Looking for Trouble(21)

“You know you want to,” Dylan said.

“No, actually, I don’t.”

“Fine, then you’ll do it because you know I want it and I won’t stop driving you crazy until you do it.”

That was more like it. And strangely, he also didn’t want to let Dylan down. So against his better judgment, the whole time wondering what in the fuck had gotten into him, Clay stuck his damn tongue out, trying like hell to touch his nose with it…which he couldn’t do…and he sure as shit felt stupid for trying.

Laughter tumbled out of Dylan’s mouth in waves, and he clutched his stomach as he did so.

“See? That’s why I didn’t want to do it.” Clay crossed his arms, and it took him a moment to realize he was pouting—pouting at forty-five years old because a twenty-five-year-old kid was laughing at him.

“I’m sorry. That was so cute! You were really reaching for it. Your tongue is short, but it was absolutely adorable.”

“I’m not adorable,” Clay said gruffly. “And neither is my tongue.”

“Well, I thought it was adorable. And if you ever want me to do something silly, I will. Then we’ll be even.”

“Fine,” he replied, smiling. It was in that moment that it dawned on him—he was having fun; silly, goofy fun over the most childish thing, but fun all the same. He’d stuck his tongue out to try and touch his nose, earning himself pure, vibrant belly laughs over the simplest thing.

And knowing that made him realize he would have done it again for the same reaction, to feel the same way. The reality of it damn near knocked him off his feet.

“Oh no. Don’t do that. Don’t start overthinking. Turn your brain off, Sad Eyes.”

Unfortunately for him, his brain wasn’t something he could just turn off and on at will. “Come on, Trouble. We should get ready to head home.”

Home. One night in his house and Clay had already labeled it Dylan’s home.

He was losing his damn fool mind.

“Okay,” Dylan replied softly, as though Clay had done something wrong. He almost asked but wasn’t sure he wanted to know, or that Dylan would want to share.

They locked the shop and went to the car. “You bought lunch, so I can grab a pizza on the way home for dinner.”

“What? No. You’re letting me stay at your house. You can’t pay for my meals too.”

“It’s just a room. It’s not like you’re costing me a bunch of money by staying there. I’d rather you save what you have so you can get your car fixed quickly.”

“Yeah, you’re right. That makes sense. I need to do that ASAP. The quicker I can get home, the better.”

Clay frowned. “I didn’t mean—”

“No, but I did. This place isn’t really my style, ya know?”

“Oh…” Damn it. Why had his voice sounded dejected? Having Trouble there was fucking with his head.

They grabbed a pepperoni pizza, then stopped by the motel so Dylan could officially check out.

When they got back to the house, Dakota came running the second they were in the door. She jumped all over Dylan, as Clay carried the pizza. “Down, girl. He doesn’t want you all over him.”

“Oh, she’s fine. I love it.” Dylan knelt, wrapped his arms around her, scratching her neck and telling her, “You’re a good girl, aren’t you? Yes, you’re such a good girl.”

Clay grinned at that. He always believed how you treated a dog said a lot about people. “Do you want to take her out with me?” he found himself asking. “You don’t have to if you’d rather eat first.”

“What? No. I’d love to.” Dylan stood, wearing a smile so large, you would have thought Clay asked him if he wanted a million dollars.

There was no reason he couldn’t take Dakota out himself, but he’d figured Dylan might like it if he asked, and for some reason, Clay had wanted to give him that.

He set down the pizza, and the two of them went outside. Dakota leaped down the stairs and went straight for her favorite spot in the large expanse of green in front of them. She found a patch and peed as Clay told Dylan, “There are some balls and Frisbees in the bucket. I usually toss them around for her when I get home—let her burn off some of the energy from being in the house all day.”

“I can understand her need for that.” Dylan plucked a tennis ball from the bucket, and as soon as Dakota made her way back to them, he threw it. She ran like she had fire chasing her, stumbling over her own feet to grab the ball before rushing back to them again. “Your turn.” Dylan tossed him the ball, and they took turns, chucking it as far as they could into the yard, Dakota bounding all around with unending energy.

“I wish I had her vitality,” he said as he pulled his arm back and threw the ball again.

“No, you don’t—especially if you can’t always help it. It makes you feel sort of…out of control. Like you can’t focus.” Dylan picked up the ball and looked at Clay. He was speaking from experience. There wasn’t a doubt in Clay’s mind about that, but still Dylan shrugged and added, “I assume, at least.”

There was a story there. Clay could feel it.

They played with Dakota for a little while longer before the three of them went inside. Dylan offered to feed Dakota. Clay showed him the tub with her food, and he did that while Clay plucked three pieces of pizza from the box and put them on his plate. “How many do you want?”