Looking for Trouble(40)
Adrenaline rushed through him, and he felt like he could run a marathon, like he was invincible, as though there was nothing he couldn’t do, not if he made Clay feel that way. “Careful, Sad Eyes, or I might get a big head.”
But Clay didn’t smile, didn’t laugh. He brushed his thumb against Dylan’s cheek. “Thank you for not giving up on me. This letter, it means more to me than I could ever tell you…and you…you mean a lot to me too.”
Clay leaned in, and they kissed so slowly, so tenderly. Dylan tasted the salt from Clay’s tears on his lips. A couple more soft presses of Clay’s lips against his, and then Dylan pulled away.
“Do you want to go inside?” Clay asked.
“No.” Dylan adjusted his legs over the arm of the plastic chair and laid his head against Clay. “I want to stay out here a while longer. It’s beautiful…peaceful.”
“Did your dad fish much as an adult? He loved fishing as a kid.”
“He did,” Dylan replied, regret wreaking havoc on his system. “He used to try to get me to go with him, but it wasn’t my thing. Now I wish I’d gone with him at least sometimes. He just wanted to teach me and share something he loved with me.” He’d never been as good of a son to his dad as his dad had been a good father. It wasn’t that he hadn’t cared; he just hadn’t known they wouldn’t have the time.
“I can teach you if you’d like. Obviously, it’s not the same.”
“Um…no.” He laughed, and Clay tensed. “No, no. I didn’t mean I don’t want you to teach me. I just meant fishing with you will be different from fishing with him. You know, since I kind of like fucking you.”
“Only kind of?” Clay asked with a grin.
“Wow…I didn’t know you’d be the type to go fishing for a compliment…get it? Fishing?”
Clay rolled his eyes, but a smile still tugged at his lips, peeking out through his trimmed facial hair. “Don’t quit your day job.”
“That wasn’t very nice. I’m funny.”
“Okay.”
“And maybe more than kind of,” Dylan added. In fact, he hoped they did it again soon.
“I more than kind of like sleeping with you too.”
Dylan smiled, a warmth in his chest he wasn’t accustomed to. He teased the hair at Clay’s nape. “So…we’re doing this?” he asked.
Clay paused, the empty space between them swelling and making Dylan nervous. Finally, he answered, “Yeah, we’re doing this.”
He took Dylan’s mouth again, his tongue probing, tasting. Dylan’s cock perked up real quick, swelling beneath his underwear. He turned, tried to straddle Clay just as there was a cracking sound and the chair collapsed beneath them, making them fall to the ground.
The second they landed, laughter filled the air, Clay’s husky, happy laughter that Dylan didn’t get to enjoy nearly enough. Clay’s joy slammed into him, filled him, and Dylan couldn’t help but laugh too.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Clay
The changes over the following weeks were subtle. They didn’t speak about them, but Clay noticed each and every one, and he was sure Dylan did too.
They began sleeping in the same bed every night…Clay’s bed, in the room he’d shared with Gordon. The photo of Gordon made its way into the drawer. It was silly really, but in some ways Clay still felt like he was betraying Gordon by moving on, by caring about someone again. He couldn’t handle the thought of Gordon’s photo there, watching them together, which was a fucking crazy thing for him to feel because it wasn’t as if photos could watch a damn thing.
Gordon was dead.
He wasn’t coming back.
And Clay knew Gordon would want him to move on.
On the opposite bedside table from where the photograph used to sit was a bottle of pills with Dylan’s name on them. Clay knew it was his ADHD medication, but it wasn’t something they spoke about. He knew Dylan was insecure about it, and even though he didn’t think Dylan should, he himself was afraid of his deceased ex seeing them through a photo, so hey, they each had their things.
They’d also begun watching Queer as Folk. According to Dylan, it was a tragedy that Clay had never seen it. He wasn’t so sure about that, but he enjoyed watching Dylan as they watched the show. His eyes lit up, and he laughed and cried and repeated lines. Apparently, he’d seen it a few times.
They’d made the transition to a couple, a couple who lived together, and it had happened seamlessly. The seamless part probably because they didn’t talk about it. They didn’t discuss what would happen when Dylan saved enough money to get his car fixed and travel back to Oregon to get a place. They didn’t talk about Gordon. They basically pretended the big stuff wasn’t there, and it worked just fine for Clay.
He glanced at the clock on the wall of his tattoo parlor. He had an appointment coming in half an hour. Dylan was off that day and at home. The truth was, Clay would much rather be there with him. He lit up Clay’s life in ways he hadn’t let himself see it needed. Dylan was different from anyone he’d ever had feelings for, and not just because of his age.
While Gordon had gotten Clay to step out of his shell in some ways, he didn’t have that joyful, fun-loving approach Dylan had to…well, everything.