Angelo shrugged. “Because he’s super frazzled with work and travelling down here to see my sorry arse every other week.”
“So maybe Dylan’s life needs to change too.”
“Right. ’Cause wouldn’t that be a fucking fairy tale?”
“Cynic.”
“Realist, actually. It’s me stressing Dylan out right now. He could handle work if I was there to have his back.”
“You are there for him, Angelo. Don’t write your entire relationship off because circumstance has forced you apart for a couple of months.Talkto him. You might be surprised by what he has to say.”
Two
Angelo rolled over in bed and, instead of cold, empty space, found warmth, love, and sunlight streaming through the open curtains.
He opened his eyes. Dylan was already awake and gazing at him, his blond hair a tousled riot, his bloodshot eyes the only hint of the bottle of rum he’d helped Joe and Jevon sink last night. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Angelo stretched carefully, testing his muscles, then sat up on his elbows. “What time is it?”
“Six.”
“Six?”
“Yeah. Someone took the horsebox out about an hour ago. Woke me up.”
“Lucky horsebox. It took me ages to get you into bed in the first place, you fucking hooligan.”
“Sorry.” Dylan grinned without an ounce of contrition. “Blame Jevon. He said I was as buzzed as a kid at the end of term, and I kinda felt that way after a couple of those fruity things he was making.”
Angelo laughed. “You had about ten.”
“Five, actually.”
“Whatever.”
“Is it?”
“Is it what?”
“Whatever,” Dylan said. “I kind of got the feeling you wanted to talk last night, but we never got the chance. I didn’t realise there would be so many people here—Joe and Harry usually leave us to it.”
“That’s because they go to bed at nine o’clock. Rhys can go all night, remember?”
The double meaning made Dylan laugh too, reminding Angelo—as if he needed it—how lucky he was to have lost his heart to someone who understood him so well. Harry’s brother, Rhys, had been their playmate at Lovato’s—a place for every fantasy—for more than a year before shifting planes had drawn them apart.
“He looked good, don’t you think?” Dylan said. “Rhys, I mean, considering he just got caught up in a terrorist attack.”
Angelo shuddered. “I don’t want to think about that.”
“Me either. Anyway,” Dylan went on. “What’s onyourmind?”
“Nothing.”
“Uh-huh.” Dylan eased Angelo back down and stroked his hair out of his face. “Is that right?”
No. But with Dylan’s morning wood digging into Angelo’s thigh, it was hard to form a coherent thought, let alone put words to the introspective carousel he’d been stuck on since he’d first realised returning to city life would put him back where he’d started a few months ago.
Then Dylan kissed him and it was impossible to contemplate why any of it even mattered, because when Dylan’s lips were on his, there was nothing else. They’d tumbled into bed naked the night before, clothes flung carelessly aside, and fallen asleep before appreciating the alchemy of skin on skin, entwined limbs, and roaming hands. But that magic roared to life now. Dylan covered Angelo with his body, slipping seamlessly between Angelo’s legs as he fused his mouth to Angelo’s sensitive nipples, one after the other.
