Authors: M. L. Rhodes
No wonder Dylan had been so nice to him, had slept with him. He was using him, sweetening him up in order to get his space. That was probably also the reason he'd let Ander crank the music as loud as he wanted unless Sebastian complained. And why he never seemed to notice or care that his customers were hogging all the parking spaces. He'd probably been trying to make problems for Sebastian, cause him to lose business until, eventually, he'd move out. But then yesterday, when Sebastian had gone into Rad Tattoos and Dylan had caught him eyeballing him, making it clear he found Dylan attractive, Dylan had pounced on the opportunity to take a more direct attack, like a wildcat stalking its prey. Sebastian might as well have offered himself up as a sacrifice.
“Damn it... God damn it.”
He suddenly remembered something Dylan had said to him yesterday evening. Sebastian hadn't really picked up on it at the time, but now it was like a slap in the face it was so obvious. Dylan had said one of the reasons he'd worked late last night was because he'd been setting up some interviews for a job opening he had.
Expanding meant he'd need other tattooists. The man wasn't wasting any time.
Sebastian had to get out here. Now.
Numb with hurt, and with fury— almost as much at himself as at Dylan— he staggered back to the kitchen to find his clothes. He dragged them on, stabbed his arms into his jacket, and let himself out the front door into the chilly, damp dark morning.
He didn't know where he was going. He just had to be away. As far away from Dylan Radamacher as he could get.
It took all Sebastian's chutzpah, helped along with a dash of righteous fury, to dress for work, get in his car, and drive the mile to his store later that morning.
When he'd left Dylan's, he'd walked several blocks to a convenience store and called a cab to come get him. The cabbie had dropped him off at his car. By the time Sebastian got home, the first pink tinge of sunrise lit the horizon.
He'd taken a hot shower, trying to wash away the memories of Dylan's touch, his scent, his kisses. But the shower reminded him of the one he'd shared with Dylan last night, and every swipe of his soapy hand over his body made it tingle to life until his cock was hard and his balls ached.
They weren't the only places on him that ached either. It had been a long time since he'd been penetrated, but last night Dylan had fucked him twice. Once in the bed, and then again in the shower. This morning his ass felt stretched and tender. But damn it, as much as he wanted to use that to hate Dylan more, instead, as he washed, each time his hand drew near his opening, all he could think of was how damned good it had been, how Dylan's dick had impaled him over and over like a piston custom-made for his body, and how he'd loved it, cried out, begged for more. No matter what his mind said, his body wanted it still. And so, damn it, did his traitorous heart.
Finally, hoping to find some relief from the torturous thoughts, he wrapped a hand around his cock and jerked himself off with no mercy. As he shot thick, ropy streams of cream against the shower wall, he shouted out his hurt and indignation along with his climax.
It hadn't helped a damn thing.
He hadn't been able to eat breakfast, hadn't even been able to choke down a cup of coffee.
When he arrived at his store just a few minutes before opening time, he saw Ander's old black beater in the lot, but neither Dylan's bike nor his Jeep. Rad Tattoos opened the same time Great Escapes did. Maybe Dylan was playing hooky today. Did he know what Sebastian had seen in his den, know that's why he'd left this morning? Or did he think Sebastian had just decided to head home early and that when he saw him today everything would be cool?
He scowled at the black and red neon sign Ander must have turned on.
As he unlocked the door of Great Escapes and entered, his cell phone rang. Sebastian plucked it from his belt, then almost dropped it when he saw Dylan's name on the caller ID.
How had the man gotten his cell number? Then he remembered the mini-directory Joanie kept updated and distributed to all the business owners at the mall so if they ever needed to get in touch with one another they'd have easy access to the information. It had his store number and his cell number on it.
He stared at his phone as a combination of nerves and churning anger swept through him.
He couldn't bring himself to answer, couldn't talk to the man right now.
The ringing stopped. A few second later, his phone beeped to indicate he had a message.
No, damn it.
He had nothing to say to Dylan and didn't want to hear anything he had to say either. Not right now. Not when his insides were tied in knots over Dylan's betrayal and his own conflicting feelings about it. He hated the man for how he'd played him, and yet couldn't stop thinking about him. A bad,
bad
combination. The last thing he needed was to hear Dylan's voice.
He slid the phone back into its case, burning with resentment, and went about his morning chores, turning on lights, flipping the sign on the door to “Open,” booting up the computer system.
As the morning wore on and he dealt with a moderate stream of customers, he tried hard not to watch the parking lot for one of Dylan's vehicles to appear, but did anyway. Constantly. And hated himself for caring. He rationalized that it was better to know when Dylan had come in so he'd be prepared to face him if Dylan wanted to see him.
Why wasn't the man here anyway? If Sebastian had had the balls to come in and risk facing him, then Dylan should be able to do the same instead if playing some hiding game. Or maybe he wasn't hiding. Maybe he'd decided to take a long weekend and was joyriding on his motorcycle, or any number of other things that involved him off having fun while Sebastian was here angry, betrayed, and working.
Just like it had been with Beck.
Around one-thirty in the afternoon his cell rang again.
He hesitated and almost didn't reach for it, but then realized it could be anyone.
It wasn't “anyone.” It was Dylan again.
God, why did it suddenly feel like he couldn't breathe?
Deciding he couldn't put himself through this torture any more if Dylan decided to keep trying to reach him, he thumbed off the phone.
The store phone jangled seconds later.
“No! Damn it. I don't want to talk to you today!” But he crossed from the shelves, where he'd been organizing books, to the counter to look at the caller ID anyway.
He wasn't sure if it was relief or some kind of sick disappointment that flooded him when he saw it wasn't Dylan at all. It was Sugar Plum Bakery.
Sebastian picked up the phone. “Great Escapes Travel Book Shop,” he said automatically, his voice sounding hoarse to his own ears.
“Hey, handsome!” Joanie's bubbly tone cut across the line, carrying with it the first sense of normalcy Sebastian had felt all day.
“Hey.”
“Do you have any customers right now?”
“No. A couple planning their honeymoon to Jamaica just left.” And he'd been glad to see them go. The sight of their hand-holding, smooching, and goo-goo eyes at each other had gotten to him. Nothing like that had ever bothered him before. But each time the guy had leaned toward the woman, looking into her eyes, and brushed his lips over hers, all Sebastian had been able to think about was how Dylan had looked, and felt, and tasted when he'd done the same thing several times last night.
“Oh, good. I made your fave— caramel macchiato— but just as I was about to bring it over, Mr. and Mrs. Johns came in for pastries and they decided to stay and eat one here with a cup of coffee. So I can't leave. Come over and get it and chat with me. I'm bored.”
Sebastian wasn't in a “chatty” mood. But just hearing Joanie's voice over the phone had helped ease a tiny fraction of his unrest, and it was better than staying here alone. He was counting the hours until six o'clock, closing time, when he could lock up, go home, and not have to be next door to Rad Tattoos.
When he opened the door at Sugar Plum Bakery, the aroma of baking bread and cakes filled his nostrils, and his stomach rumbled for the first time all day. The bakery was awash in afternoon sunlight, which lightened the already sunny-yellow walls. The baked goods display case ran the length of one wall, then Joanie had a few small tables for customers, like the older couple sitting near the register, who wanted to get a coffee or have a piece of cake.
Joanie grinned when he entered and waved him to the table at the front window where they usually sat. It gave him a direct view of his store's doorway so he'd know if he had a customer.
She plunked a cup and a paper plate with a Danish on it down in front of him, then slid into the chair across from him. “I just made them,” she said, indicating the pastry. “Cherry, your favorite.”
He gave her a grateful nod, picked up the plastic fork, and sliced off a bite.
As he chewed, Joanie frowned at him. “Are you okay? You look a little pale and under the weather.” She reached across the table and felt his forehead.
“For God's sake, I'm not five,” he grumbled. “I don't need you to see if I'm feverish.”
“Oooh, grouchy today. Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”
No, someone woke up in the wrong bed period.
He winced at the memory, wishing the torturous thoughts of what he and Dylan had done last night would go away.
“So, I guess your friend's not here today.”
“Friend?”
“Dylan. I wonder where he is.”
Oh, God. He'd come over here to escape Dylan. He did
not
need this from Joanie. “Don't know. Don't care.”
“Ander came in for a latte this morning and said Dylan was taking a few personal days, that something had come up.”
“Yeah, I'll just bet. Coward.” He muttered the last word under his breath.
Joanie stared at him, her dark brows drawn together.
“Whatever it is, it must be kind of serious because Ander said a contractor was supposed to come into the shop today to discuss some renovation work, but Dylan had Ander reschedule it for next week.”
“Renova— Oh, shit.” Sebastian's heart pounded so hard and heavily it was like a death knell.
“Boy, you're really in a mood. I'm serious, hon, are you okay? Did something happen between you and Dylan yesterday? Did you have another fight or something?”
His stomach suddenly so queasy he thought he might be sick, Sebastian laid down the fork. “I'd better get back to work,” he mumbled. “Sorry, I'm not really hungry, but thanks anyway.” He rose.
Joanie stood, too, but put a hand on his arm. “Sebastian, this isn't like you. I haven't seen you this upset since Beck— ” Her eyes widened. “Oh, God, Beck didn't come back to town, did he?”
Sebastian's heart pumped a double beat at the horrifying thought. “No. No!”
“Then what is it? It's got something to do with Dylan, doesn't it? Him not showing up today, you calling him a coward. You two— ” Another round of wide eyes, but this time shock filled her brown orbs rather than fear. “Holy crap. You two did the dirty, didn't you?”
“Joanie!” He couldn't believe his best friend would be asking him that here in public with the older couple sitting only a few yards away. Although her description of it wasn't far off. He did feel dirty.
“Oh, my God... you did. But what happened? You two should be so perfect for each other. I've been hoping for a while.”
He almost choked. “You what?”
“Well, it was kind of obvious how you felt about him. I told you, every time you'd go into his shop you'd come out all agitated. And while I know the music thing probably has been obnoxious, and I know Ander can be a snit sometimes, you just seemed more worked up than... well, than necessary. And don't even give me that look. I'm not ragging on you, just stating the facts. And then there was Dylan always out on the sidewalk, talking to his clients, except every two seconds he'd be looking in your windows watching you. Which made it pretty obvious he was interested in you, too.”
Not interested in me. Interested in my space.
“I can't talk about this, Joanie. I can't.”
He couldn't bring himself to fill her in on Dylan's expansion plans either. He was still too raw. He'd wait until next week, when he'd had the weekend to be away from here and cool off some— if that were possible— then he'd talk to Joanie, Dr. Dean, and Heather and Kylie who ran Oh, Baby Baby. Maybe between them they 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.