Looking for Trouble(22)

“I’ll take three to start.”

“Where do you put it?” he asked, joking. Dylan was a little thing—small bone structure, a tight body, and probably not a percentage of body fat.

“A boy never shares his secrets.” He winked, and Clay chuckled.

They ate together, each washing their own plate afterward. Just as they finished, Dylan’s cell rang. “Oh! It’s a North Carolina number. It must be Troy.” He grinned and answered the call. “Hello?… Yes, this is him.” He paused a moment, listening. “Really? Oh my God, I can’t thank you enough, Troy. You won’t regret it.” Another pause. “Okay…yes, absolutely. I’ll be there.” Dylan set the phone on the counter. “I got the job!” And then before Clay knew it, he’d thrown his arms around Clay and jumped into his arms.

“Umpf,” Clay grunted, not expecting it.

“I just… I can’t believe it. I’ve never gotten a job this easily, and Troy is…he’s great. I can’t wait to work for him. I can feel you freaking out right now, but I can’t help it! I’m so damn happy, so you have to hug me, Sad Eyes.”

And then…then Clay did. He twined his arms around Dylan’s waist and held him. Damn if his body didn’t begin to feel alive, zip with electricity. It reminded him of that first night, when he’d lifted Dylan, his legs wrapping around Clay’s waist. Christ, it felt good to hold someone. He inhaled Dylan’s hair, realized he smelled like citrus, like oranges, the scent he was so fond of.

He squeezed tighter, and holy shit, Trouble moaned.

“Oh…hello there. Now you’ve done it. Your erection is poking me, and I’m getting hard too.”

Because of course Dylan had to call him out for getting hard. Clay growled in frustration.

“Well, shit. That was hot too.”

“You’re a little troublemaker,” he said, setting him down and putting some distance between them.

“Trouble is fun. When’s the last time you got into trouble, Clay?” He took a step closer.

“No.” Clay shook his head. “You’re Mike’s son.”

“So? You mean the guy you haven’t talked to in like twenty-something years? The one you want nothing to do with? The guy who wrote you a letter you won’t even take from me? I’m a grown man.”

“He used to be my best friend.” And their whole worlds had been rocked. Mike had considered Clay responsible…and Clay couldn’t blame him. He’d been angry with Mike when it happened, and so angry with himself that he’d screwed up and it had killed his relationship with the two people he loved most in the world—Mike and April.

“Shit. You’re right. God, I’m so fucking stupid sometimes!” Dylan ran his hands through his hair, covered his face.

Guilt mixed a powerful cocktail inside him. “Hey. Don’t blame yourself. It’s…awkward. We’re obviously attracted to each other. That makes it tough.” He reached for Dylan, but Dylan pulled away.

“I’m gonna…go take a shower and hang out in my room a bit. I should go to bed early. I have to be at work at six. I’m opening with Troy.”

Something white-hot burned through Clay, but he didn’t know exactly what it was. Jealousy? That was fucking crazy. He didn’t even know the kid. “Yeah, okay. I’ll set my alarm clock so I can get up and take you.”

“What? Hell no. You’re not doing that.”

“Ubers aren’t that easy to come by that early.”

“Then I’ll call a cab,” Dylan argued.

“It’s a waste of money. I’ll take you.”

Dylan sighed, closed his eyes, then pushed forward, up on his toes, and kissed Clay on the cheek. “I don’t… I’m not worth all the trouble you’re putting yourself through for me, but I appreciate it.”

“Dylan…”

But he just walked into the living room and down the hallway. Clay still felt the heat of his lips on his cheek.





CHAPTER THIRTEEN




Dylan


Why, why, why was it always so easy for him to go straight to sex? He hadn’t even thought about it before he’d playfully flirted with Clay. It had been such an automatic thing for him to do—open his mouth and let whatever words were there waiting, just tumble out. It was definitely a pattern that had gotten him into trouble more times than it should have—the married guy, the uncomfortable situations, the hurtful words. By this point, he should have known better, but then, he never was one to get the message the first few times.

It didn’t help that he was painfully attracted to Clay. He pushed all Dylan’s buttons and ones he didn’t know he had…because Clay was a nice guy and Dylan didn’t typically have interactions with many of those. He mostly just found men who wanted to use him.

If he wasn’t careful, he was going to ruin this.

If he wasn’t careful, he was going to let his dad down.

So he pushed all thoughts of Clay out of his head. He showered, then went straight to his bedroom, wearing his penis pajama bottoms and a tee and…tried to keep busy. He paced the room, thought about watching a show on his phone, but nothing could hold his attention.

What he wanted to do was pull out his machine and sew. It always calmed him, helped him focus, made him feel proud about something, though not proud enough to actually do anything with it. But if he pulled out his sewing machine, Clay might hear. If he heard, he might ask Dylan what he was doing, and the last thing he could share with Clay was his silly hobby. Really, it was a waste of time. He should have done what his dad said and gone to college or a trade school so he could maybe do something with his life. But why was that automatically the answer? Especially when school had never been easy for him. It should be okay that he’d never wanted to go to college.