Page 90 of Worth the Fight

He’s the fourth guy to ask me this question, just in a different way. It seems to be a coordinated effort to make sure I’m not going to bail on the calendar shoot.

“I told you I’d be there. Satisfied?”

“Baby, I’m never satisfied,” he teases, “but I’ll take what I can get.”

“If you’re looking my way for your satisfaction, you need serious help.”

“I always need help, but I’m glad to hear you’re going to show us all up.”

“Like I said, I’ll be there,” I grumble, already regretting agreeing to this.

“You want to head out and grab a beer after shift? Try to put a little fat on that belly of yours so we don’t look so out of shape in comparison in the pictures? That is, of course, if you don’t have other plans with Dylan.”

I know a fishing expedition when I see one. “She isn’t around.”

“She head back to L.A. already? I thought she was here for a few more weeks.”

“So did I,” I murmur as I double-check my gear in my riding spot on the engine. Anything to occupy myself and avoid this conversation.

“She coming back?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Well, is her shit still at your place?” he continues.

“Bowie, why don’t you just come straight out and ask me whatever you’re trying to ask me.” I slide a glance his way and wait for him to acknowledge my question.

“Are you hitting it, or what?”

I tuck my tongue in my cheek and place my gear in the grab rail. “And that’s your business why?”

“Because I’m trying to figure out why you’re in a shitty mood when you’ve been Mr. Happy for the past month or so.”

“Mr. Happy?” I chuckle. “That sounds like a bad nickname for my johnson.”

“So?”

“You know, if you worked out as much as you ran your mouth, you’d be in killer shape.”

“This is easier. And you’re changing the topic.”

“Yes. Her stuff is still in her room,” I say, not realizing until now how important that is.

“Thank fuck, because you need that hose of yours serviced before your next shift so I don’t have to deal with your grumpy ass.”

“At least I have someone to service mine,” I call over my shoulder as I walk out of the bay.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

DYLAN

I take a deep breath and stare at the front door. Nothing has changed in the few days since I’ve been gone, and yet, nothing feels the same.

The time away. The time with Jett. The clarity I gained with distance. I’m in more than like with Grady Malone.

It’s a confession I’ve refused to acknowledge, but now I’m standing at his front door, summoning the courage to open it, I can’t refute it.

How did I not see this coming? How have I lived here with him, shared his space, and convinced myself that roomies with romp time would be okay?