could come up with a plan to get Dylan Radamacher and Rad Tattoos out of their hair before he could cause any more trouble, or make any progress with his plans to take over the world. Their world, anyway.
“Sebastian, I'm really worried about you.”
He tried to put on a brave face for her and kissed her on the top of the head. “I'll be all right. I really do need to get back to my store, though.”
“Okay. But whatever happened, just like I've been saying all along, you guys need to talk it out.”
He waved to her and escaped.
Seemed like he'd been doing that a lot today. Escaping.
* * * *
When he got home from the store Saturday night, his townhome felt dark and cold— pretty much mirroring Sebastian's mood. Even Morgan seemed out of sorts, only coming out of his favorite closet hidey-hole to eat when Sebastian gave him some of his favorite canned food, then disappearing again as if he were as disgusted with Sebastian as Sebastian was with himself.
He couldn't sleep Saturday night. Couldn't sleep well , anyway. Every time he closed his eyes and dozed off, graphic dreams of his and Dylan's encounters blazed through his head. He kept waking up with a hard-on and the memory of Dylan's mouth on it, or licking into his ass with hot, sexy precision, or thrusting into him and bringing him to one dizzying orgasm after another.
He staggered out of bed late for him, not until almost ten o'clock Sunday morning, exhausted, aching, and stretched thin, like someone had put him on the rack.
He wandered through his townhome in a daze, trying to act normal, do whatever he would usually do on a weekend, then gave up and went for a long, hard bicycle ride along the Katy Trail, hoping the exertion would clear his mind and tire him out enough he'd be able to sleep better Sunday night.
But as he rode, his mind worked overtime, replaying everything Dylan had told him and reviewing all the facts as he knew them, trying to find a way that the drawing on Dylan's wall wasn't what it appeared. Trying to find a way to mesh it with the damned tender way he'd looked at Sebastian, had touched him.
Beck, Horst... none of the men he'd ever slept with had looked at him the way Dylan had. He kept coming back to wondering how someone could fake that. Or why. He would have gone to bed with Dylan even without that look. He'd already gone home with him, had given him head in the garage before he'd seen it. Dylan hadn't had to pretend like he cared.
And that's what hurt worst of all.
When he got home, he found his cell phone. Turned it on. Held his finger over the button that would dial his voice mail.
But the drawing of the mall with Rad Tattoos as the single store reared its ugly head once again, filling the screen in his mind's eye with the vision of it hanging there, like a proud goal, above Dylan's drafting table where he'd be able to see it as he worked. And then all the other bits and pieces followed— the music, the parking, the renovations he'd had Ander reschedule, the hiring of a new person or people.
Disgusted, he hit the off button and tossed his cell onto the kitchen counter.
He would talk to Dylan. But in person. He wanted straight answers, deserved straight answers, and the phone wasn't the way to get them. It was too easy to deceive over the phone. Better to look him in the eye.
Yeah, and where did that get you before?
CHAPTER 6
Drained, and more than a little worried, Dylan pulled up in front of Sebastian's two-story townhome Monday afternoon. It had been a really crappy few days for many reasons, but Sebastian's total phone silence had weighed on Dylan almost as much as worrying about his mom's health.
When he'd awakened on Saturday morning and found Sebastian gone from the bed, and ultimately, gone from the house, his stomach had taken a nosedive. He'd tried not to read too much into it, though. Maybe he'd just wanted to go home and get ready for work, since both their stores had Saturday business hours. Except he'd
“Sebastian, I'm really worried about you.”
He tried to put on a brave face for her and kissed her on the top of the head. “I'll be all right. I really do need to get back to my store, though.”
“Okay. But whatever happened, just like I've been saying all along, you guys need to talk it out.”
He waved to her and escaped.
Seemed like he'd been doing that a lot today. Escaping.
* * * *
When he got home from the store Saturday night, his townhome felt dark and cold— pretty much mirroring Sebastian's mood. Even Morgan seemed out of sorts, only coming out of his favorite closet hidey-hole to eat when Sebastian gave him some of his favorite canned food, then disappearing again as if he were as disgusted with Sebastian as Sebastian was with himself.
He couldn't sleep Saturday night. Couldn't sleep well , anyway. Every time he closed his eyes and dozed off, graphic dreams of his and Dylan's encounters blazed through his head. He kept waking up with a hard-on and the memory of Dylan's mouth on it, or licking into his ass with hot, sexy precision, or thrusting into him and bringing him to one dizzying orgasm after another.
He staggered out of bed late for him, not until almost ten o'clock Sunday morning, exhausted, aching, and stretched thin, like someone had put him on the rack.
He wandered through his townhome in a daze, trying to act normal, do whatever he would usually do on a weekend, then gave up and went for a long, hard bicycle ride along the Katy Trail, hoping the exertion would clear his mind and tire him out enough he'd be able to sleep better Sunday night.
But as he rode, his mind worked overtime, replaying everything Dylan had told him and reviewing all the facts as he knew them, trying to find a way that the drawing on Dylan's wall wasn't what it appeared. Trying to find a way to mesh it with the damned tender way he'd looked at Sebastian, had touched him.
Beck, Horst... none of the men he'd ever slept with had looked at him the way Dylan had. He kept coming back to wondering how someone could fake that. Or why. He would have gone to bed with Dylan even without that look. He'd already gone home with him, had given him head in the garage before he'd seen it. Dylan hadn't had to pretend like he cared.
And that's what hurt worst of all.
When he got home, he found his cell phone. Turned it on. Held his finger over the button that would dial his voice mail.
But the drawing of the mall with Rad Tattoos as the single store reared its ugly head once again, filling the screen in his mind's eye with the vision of it hanging there, like a proud goal, above Dylan's drafting table where he'd be able to see it as he worked. And then all the other bits and pieces followed— the music, the parking, the renovations he'd had Ander reschedule, the hiring of a new person or people.
Disgusted, he hit the off button and tossed his cell onto the kitchen counter.
He would talk to Dylan. But in person. He wanted straight answers, deserved straight answers, and the phone wasn't the way to get them. It was too easy to deceive over the phone. Better to look him in the eye.
Yeah, and where did that get you before?
CHAPTER 6
Drained, and more than a little worried, Dylan pulled up in front of Sebastian's two-story townhome Monday afternoon. It had been a really crappy few days for many reasons, but Sebastian's total phone silence had weighed on Dylan almost as much as worrying about his mom's health.
When he'd awakened on Saturday morning and found Sebastian gone from the bed, and ultimately, gone from the house, his stomach had taken a nosedive. He'd tried not to read too much into it, though. Maybe he'd just wanted to go home and get ready for work, since both their stores had Saturday business hours. Except he'd
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