Because Dylan was right?—especially in the things he’d left unsaid. Angelo was a mess, and Dylan deserved so muchmore.
Chapter Eleven
Dylan stared moroselyat the bottom of his fourth pint. It was Wednesday night?—a school night?—and he was well on his way to being proper fuckingbladdered.
He was lonely too, but that was nothing new. Even partying at The Pitt all weekend had done nothing to lift his mood, as he’d spent most of his time explaining Sam’s absence.Goddammit.It wasn’t like they’d ever been joined at thehip.
At least he’d managed to keep his dick in his pants, though. As he tracked a familiar bloke at the bar, he was struggling to decide if a period of self-imposed celibacy was worth thehassle.
Go home, dickhead.But as hard as he tried to make himself move, nothing happened, save Rhys looking round at just the wrong moment and spotting him at his solitary sulkingpost.
“All right,mate?”
Dylan stared at the table. “Yup.You?”
“Not bad, not bad.” Rhys dropped into the seat beside Dylan, nudging aside Dylan’s abandoned work bag. “Where’s yourfella?”
“Mywhat?”
Rhys winced. “Oooh, like that, is it? Damn. I’ll get the beersin.”
He got up again and went to the bar. Dylan absently watched him move?—the roll of his broad shoulders, the swing of his trim waits. The devil in him craved the oblivion of fucking Angelo out of his system, and he knew Rhys would likely make a willing accomplice for a jaunt across town to Lovato’s’s biweekly orgy club, but pride and Sam’s voice echoing in his fuzzy head kept him quiet. “... stop banging people in sex clubs and get out into the real world...you always end up going mad in that place when you’ve got a cob on aboutshit...”
Fuck off,Sam.
Rhys came back to the table with a couple of pints and four shots of what smelled suspiciously like Sambuca. Dylan groaned and dropped his head to the table. “Jesus. Haven’t you got worktomorrow?”
“Nope.” Rhys slid half his bounty Dylan’s way. “I’m not back on shift until Saturday, which means I’ve got all night to cheer your miserable arseup.”
He spoke without innuendo, and Dylan was grateful. It was rare that he came across playmates from the club in the outside world, and?—Angelo aside?—it had always been awkward. Sexual attraction and a genuine rapport weren’t the same thing, and Dylan was often left wondering why he’d fucked them in the firstplace.
But Rhys wasn’t like that. He was treating Dylan like they were old friends, and right now he was exactly what Dylanneeded.
“So,” Rhys said when Dylan didn’t respond. “What’s going on with you and the fella? Angel, ain’tit?”
“His name is Angelo, actually. And he’s not myfella.”
“No?” Rhys cocked an eyebrow and necked a Sambuca shot. “Coulda fooled me. I had you two down as an old marriedcouple.”
“I wish.” Dylan choked out a bitter laugh. “Shit. Did I say that outloud?”
“Sounds like you’ve got it bad,brother.”
Dylan couldn’t denyit.
Rhys clapped a rough hand on his back that was nothing like Angelo’s smooth touch. “Come on, mate. Chin up, eh? Maybe he’s just a bit screwed up and not feeling a relationship rightnow.”
Dylan looked up sharply. “What makes you think he’s the one that’s screwedup?”
“I didn’t say he was,” Rhys countered, his tone mild. “I’m speculating based on the piss poor information you’ve given me sofar.”
Dylan maintained his glare as long as he could, but a rueful chuckle escaped himanyway.
Rhys laughed too, but then his expression sobered to the one Dylan dimly remembered from the night Angelo had collapsed outside the club. “Look, it’s none of my business, but the bloke clearly has something going on right now, and when shit like that gets real, everything else suffers. If something has gone wrong between you two, it might not have anything to do with the way you feel about eachother.”
“You didn’t seem so wise when I had you bent over that couch.” Dylan sank half of his beer and considered Rhys over the rim of his glass. A vague memory of him revealing that he was a paramedic hazed through his beer-addled mind?—and itwasvague. That night, Dylan’s concern for Angelo had overwhelmed just about everything. “Can I ask yousomething?”
Rhys shrugged. “Sure. Like you say, you’ve bent me over a couch and fucked me sideways, so what else isthere?”
