy to her, then. How much land do you have?” Dylan began walking around…peeking in the cookie jar on his granite countertop, opening cupboards, obviously making himself at home.

“Not much. Four acres. There’s a small pond too.”

“Nice.” Dylan left the kitchen and went back into the living room. Clay lamely followed him, watched him walk across the hardwood floors, by the brick fireplace, over to the dark-wood shelves. He wondered what his home looked like to someone like Dylan. It wasn’t large…a little over 1500 square feet. It was rustic, filled with woods, browns, and deep reds. It looked country, he figured, but it was home and he loved it. “Your house suits you,” Dylan finally said. “It’s…comforting.”

Ah hell. Why did he have to add that? “I’m comforting? That’s a first.”

Just a few minutes ago Dylan had called him boring. Clay knew he was gruff, grumpy. He didn’t typically get called comforting.

“Yeah…I think you hide it most of the time, but I see it. You comforted me tonight, though don’t expect me to admit it again.” Dylan winked. “Where’s my room? Do I have my own bathroom? I’d love a shower. Does my room look country too? Not that country is a bad thing, and I guess I’m excited to see it.”

Clay blinked, trying to keep up with him. He’d rambled all that as if he’d participated in a race to see how fast he could get questions out. Clay shoved his hands into his jeans pockets, feeling overwhelmed in ways he didn’t often let himself get. At least not with other people. “No, your room doesn’t have its own shower. And I don’t know; it’s a room. The bedspread is white. Come this way.” Clay led him to the hallway, where there were four doors—his bedroom, a closet, Dylan’s room, and a bathroom. There was another in Clay’s room.

“Here’s the bathroom,” he said, opening the door. Towels are in the linen closet.” He opened the door across from his own. “This is your room. It’s not much, but it’ll do.” There was a double bed inside, a dresser, two bedside tables with a lamp on each. “Are you, um…hungry or anything?” He scratched the back of his head, even though it didn’t itch. It was strange having someone in his home again.

“No. I really just want to take a shower and get to sleep. My stomach is a little woozy from the alcohol.”

“You shouldn’t drink so much.”

“Yes, Dad.”

Clay rolled his eyes. “I’m going to get Dakota inside, then take a shower myself before I head to bed.”

Dylan nodded, looking up at him, something soft in his eyes. He blinked, showing off his thick, dark lashes, then pushed up on his toes and kissed Clay on the cheek. “Thanks, Sad Eyes. I…appreciate this more than you know.”

Clay took a step back, his damn heart thudding. “Night, Trouble,” he said, then turned and walked away.

What in the ever loving hell had he done?





CHAPTER NINE




Dylan


The next morning, Dylan snuggled down into the blankets on Clayton’s bed. Okay, not Clayton’s bed, but the bed he’d allowed Dylan to sleep in. It was a whole hell of a lot more comfortable than the thin, lumpy mattress he’d been sleeping on at the motel. Speaking of, he needed to get back there to check out. He hadn’t taken the time to do it the night before.