Under My Skin by M. L. Rhodes Page B

ridden with Dylan the night before, which meant he would have had to take a cab or catch a bus back to his car or his house. And why do that when he could've just woken Dylan and asked him to give him a ride home?
    Still... he'd wanted so badly to believe everything was okay, so he'd showered and dressed to go into the shop, trying to keep an upbeat attitude, knowing at least he'd get to see Sebastian in a short while.
    Then the phone call had come, and he'd been on the road to Poplar Bluff within minutes. He'd tried to get in touch with Sebastian to tell him what had happened and that he had to be away for a few days, but had gotten his voice mail. Wishing he could speak to Sebastian in person, but not wanting to leave him hanging as to where he'd disappeared to, he'd left a message. And then, for the first time ever, he'd bitten the bullet and spoken from his heart. Maybe talking to Sebastian's voice mail hadn't been the best way to do it, but he'd wanted to get it out in the open.
    He'd left his cell number and asked Sebastian to call him when he had a few minutes to talk.
    But Sebastian hadn't called. Not Saturday, not Sunday, not today. Dylan had tried several times to reach him, but Sebastian had never picked up, and he'd been stuck with leaving messages. He'd tried not to call too often, tried not to pressure Sebastian in case he'd pulled back and needed space. But after three days of silence, following on the heels of Sebastian's stealthy departure from his house, Dylan's spirits about the status of their relationship were pretty low. He'd known Sebastian might bail, had tried to prepare himself for it, but the truth was, if that's what was happening... it hurt.
    Whatever was going on, he couldn't continue not knowing any longer. If Sebastian wanted to run, it was better to find out now.
    He knocked and waited.
    When the door opened, a long moment stretched out where Sebastian stared at him, looking part shocked to see him and part some other swirling emotion that made Dylan's chest ache with relief. But then those emotions were swallowed by something else, something both cold and hot, and unmistakably angry.
    “What are you doing here?”
    “I just got back in town. I wanted to see you.” And, damn, Sebastian was a sight for sore eyes. Dressed in faded jeans, a gray V-neck T-shirt, and barefoot, with his hair tousled liked he'd been running his hands through it, it took all Dylan's self-control not to drag the man against him and kiss the hell out of him. But Sebastian's “stay back” wall was up at full strength, and Dylan was afraid if he tried to force it, this conversation would be over before it started.
    “How'd you even know where I lived?”
    What was going on? Why was Sebastian so damned angry— it billowed off him in waves. And yet, beneath it, Dylan sensed a healthy dose of hurt also. He recognized it all too well because he'd been feeling the same way. But why was Sebastian hurt? “I looked you up on the Internet. You didn't return my phone calls. Did you get my messages?”
    Guilt flickered through Sebastian's brown eyes. “I didn't listen to them,” he whispered.
    A stab of pain hit Dylan square in the chest. “Why?”
    Sebastian swallowed hard and looked over Dylan's shoulder as if he didn't want to make eye contact. “I didn't want to hear what you had to say.”
    Jesus . The man cut him to the bone. Trying to pull air into his squeezing lungs, Dylan managed to get out a strangled, “I don't understand.”
    Sebastian's eyes closed, then they fluttered open when he shook his head. Finally, he turned his gaze back to Dylan. “Let's just... God. Let's just not play games, okay? I can't do any more games. You know why.”
    “No. I don't. What's going on?”
    “I saw the drawing. The one in your den.”
    “Which drawing? I have dozens of drawings in there. That's what I do for a living.”
    “God, you're making this so hard. Frankly, I'm shocked you had the nerve to come over here at all.