Dylan reclaimed his place in Angelo’s personal space. “What’s thematter?”
“I’mfine.”
“Really? ’Cause you look like you’re about to keelover.”
Angelo’s lovely face twisted into a scowl. “Pissoff.”
It was nothing Dylan hadn’t endured from Sam, but Angelo’s sudden change in mood still stung. “Is somethingwrong?”
“No.” Angelo pushed past Dylan and stalked to the taxi rank that was just beyond thejunction.
With better ideas in short supply, Dylan followed and joined him at the kerb. “Do you want to share acab?”
“Nah. I’m going towalk.”
“Walk?”
“Yeah. I’m not going the same way as you,remember?”
“Um. Okay. I’ll call yousoon?”
“Sure.”
It would’ve been easier if Angelo had slapped him. The night they’d shared had been fucking magical, and the cold sullenness marring Angelo’s features now made no sense. The date had been his idea, and he hadn’t protested when Dylan had suggested moving things to the club. They’d left in high spirits, and nothing had happened to explain Angelo’s sharp moodchange.
A million questions danced on Dylan’s tongue, but the moment to ask them passed as Angelo flagged down a black cab and opened the door, jerking his head for Dylan to get in.Fuckno.
Dylan ripped the door from Angelo and slammed it shut. “Are you taking the piss? That’s all I get? A club blowout and taxi forone?”
Angelo shrugged, his once-expressive eyes dull and devoid of any emotion. “What do you want? We’re notmarried.”
Wanker.Embarrassment washed over Dylan. Had he completely misread this? Had Angelo’s only motive for asking him out been a third go-round at the club? Ten minutes ago, Dylan would’ve been sure that the answer was no, but as Angelo thrust his hands in his pockets, he wasn’t sure of anything except the need to get as far away from this bullshit as possible. “You know what, mate? Fuckyou.”
Chapter Seven
Angelo staggeredto a nearby bench as Dylan stormed away, his biker boots thudding against the damp pavement, and every step like a kick to Angelo’s gut. He watched Dylan disappear into the drizzly night and then dropped his head into hishands.
It was a while before he found the energy to take stock of the fatigue that had hit him like a train the moment he’d stepped outside. The wrong kind of heat had spread up from his toes and into every joint, and suddenly it was all he could do to put one foot in front of theother.
Pathetic.He took a deep, shuddering breath and considered standing up, but the thought of what would come next kept him down. With no money for a cab, his only option was to stumble back to the club and beg Carl for a lift home, but it would be hours before Carl was doneworking.
So he dropped his head again and fell into the kind of doze unique to the illness that was burying himalive.
* * *
“Angelo? Mate? You awake down there?”
The unfamiliar voice roused Angelo, and he looked up to find himself staring into the earnest face of the rugby player Dylan had nailed in the club. His name escaped Angelo, but whoever the man was clearly had a bettermemory.
“Angelo?” he said again. “Youokay?”
Angelo licked his dry lips. “I’mfine.”
“Sure about that? ’Cause I’m a paramedic with the LAS, and you look likeshit.”
“LAS?”
“London AmbulanceService.”
