Restless, he hauled himself off the floor and went to the kitchen. His dad had brought over a pie from the butchers the day before, but he ignored it in favour of a big bottle of fruity cider?—the shit kind that tasted like Vimto. He has halfway deep in it and peeling tiny bits of the label from the bottle when his phone rangagain.
He jumped on it like a starving man. “Angelo?”
“It’sme.”
Relief rushed out of Dylan in a whoosh of breath. “Sorry I missed your first call. I threw my phone by accident, then fell off the bed trying to catchit.”
“Erm... okay? Are youdrunk?”
“Nope. Just atwat.”
“Fair enough.” Angelo didn’t sound convinced. “I’m sorry I haven’t called you sooner. I didn’t have any minutes left on my phone, and I keep crashing out as soon as I gethome.”
“How are you doing with that? Do you feelbetter?”
“Actually, yes. I’ve been locking the door for an hour every morning to take a nap in the stock room, and I think it’shelping.”
Dylan pictured Angelo trying to get his head down amongst the vats of olive oil and giant jars of sundried tomatoes.This isn’t right. “What about yourlegs?”
“Well, I haven’t cut them off and hurled them under a bus yet, so I suppose they’re allright.”
“Gallows humour,eh?”
“Well, I am on Gallows Corner,babe.”
Babe. Jesus. This dude kills me.It had been a long time since a male lover?—if Angelo could even be defined as that?—had called Dylanbabe. On the rare occasions his dirty nights in with Sam and Eddie had spilled out into a stolen kiss or touch from Sam, it had always beenmateorbrother, and the emptiness Dylan had felt then now made sense. “What are you doingtonight?”
“Accounts. I’m trying to get my mum to sit down with me, but she ain’t having none of it. Makes me want to start smokingagain.”
“When did youquit?”
“Eight years ago,” Angelo said around an ironically timedcough.
“Wow.”
“I know. Not sure what that says about me orher.”
Dylan went to the fridge and opened it, staring blindly inside at the contents before he grabbed another cider. “Do you want to maybe meet up later? We could get a drink,or...”
“Orwhat?”
“I don’t know. Go to the Thursday night gangbang party at the club and have crazy-mad sex? What are we doinghere?”
Angelo laughed, which made Dylan feel a little better about the determined bunny boiler who fell out of his mouth every time he spoke. “I have no idea what we’re doing. You told me to let things be, so that’s what I’m doing. I’m stuck with my mum tonight, but if you want to do something tomorrow?—drink council pop at the bus stop or sit on a park bench, ’cause that’s all I can afford right now?—I’m game forwhatever.”
“So you’re not going to theclub?”
“Are you? Because I’m pretty sure I’m game for thattoo.”
The romantic in Dylan wanted to ditch the club and take Angelo out for dinner. Get a bottle of wine and leer at each other over spicy food until they stumbled home to bed. But the realist in him knew that Angelo would never agree to a night out on Dylan’s wallet, and as much fun as the bus stop sounded, the club would do far more for Angelo’s fragile self-esteem.
Besides, going to the club wasn’t exactly a hardship. Fuck no. It was the best offer Dylan had heard since the last time, and they made loose plans to meet near Lovato’s the following night. And after they’d hung up, Dylan took a shower with a grin and boner he wouldn’t touch until he had his mouth around Angelo’scock.
* * *
The changein Angelo was startling. Dylan watched him spring over a bench as he approached the club, and for the first time truly saw him as the incredible athlete he’d once been. He stepped out of the shadows and into Angelo’s path. Nerves shivered through him and he opened his arms, willing Angelo to step right intothem.
Angelo did exactly that, and his embrace warmed Dylan’s bones. “Hey.”
