“Come in,” he says.
I open it to find that he hasn’t really made the room his. It still has Sierra’s cream-colored bedframe she left behind. There are no posters or pictures or anything personal, and his clothes lay in piles on the floor as though he’d just have to stack them together to pack into his bag to leave.
He tosses his book aside and pulls his Air Pods out of his ears. “What’s up?”
“Ever think about taking some shifts at Ink Envy?” I should ask nicer.
He glances at me from the corner of his eye and his smirk shines bright. He knew this day was coming. “I have been kind of bored lately. Who was that girl here with the kid?”
“She works there. We can do this one of two ways. You work and she’ll manage you, or you rent a chair.”
“I’ll rent a chair.”
“Okay.”
After we negotiate price, we reach that awkward point where I should probably thank him. He knows exactly why I came in here. I’m screwed and we both know it. He’s my only hope of keeping Ink Envy.
He says, “I’ll post on my Instagram and tell them by appointment only. Can they book through your place?”
“Yeah. Maybe I’ll take over the schedules. I can at least do shit like that.” I raise my arm.
“Sounds good,” he says.
“Okay then. Are you starting tomorrow?”
“Yeah.”
“Any days off you want?”
He shakes his head but then stops. “I’m good as long as Mondays are always off.”
“Yeah, shop’s closed Mondays so no worries.” I’m actually impressed we’re being so civil to one another.
I go to leave, and my hand is on the doorknob when I look at him over my shoulder. “Thanks,” I say, not nearly loud enough.
“Happy to help your sorry ass out.” He grins.
I huff. One day we’ll have to converse more than we are right now, but I’m at max capacity for touchy-feely shit today.
Chapter Seventeen
Rian
Five days after he came home from the hospital, Dylan is fully wallowing in his own self-pity.
“Look at you,” I say, coming out of the bathroom.
Every day he comes out of his bedroom and plants his big body on the couch, where he watches daytime television. Yesterday I stole the remote when he put on the soap opera channel.
“What?”
“You should be at the shop. You’re not unable to walk. It’s just a broken arm. That adorable scruff you love so much is now a full-on mountain man beard. And the whole not showering thing?”
He stares at me as though he can’t understand the words I’m saying.
I pick up a pillow and throw it at his head. “Hello?”
He whips it back at me as though I’m his annoying younger sister. I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s all he sees me as.
“Want to help me make up math word problems?” I sit in the chair by the couch, cross-legged with my computer on my lap.
“Sure. If I sleep for five hours and Rian sleeps for zero hours for the next six weeks, how many more hours of happiness do I have?”
“Now your lazy mood has affected your brain because that’s a stupid word question.”
He glances at me then looks back at the television. “Aren’t you kind of like an educator? There are no stupid questions?”
“There are stupid questions, and I’m not an educator.”
He props up his head on his good arm. “Fine. How about if I lay here for ten more hours and do the same thing for the next three days, how long until the couch smells like ass?”
“The couch already smells like ass. Plus there’s not enough information to logically answer that question.”
He grunts and his head falls back on the pillow. I pull the pillow out from under his head and his head crashes to the arm of the couch. I hate this whole “feel sorry for myself” version of Dylan. Not to mention being alone with him in our apartment day in and out kind of sucks. Jax is working at Ink Envy now. Other than when he pops in between clients to grab something to eat, it’s just Dylan and me. Time I would have cherished before he turned into this man I don’t recognize.
“Well, if I didn’t have a concussion before, I have one now.” He sits up and rubs the side of his head, staring at me like a confused boy.
“Why don’t I start a shower for you?” I close my laptop. “We could go for a walk or go visit Ink Envy. Get lunch.”
“Or I could sit here and find out if Jake really is the father.”
I shake my head, concentrating on my computer as I try to find some other way to get to him. I’m not strong enough to get him into the shower. Even if I did manage that feat, how would I keep him there? Then there’s the whole thing about wrapping his arm in plastic.
“Can I bribe you?” The words fall out of my mouth as soon as they pop into my mind.
“Bribe me? I never figured you for bartering sexual favors, but…” He laughs, hooking his thumbs into his track pants.
My eyes betray me before I can look away. Damn them. “I was thinking more with my baking. Chocolate cake with Oreo crumbs between the layers with the chocolate frosting.” Surely that will make him stand and take a shower.
“Eh.”
I swear I’ve entered another dimension. Dylan loves chocolate more than sex. I think. I’m not exactly sure, of course.
“Seriously?”
He glances up from the television. “You think you own me when it comes to your baking, don’t you?”
I roll my eyes and concentrate on the same question I’ve been trying to form for the past hour. “No.”
“You do.” The familiar lilt to his voice that’s been void since the accident is present and my stomach flutters.
“Well, you usually do go gaga over my chocolate desserts.”
He laughs. “So all these years, you’ve been using them to get what you want?”
I scrunch my eyes. If I got what I want, I would have him and I would have used my naked body to persuade him to get into the shower. “You act like I’ve swindled money from you.”
He shakes his head. “No, but remember that time we were arguing about what new series to start watching? You wanted Blue Bloods and I wanted Hawaii Five-O. What do we watch now? Blue Bloods.”
“You’re absurd. We put that to a vote.”
“You made chocolate on chocolate cake that night.”
“How do you even remember that?” I close my laptop because I can’t concentrate right now.
He snaps his fingers and points an accusatory finger at me. “And what about that time we were talking about going on a weekend trip? And it was a split vote between skiing in Vermont or Portland, Maine?”
I bite my lip to not smile. “Those are just coincidences,” I say with as straight of a face as I can manage.
“Bullshit. You use your baked goods like a pair of brand new tits.”
I cough out a laugh. “You’re delusional and that’s disgusting. I would do no such thing.”
He shakes his head in a joking manner. “To think I thought I could trust you, that you were different, but all women use tactics against men to get what they want.”