Looking for Trouble(17)

And as he’d thought about Gordon earlier, he’d realized something else as well. Dylan was the first person he’d shared breakfast with at that table, in their home, since he’d lost Gordon. His muscles tightened as he thought of it again then.

“Hellooooo? Earth to Sad Eyes?”

“What?” Clay snapped, working his jaw in frustration…at himself, not Dylan.

“Simmer down, Mr. Grumpy Pants. Shall I pick my head up off the floor, or will you?”

Damn it. He felt a smile pull at his lips. He tried to bite his cheeks, but it didn’t work. “I’m not…Mr. Grumpy Pants.”

“I win! You smiled!” Dylan said before, “Come on. Show me your shop.” He got out of the truck.

Clay sighed and got out too. Something had been bothering Dylan since their breakfast. Clay had seen it, like he’d suddenly been muted, which didn’t fit Dylan at all. Because he obviously knew Dylan so well? Christ, what was his problem?

Dylan had clearly gotten over whatever it was, so Clay made an attempt to do the same. He tried not to grumble too much as he unlocked the back door to the shop.

He signaled for Dylan to go inside first, and damned if the little shit didn’t curtsey before going inside.

Shit. Clay was smiling again.

“Wow…this is great,” Dylan said as he walked in. Clay didn’t know how great it really was. He had only one tattoo station, even though he had room for more. There was a desk with a computer in his office. There were photos on the walls of some of the work he’d done, as well as random pictures of the town because both Renée and Gordon had given him shit about his decorating.

Up front he had a couch and a few mismatched chairs for people to wait—not that they ever got completely full. A counter with a few photo albums of more work, a large front window, and boom—that was it.

“Thanks,” he finally said.

“Do you have appointments today?” Dylan asked.

“A couple.” He began looking through his cabinets for supplies.

“Okay…well, I guess I’ll get going.”

“There aren’t a whole lot of options right on Main. Maybe the café or the bookstore. There are a few other cafés too. If you want to take my truck to head toward other areas of town, you can.”

“Um…no. I’m not taking your truck. You don’t even know me.”

No, no, he didn’t, but that hadn’t seemed to stop Clay so far, had it? Nothing but trouble, Dylan was. “Fine. It was just an offer.”

“Fine. It was just an answer to your offer.”

Maybe he had a point there. Clay ran a hand through his hair, then dropped his head back and looked at the ceiling. What in the hell was wrong with him? He was flustered, completely out of his element, wasn’t sure what he was doing, why, or why it was such a big deal. He was…edgy, off, and he had been ever since he saw Trouble at that bar. Even going to the motel with someone half his age hadn’t been normal for him.

“I’m sorry,” Dylan said, and Clay whipped his head in Dylan’s direction, not having expected those two words to come out of his mouth. “I know I’m…a lot. I’ll try and be…less. That doesn’t mean I’m not going to keep you on your toes, because that wouldn’t be me, but I can try to be…less.” It was the second time he’d used that word—less. Something about it made Clay’s heart soften again.

Dylan’s eyes darted away, but his spine straightened and he stood tall. Still, Clay could see it there…the shame he tried to hide.

Clay could’ve said what he wanted to from where he stood, but still, something made him move forward, made him keep going until he stood directly in front of Dylan. When Dylan tried to turn, Clay put a hand on his waist, one on his cheek. Goddamn, his skin was soft…so much softer than Clay’s. “Don’t do that. Don’t ever be less of yourself for anyone, especially not me. You’re better than that.”

Then he turned and walked to the back room, had just gone in when he heard the front door open and close, and knew Dylan was gone.

He closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths, wondered what Gordon would think of Dylan if he’d met him.

Wondered what Gordon would think if he could see Clay now.

Then…then he thought of Mike. Mike and April and himself.





CHAPTER ELEVEN




Dylan


Dylan stayed gone as long as he could. He’d filled out applications everywhere within walking distance—paper applications, which was weird as hell. He’d never filled out a paper job application in his life, but these were small, local businesses, and they just didn’t work the same way as Dylan was used to. The process took longer than it should have anyway, because it was him, and sometimes it was still hard to focus on stuff like that, but it didn’t take nearly long enough.

He went to a little mineral spring park and hung out there for a while, playing games on his phone. He was stalling, obviously. Damn Sad Eyes for making him act weird like that. Dylan didn’t stall.

As he walked through the park, then down Main, it looked like he was in a postcard…or a made-for-TV movie. The buildings were all cute, brick, and different colors, and people said hi to him as he walked down the road. It was strange, to say the least.