Looking for Trouble(25)

That had been the first of many nights with him. They’d just sort of fallen into place after that. Gordon had taught him how to love a man, how to learn to love himself, how to go for what he wanted.

Clay shook those thoughts from his head. He wasn’t going to go there. He couldn’t.

So he went to the bathroom and splashed water on his face. His appointment came in after that—a woman who was getting a large back piece of a dragon being ridden by a princess carrying a sword. It had taken them weeks to draw up every detail—the atmosphere, the fire. It was their third session, and they still had more to go.

“Hey, Mary.”

“Hi, Clay. How’s it going?” She had a Dancing Unicorn cup in her hand, and Clay couldn’t help but think about Dylan. How was he doing? He’d been nervous as hell when they’d arrived, and he hoped he hadn’t made it worse with his show in the kitchen.

“Not too bad. How are you?”

They chatted while Clay washed up and readied the equipment—ink, towels, gloves, opening a new needle and getting it into the machine. He’d already printed out the part of the design they’d be working on.

Mary covered herself while removing her shirt, then lay down. He got the design transferred, and she checked the position before the sound of constant buzzing filled the room. Clay concentrated on her, on needle to skin, letting the familiar noise pull him into his zone while he thought about Mike…April…Gordon, and Dylan. That last name was concerning for him; he spent much more time thinking about Trouble than he should have.

Clay worked on Mary for about three hours. That was a whole lot of time to think.

He knew Dylan would be getting off work soon and would be coming down. He got Mary on her way after they set up their next appointment, and…he waited…cleaned…watched the clock. Damn it. Why was he so anxious for Dylan to get there?

He knew how excited Dylan had been about the job the night before, how proud he’d seemed that he’d gotten it. Christ, Clay just wanted it to go well for him. The more he thought about it, the more knots tangled in his gut and the more he furiously kept himself busy doing things that didn’t need to be done.

Trouble would be crushed if something went wrong. Clay knew that to the marrow of his bones. The kid wanted to earn the money for Mike’s car. He needed to do it, and damned if Clay didn’t respect the hell out of him for it.

It was fifteen after two when he began to pace. Dylan was supposed to get off at two, and the coffeehouse was right up the block, but then maybe he had paperwork to do or something like that.

At half after, he peeked outside as though Dylan had somehow lost his way and Clay would see him and call him over.

At forty-five after, he told himself he was being ridiculous. Trouble was a grown man. He probably decided to do some shopping on Main or grab some lunch since he knew Clay wasn’t leaving work until four.

At three the nerves were back because all he could think about was how devastated Trouble had looked on the side of the road that night, how crushed he’d been. Maybe something had happened at work and Dylan was upset, discouraged, maybe he thought he couldn’t trust Clay with it.

You sure are putting a lot of thought into this kid. He frowned at the sound of Gordon’s voice in his head. It had been a long time since he’d heard Gordon talk to him like that. Memories, yes, but talking to him? Nope. And he’d sure as shit never heard him talk to Clay about a man.

Before he could put too much thought into it, the door opened. Clay began to grumble at Dylan, to tell him that he could at least call if he was going to be late, but he didn’t have the chance because Trouble flew at him, jumped his little ass straight into Clay’s arms, and he had to fumble to catch him.

“Oh my God, I had the best day ever, Sad Eyes. Seriously, I don’t think I’ve ever had such a good first day of work in my life. No, I know I haven’t. I was so nervous this morning, and Troy could tell when I got there too, but he immediately calmed me down. He has the best sense of humor, seriously. You should talk to him sometime. I told him all about you—well, not everything because it’s not like he needs to know about Dad and all that, but—”

“Whoa, slow down,” Clay cut him off, chuckling. “You’re talking too damn fast and sort of all over the place. Take a few breaths from time to time. I’m told it helps.” But really, his pulse was dancing around beneath his skin, this giddy sort of feeling having replaced the worry from a few moments before. Dylan’s excitement was infectious in the best way. Clay savored the feeling because it had been a long damn time since he’d felt so elated, and it had nothing to do with him.

“Sorry. My brain gets away from me sometimes. I just… It was great. Like I can really see myself loving this job. Troy is wonderful to work for. I caught on quickly, probably because I drink too much coffee myself, but…it felt good. I’m a really fucking good coffee-shop guy.”

Clay grinned. “I’m not surprised. You’re good with people, so it makes sense.” This sort of foreign pride welled up in his chest. Not for himself, of course, but for Dylan. “You did good, Trouble.”

“Thank you.” Dylan curtsied, making Clay chuckle. “I stayed after and had a bagel and drink with Troy. We talked about maybe hanging out sometime. He’s cool. I like him.”

Clay felt a strange sort of twitch in his right eye. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? He’s your boss. He shouldn’t be…”