Looking for Trouble(16)



He stood, walked to the sink, and dumped his coffee just as Clay said, “I don’t try to pretend I’m not a nice guy.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t,” he stressed for the second time.

“And I said okay. Someone sounds like they have a guilty conscience, hmm? Now breakfast? Do you have the stuff to make pancakes? I love pancakes.”

Clay shook his head as though he didn’t know what to do with Dylan. It was a reaction he was definitely used to.

“Yes. There’s mix in the pantry. But you don’t have to make me breakfast.”

“I insist.” Dylan’s brows rose. If Clay could insist on giving him a ride, he could insist on making him breakfast.

“I see what you did there,” Clay replied as Dylan found the box of pancake mix in the pantry. From there he moved around the kitchen, looking for a bowl, pan, and other utensils. He felt Clay’s eyes on him as he did so, watching. “Do you like to cook?” Clay finally asked.

“I don’t particularly enjoy it, but I don’t hate it either. I’m not the best at it, but I’m not the worst either. It’s just a thing to do because you have to.” He glanced over his shoulder at Clay, grinned, then bent over to look in a lower cabinet, making sure to arch his back and poke his ass out toward Clay. “What about you? Do you like—”

“You little shit.”

“What’d I do?”

Clay ignored him, making Dylan chuckle. He washed his hands while Clay filled his coffee cup again and said he was going to take Dakota out.

While they were outside, Dylan made the pancakes. He figured he would try to find ways like that to help Clay out while he allowed Dylan to stay there. It was the least he could do.

As he made their food, he looked out the window over the stainless-steel farm sink and into the backyard. There was a small fenced area for Dakota and a pond to the right, which Clay had mentioned, and a detached two-car garage. Clay hadn’t parked in it the night before, so he assumed that must be what Clay used as a welding shop. Briefly, he wondered what it would be like to have something like that for himself—a space where he could work on his underwear designs—but he quickly scrapped the idea. It wasn’t as if he could ever do anything with his little hobby. Who would want to buy something designed by him?

So instead, he focused on the meal he was preparing and wondered where he should apply for a job. Just as the pancakes finished, Clay and Dakota came back into the house.

They didn’t talk much as they ate breakfast. Clay seemed to enjoy the meal, though. He cleaned his plate before Dylan ate half of his. When he noticed, Dylan could have sworn he almost looked…bashful about it as he rubbed his beard and said, “That was good. Thank you.” Then Clay stood, without making eye contact with Dylan. “We have to leave in about an hour. I think I’ll go out and get some things done in the shop while I wait for you.”

It was as if he couldn’t get away from the table fast enough, as though sitting there, sharing the table with him while they’d had breakfast together, had been uncomfortable.

Dylan frowned, but nodded, and Clay and Dakota disappeared again, this time out the back. Well, shit. He wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong there, or if he had. He had a habit of sticking his foot in his mouth, but he hadn’t even said anything this time.

Quickly, he washed the dishes, hoping Clay wouldn’t get sick of him so soon. He made his way down the hallway. The door to Clay’s room was open, and he could see Clay out back, throwing a ball for Dakota. Obviously, that wasn’t working in the shop, so he’d definitely wanted to escape Dylan.

A pang pierced his chest, but he brushed away the feeling. What did it matter if he annoyed Clay? It wasn’t as if he gave a shit about Dylan. Clay was helping because of his dad.

Dylan turned to walk into his room when he noticed a photo on the bedside table. It was the only personal photograph he’d seen, and it was of Clay and another man. It looked to be a few years old, the other guy around Clay’s age. He had his arm around Clay, facing the camera…while Clay…Clay had his head turned, looking at the man. He was smiling, happiness shining off him in a way Dylan didn’t think Clay could have controlled if he’d wanted to.

Clay had loved that man. It didn’t take a genius to see it, and Dylan couldn’t help but wonder where he was now, and strangely, if anyone would ever look at him that way.

Stupid. It was a stupid thought that he shut down before he drove himself crazy thinking about things that didn’t matter.





CHAPTER TEN




Clay


They were quiet as Clay drove them to his shop. The building was stuffed between a bookstore and the Old-Timer’s Antiques store. It was simple—brick front with a black awning and Clay’s Custom Ink painted on the window.

A few people were already walking up and down the street. Main was one of the liveliest places in town. People shopped local and ate local there. He sure as shit hoped Dylan would be able to find some employment there too.

Clay parked behind his shop, trying to figure out what he should say to Dylan. He figured something—anything—would be good, but his mouth and brain weren’t always on the same wavelength. He wasn’t a fool. He knew he’d been even more standoffish to Dylan after breakfast, but talking about tattooing reminded him of Gordon. If it hadn’t been for Gordon, he wouldn’t be doing it. He likely wouldn’t be selling his welding either. He had been a miserable son of a bitch before Gordon, and it looked like he was one afterward too.

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