Looking for Trouble(2)

Yes, yes, he did.

He made sure he had his wallet, room key, package of lube and condoms. After one more look in the mirror, he took heavy steps to the door, where he paused, hand on the knob, and sighed. “Damn it.” He turned around and went back to the envelope, folded it, and put it in his back pocket, feeling safer if his father’s last wish was on him at all times.





CHAPTER TWO




Clay


Dakota rested her chin on Clay’s knee, looked up at him, and whined.

“What?” he asked his black lab. “Are you bored?” He wouldn’t blame her if she was. Sometimes he wasn’t the best company. Most of the time he likely wasn’t.

She pulled away and paced the living room, so he figured it was time to take her out.

He threw the ball around the backyard for a bit, Dakota running after it, burning off energy. She lost interest after a few minutes, chasing her shadow around in the glow provided by the floodlights in his otherwise dark yard. He wished it were that easy for him, because he was feeling restless as well. It had been a while since he allowed himself to blow off some steam.

He made his way into his shop, looked at his welding equipment, and acknowledged that wasn’t even close to the kind of heat he was looking at making.

It had been months since he’d taken the drive into Raleigh for a quick fuck. He never allowed himself to look in Bailey Springs, not that there were many options in the smaller town. But it just felt…weird, fucking someone in the town he’d lived in with Gordon. Clay sure as shit didn’t bring another man into the house they’d shared. Hell, he didn’t even have friends he brought into the house anymore.

It was a sad truth but not one he had the energy to try and change.

But sex…sex he could handle. Sex he needed every once in a while.

He locked up his shop and went back into the house, Dakota at his heels. After a quick shower, he changed into a pair of blue jeans and a flannel, rolling the sleeves up to his elbows.

His short beard didn’t need a trim, so he brushed his teeth, brushed his dark hair, ignoring the slight graying at his temples and the loneliness swimming around in his bones.

Getting laid wouldn’t cure that. Nothing would, and Clay didn’t much care to try. All caring did was open him up for pain, and that was something he would never allow himself to do again.





CHAPTER THREE




Dylan


Dylan wanted him. And who could blame him? The guy was gorgeous with a capital G, and Dylan was an expert at finding gorgeous men. They tended to be assholes, but still, they were hot assholes.

He couldn’t keep his gaze off the older hottie standing at the other end of the bar. Mr. Gorgeous McHottie was taller than Dylan’s five-foot-ten frame…maybe about six feet, maybe an inch taller. His hair was black, except for a light dusting of snow at his temples. Not a lot, but enough to make him all kinds of sexy. His shoulders were broad, his arms muscular but not the fake kind. He wasn’t a huge bodybuilder type, just looked like he took care of himself and maybe worked at a physical job.

He was exactly what Dylan typically looked for in a hookup and definitely what he wanted that night. Well, except for the flannel. That wasn’t really his thing, but since Dylan hoped to get him out of it, he could let it slide. Gorgeous McHottie had a thick dusting of stubble along his jawline. Dylan was picky about facial hair. He fucking loved the scrape of it against his skin, but he also didn’t like too much. It had to be just right, and apparently he was Goldilocks and Gorgeous McHottie was his next meal.

Without hesitation, he pushed his rum and Coke away, the only drink he’d had that night, and made his way down the long counter. His pulse sped, excitement swirling in his gut. He needed this; God, he fucking needed it.

As if sensing Dylan’s approach, Gorgeous McHottie looked over his shoulder toward Dylan and cocked a brow. There was desire in that one glance, attraction that made fire lick up Dylan’s spine, but then he let something else slip through, and it was almost enough to make Dylan stumble. Gorgeous McHottie had the biggest, brownest, saddest eyes he’d ever seen. He wasn’t sure what now grabbed his attention the most—his sad eyes or how gorgeous he was. What could have made someone so sexy feel so miserable?

But then, he understood that feeling too.

He shook those thoughts out of his head. He was determined the night wouldn’t be about that.

When he was close enough to Sad Eyes, he leaned in, pushed up on his tiptoes, mouth a breath away from his ear, and gave a simple, “Hey.” Dylan inhaled, taking in the earthy scent of the man he hoped like hell would be able to give him what he wanted.

“Hey yourself,” he replied in a deep, sort of far-off voice, like he was there but not there at the same time. Or maybe as if he was trying to keep his distance, which was fine with Dylan since he wasn’t looking for anything other than a fuck. The only thing he did know was that the voice was hot as hell, honey smooth, with a low timbre that made him tremble.

Dylan’s eyes darted toward the man’s left hand. No ring. He stepped closer, took in the work-roughened skin that had definitely seen its time in the sun, but he didn’t see a tan line from a ring either, which was what was important to him. Wasn’t fun to fuck someone for six months only to find out they were married to a woman. He, unfortunately, spoke from experience.