For Jared, who had been playing guitar and piano since the tender age of ten, having someone in his life who could look past stereotypes and love music for what it was, felt like stepping into a different dimension.
“The saxo thrown in the mix is great,” he said, trying to get his head out of his ass. “So relaxing.”
“Told ya.” Dylan grinned. “It’s the best type of music to put on when you have people over. Like, any other genre usually gets so loud everyone ends up yelling. Not with this. Besides, it’s even better knowing he plays all the instruments himself, even when performing live. Such a damn trip.”
“Agreed.”
“Talking about trips,” Dylan started, and Jared couldn’t hold back a grin. “You’re leaving tomorrow, right?”
“Nice segue. And yup. I’m going to my parent’s the entire week. Which is why I shouldn’t drink too much today. Driving five hours hungover wouldn’t be fun.”
“I get that.” Dylan laughed. “The older I get, the worse I handle my alcohol. I’ve turned into a little bitch.”
“You’ve turned into?” Jared quipped.
“Fuck you.”
Jumping from one topic to another, they hung out in the kitchen until their food arrived, the conversation still flowing as they migrated to the living room.
Dylan did most of the talking, but Jared didn’t mind it. It was refreshing seeing this side of him. Besides, he wasn’t exactly a Chatty Cathy himself, even when he was among his closest friends. That was why it was so easy with this man. He could just be there, enjoy the good company, laugh at his shenanigans, and drink without forcing something that felt unnatural to him.
“I shouldn’t have eaten so much,” Dylan said, leaning back into the couch.
“Feeling sick?” Jared asked as he mimicked his position.
“Kinda. I crossed the line between satisfaction and pain a while ago, but this shit is just too good to let it go to waste.”
“You could have eaten it tomorrow, you know.”
“Chinese food the next day, unless you’re hungover as fuck or still drunk, is crap.”
“This coming from the man who says he’s not picky with food.” Jared snorted.
“I’m not picky. I’m gourmet.”
“Gourmet, my ass.”
“It sure is. Finest ass on earth.” Dylan’s hooded eyes pinned him on the spot.
Fuck me.
This was definitely just prime mockery. It had to be. There was no way Dylan had checked him out like that. Right?
His stomach flip-flopped.
“I always knew you had good taste.” Jared played along as his entire body buzzed. The idea of this man finding him hot made him all giddy and flustered. Embarrassinglyso.
Dylan lazily took a swig of his beer, crinkling his nose as he did. “Ugh. I’m gonna throw this away,” he said, getting up swiftly. “It already tastes like donkey piss. I’ll grab you another one while I’m up.”
As he walked away, Jared’s dick decided not to cooperate with his conscience and morality. Dylan was a stunning, ink-covered masterpiece. It was a discreet kind of sexy, though. Aside from the sleeve tattoo on his right leg and chest, which weren’t normally on full display, the rest were mostly scattered designs.
Tilting his head, Jared blatantly ogled the smooth lines of Dylan’s body. It was such a cliché, but those grey gym shorts, riding low enough for the waistband of his boxers to peek above them, made his ass look incredible. However, if he had to choose his favourite of Dylan’s outfits, it would unquestionably be those ridiculously tight jeans and biker jacket. Jared’s heart went straight into a cha-cha-cha whenever he saw him in that.
As he snapped out of this appreciation session and his brain synapses registered what he was doing, Jared smacked himself and dragged his gaze over to the TV. A horror movie was playing, one Dylan had reluctantly agreed to because it was Jared’s fave.
Sighing, he let his body sink deeper into the couch. He hated this—the sensation of disloyalty to his boyfriend, being in a relationship and feeling lonelier than when he was single, being lost at twenty-five when, a few months before, he thought he had everything he needed to be happy. The alcohol pushing him to the edge of not giving a fuck about good and evil.
Where did it all go wrong?
