Looking for Trouble(28)

Clay rubbed a hand over his chest to ease the ache that came along with memories of Mike and April. It was always quickly followed by self-anger, regret, and guilt. Christ, he had a lot of painful memories—losing his parents, April, Mike, Gordon. Clay sometimes wondered how much hurt one heart could possibly hold. So he fought to keep those memories at bay, went to the other side of the house and outside.

He went straight for his shop, figuring he would get some welding done to keep himself busy. He and Dylan were both off that day—the first one where they’d be around the house together the whole time. It was early, and he had no idea what to do to keep Dylan busy. But hell, maybe he wouldn’t have to. Maybe he had plans with Troy that Clay didn’t know about. They’d been incredibly friendly the other day when Clay had gone into the Dancing Unicorn.

He still wasn’t sure what in the hell that had been about. Yeah, he drank his coffee in the morning, but he wasn’t a guy to spend five bucks on all that sugary caffeine, which was why he’d never even been in the damn place before. But he’d wanted to see Dylan there, wanted to…he didn’t know, support the kid or something.

He’s not a kid… He’s a grown man…

Clay got his gear on and got ready to work. Once the machine was going, he lost himself to the sparks and the melding together of metal the same way he did when he tattooed. They were both forms of art, ways he could express emotions that didn’t come out any other way. And that was a thought he’d lose his shit over hearing anyway. He was all over the damn place ever since Trouble had arrived.

He lost himself in working on his piece. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He clicked off the machine and lifted his face mask to see Dylan dancing around in the doorway.

“Finally. I was trying to get your attention. It looked a little too dangerous to go inside. I’m too pretty to risk a welding injury.”

“Yes, you are.” Clay set his equipment down.

“Ooh, did you just admit you think I’m pretty?” Dylan asked.

“No.”

“I think you did, and I gotta tell you…the welding? It’s sort of hot. It’s all rugged and manly and stuff.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Clay replied, but he couldn’t help but chuckle. Trouble got to him, there was no denying it. And it felt good to laugh…to smile. “What did you need?”

“That’s a loaded question if I’ve ever heard one.” Dylan came inside, ran his hand along some of Clay’s creations. “Wow. These are incredible. You’re really good.” He spun the blades on a windmill Clay had made.

“Um…thanks.” He rubbed a hand over his face, uncomfortable with the praise. “Let’s head inside.”

“Gotcha. I can take a hint. I have stuff I don’t like people seeing either,” Dylan replied as he went toward the door.

“Like what?” Clay asked, following him.

“Wait a minute. I thought we were respecting each other’s personal, creative energy here?”

“We are, but I didn’t ask to see anything. I just asked what you do.”

“And you sell yours. That means you shouldn’t be insecure about it.”

“That’s different. It’s online or at shows. It’s different having someone in my shop.” Which admittedly sounded slightly strange, but Clay couldn’t help how he felt. “So are you going to tell me?”

They stopped while Clay locked the door. He turned to see Dylan tapping his foot against the ground, a finger on his temple. “Hmm…I’m going to go with no.”

“Aw, come on, Trouble.” He wasn’t sure why he wanted to know so badly, but he did.

“Nope, nope, nope. A boy can have his secrets, Sad Eyes. Now, I’m bored. Can we please go do something?”

Well, hell. He didn’t know why, but that hadn’t been what he’d expected when Dylan had come in. “Is Troy busy?”

“I don’t know, fuck you very much. If you don’t want to hang out with me, fine.” He whipped away, but Clay reached out and wrapped a hand around Dylan’s wrist.

“I didn’t mean that. You guys just seem to get along well. It’s your day off. I figured you’d want to do something with someone your own age.”

Dylan’s forehead and nose wrinkled, and damn it, it was impossibly cute. “Who cares about age? Did you forget I wanted you to fuck me the night we met? That I picked you up?”

No, no, he hadn’t forgotten and likely never would. His cock perked up a bit just at the mention of it. “That was for sex.”

“So? You’re a strange, strange man, Sad Eyes. I obviously like spending time with you. I like Troy as well, but just because I met him doesn’t mean I don’t want to hang out with you. Are you really that hung up on the age thing?”

“No.” Clay scratched the back of his neck. They both knew he was lying his ass off.

Dylan’s whole body language changed, went softer somehow, showing Clay a glimpse of something he didn’t want to see.

“Stop. Don’t do that. Don’t start seeing me as this big softy.”

Dylan stepped closer, then closer again. “But you kind of are a softy.”

“No, I’m not.”