“Spend a week here, then talk to me about feelingold.”
“Would thathelp?”
“Fuck no.” Angelo shook his head before Dylan could start getting any ideas. “It might get me home before seven, but my conscience would kill me. Thanks, mate, but you’ve doneenough.”
Dylan let it go and took his apron off. He folded it into a complicated triangle that looked like it belonged in a hotel and set it on the counter. Angelo passed him his wallet, phone, and keys, and Dylan pocketed them absently, his gaze distant as he chewed on hislip.
Angelo pinched Dylan’s cheek, his thumb lingering for longer than was entirely necessary. “What are you scowlingabout?”
“I’m notscowling.”
“No?” Angelo gave in and let his fingers ease the frown lines from Dylan’s usually sunny face. “Why do you look like a Chihuahua chewing a waspthen?”
“It’s bulldog chewing a wasp,dickhead.”
Angelo grinned. “Yeah, but you’re too small to be abulldog.”
Dylan’s arms gently circled Angelo’s waist. “Saysyou.”
It was Angelo’s turn to glower. He was taller than Dylan by a mere inch, and they were evenly matched in weight, though Angelo’s muscles were more defined... fornow.Until that moment,he hadn’t given much thought to the aesthetic consequences his inactivity would have on his body, but with Dylan so close, and so fucking beautiful, vanity kicked him square in thegut.
He let his hands drop and stepped out of Dylan’s personal space. “Thanks for today. Not having to play nice with customers has done me a world ofgood.”
“Yeah, I can see that peopling gets on yournerves.”
Angelo snorted. “You’re being kind. It’s a wonder I’ve never decked anyone during the lunchtime rush. Hungry yuppies get on mytits.”
“Hmm, well, your people skills work just fine withme.”
The vague innuendo nearly sent Angelo straight back to the hypnotic haven of Dylan’s loose embrace, but the sound of the front door opening brought him to his senses. He left Dylan alone and mechanically brewed cappuccinos while Dylan waited in the kitchen, but on the fourth jug of frothy milk, he sensed Dylan leaving. The backdoor closing was another kick to his gut, and it wasn’t until he found Dylan’s note on the fridge that an alien thrill of another impromptu encounterreturned.
Here’s my number. Callme.
Chapter Five
Dylan switchedhis phone to silent and set it face down on the beer-slick table. Logic told him to jam it in his pocket and forget about it, but he wasn’t quite there yet. His phone had been ringing all day... and he’d been ignoring it all day. The party line was that he was at work and unable to take personal calls, but the truth was that he had no desire to speak to his dad, his landlord, Sam, or, indeed, anyone that wasn’t Angelo.Fuck thatnoise.
And of course Angelo hadn’t called since they’d spent the day together at the deli on Monday, and given that it was Friday now, it didn’t seem likely that he would. Which had left Dylan in the worst mood ever?—an unfortunate thing for his long list of clients. And for his bank balance when he’d ditched a solitary train ride home in favour of hitting the pub. A few Friday night pints had seemed like a good idea then, but by the time eight o’clock had rolled past, taking the last bastion of his sobriety with it, he’d changed his fuckingmind.
Shame he couldn’t undrink four pints and an ill-advised round of Sambuca shots, though he was kind of glad for the booze buffer when a familiar hand closed around his shoulder some time between should’ve gone home o’clock and fuck it, let’s get wasted hour. “Go away, Sam,” Dylanslurred.
“Right. ’Cause that’s how it fuckingworks.”
Sam’s trademark growl had nothing on Angelo’s perfect contradiction of smoothness and grit, but it compelled odd feelings in Dylan all the same. He allowed Sam to tow him outside and dump him on a nearby bench and then looked up with a sneer that Sam would be proud of. “What brings you here, sweetfriend?”
“What do you think?” Sam’s expression was hard. “You’ve been playing cat and mouse with me for weeks, and I needed to make sure you wereokay.”
“You couldn’t just stalk my Facebook like a normalperson?”
“I’m not a teenage girl. You could’ve just answered thephone.”
“I called youback.”
“Once. At nine o’clock in the morning when you knew I’d be atwork.”
Dylan rolled his eyes, aware that he was being a prick but somehow unable to stop. “What’s yourpoint?”
Sam’s glare burned nuclear. “Are you taking thepiss?”
