Looking for Trouble(41)

Oh shit. He was smiling. Why in the fuck was he smiling?

Ringing broke the quiet, ridiculously making Clay jump. He was losing his mind, sitting there alone, thinking about Dylan, grinning like a fool and scared of his own phone ringing.

He walked over and picked up the receiver. “Clay’s Custom Ink.”

“Hi, Clay. It’s Amanda. I hate to do this at such short notice, but something came up and I have to cancel my appointment for today.”

That meant he could go home early. Damn it. He was smiling again. What was this pull Dylan had over him? “No problem,” he replied. “I hope everything’s okay.”

They spoke for a moment while she told him it was and that she would call back to reschedule. Months ago, Clay likely would have hung around, waiting to see if he had any walkins, but instead, he rushed through cleaning the shop, locked up, and jumped into his truck. He considered calling Dylan to let him know he would be home early, but decided on surprising him instead.

Clay made the quick drive from downtown to his property right outside the city limits. After he parked and got out of the car, he heard the beat of music coming from the house.

He made his way up the porch and inside, following the sound of pop music—he thought maybe it was Ariana Grande, but what in the hell did he know? When he rounded the corner into the kitchen, Dylan was there with his back to Clay, wearing a threadbare black T-shirt and a pair of tight, black underwear with open crisscrosses across his ass that showed his skin.

He was singing at the top of his lungs, shaking his ass, as Dakota slept away on her bed like it was nothing new.

An unexpected surge of delight traveled through him, swelled, taking up all the space inside him as he watched Dylan dance, watched the bliss shining from him and the simple pleasure he took.

Clay’s chest tightened. Christ, it was a beautiful sight.

Dylan was beautiful.

And sexy as hell.

As he watched, something caught his eye. He frowned when he saw a sewing machine on the table, along with pieces of fabric, scissors, a sketchbook, and other odds and ends.

What in the hell was that?

Just then, still dancing, Dylan spun around, their eyes clashing as Dylan jumped and clutched his chest. “Oh shit. You scared the hell out of me!” His eyes then darted to the table, those crystal blue eyes of his going wide in a sort of panic Clay didn’t understand.

Dylan rushed over and turned off the music, then headed for the table. “I wasn’t expecting you home so early. Let me clean this up real quick.”

“Wait a minute. You don’t have to rush. What is this?” Clay asked as he walked over and joined Dylan at the table.

“A sewing machine.”

“Ha-ha. No shit. I’m being serious.”

Dylan looked down, and damned if his cheeks didn’t pinken slightly. “I guess I sew a little bit. I’m not very good, but…”

“You sew? Like hemming?” he asked just as his eyes darted down to see the sketchbook, open to a page with multiple designs of underwear on it.

Clay went to pick it up, but Dylan snatched it away and hid it behind his back.

“You design underwear?” Wow. How could he not have known this? He and Dylan had been living together long enough that he should have noticed him sewing.

“Oh God. Nope. I’m not talking about this.” Obviously pouting, Dylan stalked toward his room, his tight little ass making Clay’s dick perk up.

He went into the bedroom he didn’t sleep in any longer, and Clay was right behind him. “Did you make the underwear you’re wearing now? And why is it a secret?”

Dylan tossed the book to the dresser, crossed his arms, and plopped down onto the bed.

“Okay, you’re cute as hell when you pout. I’m stuck between wanting to suck that bottom lip of yours and trying to figure out why you’re making a big deal about this.”

“Because it’s stupid?” Dylan replied. “It’s a waste of time. It’s not as if I could ever have a career doing it.”

“First of all, it’s not stupid. Second, it’s not a waste of time if you enjoy it, and third, why couldn’t you have a career doing it? Do you think I ever thought I would see my welding pieces online or at exhibitions before people began to get interested?”

Dylan turned his head just as Clay walked over and knelt in front of him. He hooked his finger beneath Dylan’s chin and turned his head so he faced him. Dylan closed his eyes, and Clay could see this was truly upsetting to him, that it was something important to him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to find out about something you didn’t want to share with me.”

“It’s not that I didn’t want to share it with you specifically,” Dylan replied. “I don’t share it with anyone. It’s…embarrassing.”

Clay frowned. “Why is it embarrassing?”

“What if they’re not very good?”

Clay sighed, stroking Dylan’s cheek. “What I saw was very good. I’d like to see more. I’m sure you’re better at it than you think you are. It’s hard putting yourself out there. Art is…so subjective but so damn personal too. It’s like opening your heart to people, showing them what you’re made of, and waiting for them to critique it. It can be soul-crushing, but it can also be fulfilling.”