Dream_A Skins Novel by Garrett Leigh

Author:Garrett Leigh
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fox Love Press
Published: 2018-01-23T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Dylan stared morosely at the bottom of his fourth pint. It was Wednesday night⁠—a school night⁠—and he was well on his way to being proper fucking bladdered.

He was lonely too, but that was nothing new. Even partying at The Pitt all weekend had done nothing to lift his mood, as he’d spent most of his time explaining Sam’s absence. Goddammit. It wasn’t like they’d ever been joined at the hip.

At least he’d managed to keep his dick in his pants, though. As he tracked a familiar bloke at the bar, he was struggling to decide if a period of self-imposed celibacy was worth the hassle.

Go home, dickhead. But as hard as he tried to make himself move, nothing happened, save Rhys looking round at just the wrong moment and spotting him at his solitary sulking post.

“All right, mate?”

Dylan stared at the table. “Yup. You?”

“Not bad, not bad.” Rhys dropped into the seat beside Dylan, nudging aside Dylan’s abandoned work bag. “Where’s your fella?”

“My what?”

Rhys winced. “Oooh, like that, is it? Damn. I’ll get the beers in.”

He got up again and went to the bar. Dylan absently watched him move⁠—the roll of his broad shoulders, the swing of his trim waits. The devil in him craved the oblivion of fucking Angelo out of his system, and he knew Rhys would likely make a willing accomplice for a jaunt across town to Lovato’s’s biweekly orgy club, but pride and Sam’s voice echoing in his fuzzy head kept him quiet. “ . . . stop banging people in sex clubs and get out into the real world . . . you always end up going mad in that place when you’ve got a cob on about shit . . .”

Fuck off, Sam.

Rhys came back to the table with a couple of pints and four shots of what smelled suspiciously like Sambuca. Dylan groaned and dropped his head to the table. “Jesus. Haven’t you got work tomorrow?”

“Nope.” Rhys slid half his bounty Dylan’s way. “I’m not back on shift until Saturday, which means I’ve got all night to cheer your miserable arse up.”

He spoke without innuendo, and Dylan was grateful. It was rare that he came across playmates from the club in the outside world, and⁠—Angelo aside⁠—it had always been awkward. Sexual attraction and a genuine rapport weren’t the same thing, and Dylan was often left wondering why he’d fucked them in the first place.

But Rhys wasn’t like that. He was treating Dylan like they were old friends, and right now he was exactly what Dylan needed.

“So,” Rhys said when Dylan didn’t respond. “What’s going on with you and the fella? Angel, ain’t it?”

“His name is Angelo, actually. And he’s not my fella.”

“No?” Rhys cocked an eyebrow and necked a Sambuca shot. “Coulda fooled me. I had you two down as an old married couple.”

“I wish.” Dylan choked out a bitter laugh. “Shit. Did I say that out loud?”

“Sounds like you’ve got it bad, brother.”

Dylan couldn’t deny it.

Rhys clapped a rough hand on his back that was nothing like Angelo’s smooth touch.

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