Looking for Trouble(15)

When he heard padded feet and nails on the hardwood floor, he rolled over and faced the door. There was a soft bumping sound as if Clayton’s dog was trying to get inside.

“Dakota,” Clayton said in a hushed, rough tone that yes, was sexy as hell. “Yeah, someone is in there. Leave him alone.” Then he heard Clayton and Dakota walk away.

Jesus, he had to admit he still couldn’t believe this had happened. He didn’t know how he truly felt about it, or hell, what he planned to do. He needed to get a job and get his car fixed, of course, but there was still the matter of the letter tucked away in Dylan’s suitcase, the letter he’d promised his dying father he’d give to Clayton, only Clayton didn’t want anything to do with it.

It was still something he didn’t plan to fail at. He owed it to his dad to do his part. What Clayton did with the letter, he couldn’t control. But Dylan also knew not to push too fast. Clayton would pull back, shut down…and maybe not look at him the way he had last night, though Dylan couldn’t even explain what the look truly was. Understanding? Confusion? And yeah, want too.

That last part made Dylan smile before he told himself, I don’t want my dad’s old best friend to want me, I don’t want my dad’s old best friend to want me. He still wasn’t convinced.

Even though the bed was incredibly comfortable and he wished he could stay there all day, he forced himself out of it and pulled on pajama pants. Stretching, he went out of the room, to the bathroom, and took a leak and washed his hands. When he walked into the kitchen, Clayton was there, sitting at the table with a mug of coffee in front of him, looking at a magazine. He was in a navy-blue tee that was tight on his chest and arms, but Dylan couldn’t see what he had on the bottom half.

Clayton’s eyes wandered his way. “Ah hell.”

“What?” Dylan asked, scratching his belly. “You’re lucky I’m wearing anything. I sleep naked, but I didn’t think you’d appreciate me coming out that way. Or maybe you’d appreciate it too much. Hmm?”

Clayton rolled his eyes. “There are dicks on your pajama bottoms.”

“No, really? I had no idea!” Dylan feigned shock. He loved riling Clayton up. “I happen to like penis, so I thought…why not wear penis pajamas? Everyone should have a pair.”

Clayton looked away, but Dylan could tell he was trying to hide a smile. He’d take it. He found a lot of joy in making him do that.

“I’ll buy you a pair,” Dylan promised.

“No, thank you.”

“I’m choosing to ignore you. Can I have some coffee too?” Without waiting for Clayton to answer, he went over and searched the cabinets until he found the coffee mugs, took one out, and helped himself to a cup. “Do you have flavored creamer?”

“No, I just use half-and-half.”

“Even your coffee is boring, Clayton.”

“Clay.”

Dylan smiled. “Clay.” He used the half-and-half, then sat at the table with Clay. He took a drink, frowned, and knew flavored creamer would be on his shopping list. “Mmm. This is yummy.”

Clay barked out a laugh. “You hate it. Your face wrinkled up like you ate dirt.”

“I was trying to be nice,” Dylan said, his eyes darting toward the magazine in front of Clay. “Welding? Is that what you do?” He could see Clay as a welder.

“Yes and no. I weld in my shop out back, making custom pieces I sell online and sometimes at local shows, but I’m also a tattoo artist.”

Dylan inhaled, almost swallowing his tongue before dissolving into a fit of coughs. “Excuse me?” He didn’t know why that shocked him so much. He noticed a couple of tattoos on Clay, but the thought of him as a tattoo artist didn’t compute. He thought of tattoo artists as laid-back, quirky people.

“You heard me right. What, not quite as boring as you thought?” He cocked a brow at Dylan.

“Maybe.”

“I rent out a space on Main Street. I’ve only been doing it a couple of years.”

“Midlife crisis?” Dylan teased, and it was as if a storm formed in Clay’s eyes, anger and pain clashing in fits of lightning.

“Something like that,” he replied curtly, and Dylan knew the conversation was over. There was obviously a story there.

He knew when a topic was better off let go, so he said, “I’m going to start looking around for a job today,” when what he really wanted to ask was, What’s the story behind being a tattoo artist?

“I can give you a ride.”

Dylan was already shaking his head before Clay finished. “I can’t ask you to do that. I’ll take an Uber.”

“You didn’t ask me, and that’s silly. I’m going to the shop for a few hours today. I’ll take you with me, and you can walk around and look for a job and then meet me at the shop to come back home.”

Home. Well, didn’t that sound sweet. Not that Dylan ever really felt at home there or anywhere else. He figured that was just something engrained in him. “If you insist.”

“I do.”

“Well, thank you.” Dylan nodded. “See? You’re a nice guy. Stop trying to pretend you aren’t.” He took another drink of his coffee and nearly died. “Your coffee sucks, though. Have you eaten breakfast? Do I have time to make us breakfast before we go?”