“I’m?—?”
Dylan tapped his fingers against Angelo’s mouth. “Don’t tell me you’re fine. Silence is better thanbullshit.”
Angelo pursed his lips, swallowing the denial that would’ve likely earned him far worse than a boyish scowl. The twenty-four hours he’d spent with Dylan was mostly a blur, but the memory of Dylan pretty much carrying him home from the club was already haunting him. He dried his face and braved a glance at his reflection in the mirror and then looked back at Dylan. Big mistake. Angelo had slept the whole of Sunday away, waking late in the evening to Dylan feeding him soup and imploring him to stay another night. It had seemed like a good idea at the time?—more than that?—but now Dylan looked as tired as him, and the guilt was almost enough to put Angelo back on hisarse.
Almost, because he had a deli to open, and apparently Dylan was coming withhim.
“Don’t you have your own job to go to?” Angelo asked at the front door. “’Cause you aren’t exactly dressed for a day of foamingmilk.”
“Are you taking the piss out of my office getup?”
As if. Dylan was wearing tight grey trousers and a fitted black shirt that seemed as though it had been made to have his compact body poured into it. Even through the fog of a lingering relapse, Angelo wanted to jump him. “You lookawesome.”
“Right.”
“It’s true.” Angelo was dressed in the same clothes he’d been wearing Saturday. Dylan had washed them, but he still felt like a tramp. “Anyway, I’ve got to go, so if you really are coming with me, you can tell me your dastardly plan on theway.”
Turned out there wasn’t much to Dylan’s plan. He had to be in Stratford by nine and so could only stay an hour to help Angelo in the deli. And that was more than enough. Dylan’s unobtrusive way of taking care of Angelo had kept him sane when he’d been flat on his back, but Angelo couldn’t live with disrupting Dylan’s life more than he alreadyhad.
“Are you going to be all right?” Dylanasked.
Angelo looked up from the bread he was arranging on the shelves. “Yeah.”
“Sure?” Dylan took his apron off and came to Angelo’s side. “You don’t lookwell.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t be adick.”
“I can’t change who I am,mate.”
Dylan grinned. “Uh-huh. Good job I like your dick, but seriously. Call me if you need me, okay? I’m not that faraway.”
Being even a foot from Dylan felt like a fate worse than a slow death, but they both knew that Angelo wouldn’t make that call. “I’ll be fine. Ihaveto be. But I’ll miss you, if that makes you feel anybetter.”
“It does.” Dylan stepped impossibly closer. “But it doesn’t make it any easier to leaveyou.”
Angelo dropped the focaccia he was holding as Dylan stole another one of those kisses that stopped the world turning. Their lips brushed and then fused together, soothing the residual aches in Angelo’s battered body. The roof could’ve fallen in while Dylan caressed Angelo’s tongue with velvetstrokes.
But it was over too soon. “I’ll find you later?” Dylanasked.
Angelo nodded. “I’d like that, though I’ll probably fall asleep on youagain.”
“I’m not complaining,” Dylan said. “It’s not like you snore anddrool.”
“No?”
Dylan shook his head. “Nope. You didn’t move a muscle. If it wasn’t for your chest moving, I’d have thought you weredead.”
They were morbid words to part on, but Angelo’s first customers arrived for their coffee fix, and Dylan had a train to catch. He pecked Angelo’s cheek, and then he was gone, leaving Angelo to face the day alone?—a scenario that wasn’t unusual but suddenly seemed harder thanever.
He struggled through the morning rush and then locked the doors for ten minutes just before the lunchtime. His head was pounding, and his legs were like lead, but the cloud of despair that usually came with the worst ME symptoms was noticeablyabsent.
Angelo forced a banana down while he fiddled with his phone, poaching the Wi-Fi from the bank across the road. A WhatsApp message popped up with a photo attached. The sight of Dylan lounging at his desk, pulling a stupid face, warmed him from the inside out. Over the weekend, they’d shown each other so many sides of themselves, but this was the Dylan that Angelo craved most?—not the power bottom who drove Angelo fucking insane in the club, but the sunny, down-to-earth dude with the perpetual smile. The man who stole Angelo’s breath with his gentle kisses and eased him to sleep with soothing hands.I miss him already.Was that even possible? The ache in Angelo’s heart saidyes.
The rest of the day passed in a dizzying blur of coffee and scorched cheese. Angelo was scraping the panini presses down when his body gave up the ghost. In the past, he’d have forced himself to keep going, but it wasn’t in him today. He braced himself on the counter and bowed his head. Prickly heat crept through his joints and tingled his skin, but conversely, he was cold. A shiver passed through him.Damn, I need to sit down.But before he could move, sinuous arms wound around his waist from behind, and warm lips grazed the back of his neck.Dylan.
Angelo’s legs trembled, but for once it wasn’t fatigue claiming his balance. Dylan’s touch brought him back to life, and he leaned back into Dylan’s embrace, melting against him. “You’rehere.”
