by Gayle, Linda
Chapter Two
Second bad idea of the day. Going home with a stranger after just having had his spleen handed to him by three other strangers. But seriously, did he have a choice? Yeah… Dylan could try to sneak the dog into his tiny apartment. Or he could call Dr. Martin, have her meet him at the clinic. She would. She’d done it before, once when he’d found a cat hit by the side of the road and once when he’d discovered a couple of puppies in a Dumpster. Those incidents had both happened on weekends, though, during the day. Waking up the good doctor close to midnight on a Thursday and dragging her out of a warm bed for a dog she’d just have to turn over to Animal Control to be destroyed probably wouldn’t earn Dylan any brownie points.
Besides…he had pretty good instincts, and something about this guy, Cam, had him curious. And that had nothing to do with the fact Cam was hot as fuck. Nothing at all. As he followed on Cam’s left, he noticed him scanning the streets. “Think those dudes will be back?” Dylan asked.
“Don’t know. How valuable do you think that dog is?”
“They won’t want her. She’s a throwaway.” Just like him; exactly why he couldn’t stand to see a stray abused. While they walked, he took the opportunity to study the kung fu master in the slightly better street light. “So, Cam…is that short for something?”
“Cameron.” He flicked him a glance, and Dylan’s breath hitched. Damn, the guy was flat-out smokin’ hot, and now he was also sure he heard a hint of an accent—Irish, Scottish, Australian, something—in that soft voice. What had this man of mystery been doing wandering around in such a dump of a street so late?
“Were you, uh, looking for some cheap Mexican take-out or something?” When Cam looked at him—or more specifically, toward him—with his brows drawn, Dylan shrugged. “Just wondering why you were in the area. It’s not exactly a friendly neighborhood.”
“No reason,” Cam said evasively. “Lucky I was, though.”
“Yeah. I can’t imagine how to repay you.” Yes, he could. Down on his knees or bent over a chair… He hoped the way Cam had been eyeing him hadn’t just been his wishful thinking. You never knew. And he prayed Cam didn’t turn out to be some weirdo. Hardly a day went by that some creep didn’t proposition him. It was a side effect of living in a fucking lowlife area, but it was what he could afford, and he was lucky to have any job and a place to crash in this depressed area. More than once, he’d wondered if he should just stand on the corner with the rent boys and call it a day. It hadn’t come to that yet, but the way things were going…
And now he had another mouth to feed, most likely, this fucking dog. Which meant he had to find a new place to live. Not only did his crappy rented room not allow pets, he wouldn’t risk the dog’s life keeping her there. He took his own life in his hands every time he walked up the stale-beer-smelling hallway and crept past the door of his shotgun-wielding neighbor, Jose. The old man, who parked himself in the hallway like a sentry, had threatened to blow his guts out more than once before just for coming in late, like it was any of his fucking business.
Where did Cam Coburn live? If Cam’s building allowed pets, maybe Dylan could talk him into keeping the raggedy pit.
His mystery man turned to him. “Do you live nearby?”
“Down…” He really didn’t want to tell him he lived down the east end. “Downtown,” he hedged. “A little past downtown.” Way past, but close enough…
“And you work for a vet?”
“Yeah, part-time. I had a couple of dogs when I was a kid, always liked animals. I was lucky to get the job.” Lucky for him, Dr. Martin took pity on him, a strung-out street kid trying to get clean.
Cam gazed at him sideways, probably trying to be discreet and not stare, but Dylan could imagine what he might be thinking. He knew he was a hot mess. Probably didn’t smell too good either. Part of him wanted to say I wasn’t always this way. Another part wanted to hold his head high and say fuck it. He had been this way for years now, longer than he wanted to think about. Now he kicked himself for even wondering if Cam might be interested in him. Stupid thought. He just felt sorry for Dylan. Oh well. Dylan could work that angle too.
The farther they walked from the crappy side of town into what Dylan would have once considered normal, the more out of place he felt. Catching his shabby reflection in a parked car’s side-view mirror, he could see a bruise blooming on the left side of his face. He ran his tongue over his newly chipped tooth again and swallowed down the stale taste of blood. Fuck. Guess he should be glad Cam didn’t ask him the same question, what he was doing in that area, because he’d be mortified to admit he’d been cutting across to the Chinese restaurant a block over. He’d gotten friendly with one of the girls behind the counter, and she slipped him free food if he got there near closing. It helped stretch his little paycheck.
He kept his chin up and stared straight ahead as they walked uptown, into a lot nicer area than where Dylan lived. Foot traffic got a little heavier as they entered the safer part of the city, and people gave him and his bloody dog a wide berth and curious stares. They actually weren’t more than a couple of miles from Dylan’s place, but it could be another world.
“It’s not far now,” Cam said, probably sensing his discomfort. “You doing okay? Want to sit down, have a rest?”
Dylan had been limping more, his ankle hurting where one of the jerks had stepped on it, but he shook his head. The steak-and-potato smells coming from the uptown restaurants, open late for the theater crowd, were driving him crazy, making his stomach growl. “It’s okay. Let’s just keep going.”
A few more blocks brought them to a turn onto a street lined with brick townhouses. Dylan died a little more inside when Cam led him up a short flight of steps to the heavy oak door of one of them. These were pricey homes. “You, uh, live here?” he asked, knowing even as he spoke that it was none of his damn business.
“My…family rents it.”
The slight hesitation he caught over the word family was soon forgotten when Cam unlocked the fancy door, and they walked inside, the dog close to Dylan’s heels. Both he and the dog stood staring for a few seconds at the shiny wood floors and leaded glass windows, inhaling the lemony air. “Nice,” he managed weakly. The pit groaned, then leaned heavily against his leg as if for moral support. He could empathize. They were both out of their element. “They live here with you?”
“Who?”
“Your family.”
“Oh, uh, no. My…brother lives does, though. He’s away until tomorrow.” Again the hesitation. Hmm. Actually looking a little embarrassed, Cam tipped his head. “C’mon, there’s the kitchen this way. You can both clean up. I’ve got a first aid kit under the kitchen sink. You sure you don’t want to see a doctor?”
“I’m sure.” Dylan nearly tripped over a long hallway rug, he was so busy checking the place out. No pictures on the walls. He half expected to see gold-framed portraits of sea captains or mutton-chopped bankers staring down at him. When he saw the homier kitchen with newspapers open on the table and a couple of dirty dishes in the sink, he felt better. The guy was human after all.
Cam shoved aside some magazines and pulled out a chair by the counter for Dylan, who shook his head. “Dog first. I can wait.”
“Okay.” A little smile pressed one side of Cam’s mouth as he kept his eyes down, and it finally occurred to Dylan that maybe his new friend was shy. Maybe that was why he didn’t make much eye-contact. He seemed eager to please, finding rags and soap and antibiotic cream for his scruffy guests. As Cam squatted to check for stuff under the kitchen sink, Dylan got a better chance to check him out. Because of his build, he’d thought Cam was older than him, but now he saw Cam must be about the same age or maybe even a couple years younger, nineteen or twenty to Dylan’s twenty-three. His hair was shaggy, but it was styled that way, shorter in the back, longer in the front to hang over his eyes. The simple black T-shirt and jeans he wore looked pretty new. Maybe the lemon-fresh scent was the smell of money.
> And now Dylan smelled tomato sauce from whatever pasta Cam must have had for dinner. As Dylan’s stomach grumbled and his bones ached from the beating and sheer exhaustion, he pondered those rent boys again. Some of them had regulars, sugar daddies who kept them fed, clothed, took them on island vacations. Some even ended up living like kept mistresses in decent apartments. Cam was too young to want to keep a lover on the side, but hell… He was a rich kid with a nice house, and the way he kept looking Dylan up and down rekindled Dylan’s earlier instinct that Cam was interested in him.
Could Dylan charm his way into Cam’s pants? Into his wallet? Into his fridge? Fuck, he was starving.
“I’ll get the dog something to eat,” Cam said, shoving his fingers through his hair, lifting it off his forehead. “I can hear her stomach growling.”
Dylan forced a pained smile and nodded. He noticed again how Cam kept his eyes down, seemed reluctant to look at him directly. Sheltered rich kid? Whatever, he was cute and nice, and Dylan thanked whatever few lucky stars he had left that Cam had come his way tonight.
With the dog and the medical supplies arranged around him, Dylan finally allowed himself to sink onto the chair. “Come here, baby,” he murmured to the dog. Poor thing. She wasn’t a young pup but not old either, just beat down by life.
As Dylan gently washed her face and ears with a cloth soaked in warm sudsy water, Cam came back with a plate of meatballs. “All I had,” he said with that same shy smile. “Do you think this is okay?”
“Perfect,” Dylan said, eyeing the big fat juicy meatballs and feeling his mouth fill with saliva. Cam put the plate down for the dog, and Dylan could only watch as she gobbled them noisily in three seconds flat.
“More?” Cam asked.
“I…” He put his hand over his hollow stomach. “Don’t suppose you got enough for two?”
“Huh? Oh…oh, yeah. I’m so sorry, I should’ve asked.” All adorable stammering and practically falling over himself to reload the plate, Cam quickly had two plates ready—a cold one for the dog and one microwaved, complete with leftover spaghetti and sauce, for Dylan. Dylan gave up working on the dog long enough to turn to the counter behind him and tuck in. Cam wiped his palms on his jeans and asked, “Soda? Beer? Wine?” He waved vaguely toward the fridge. “Whatever you want.”
“Beer, if you got it,” Dylan muttered around a huge mouthful of pasta. He ate as fast as the dog, then guzzled the frosty brew in a glass Cam handed him. He felt the cold beer slide down his gullet. “Uh, so good…” he groaned.
He didn’t even think of how sexual that sounded until he glanced at Cam, who stood looking somewhat flushed and flustered. Just to test the waters, Dylan licked his lips and raised his glass of beer. “You’re a great cook. Thank you,” then, running his gaze down Cam’s body, took a long, leisurely swallow of beer and licked his lips again.
Hmm, interesting shade of pink his friend’s cheeks were turning. And if he wasn’t mistaken, that thickening ridge pressing against the zipper of Cam’s jeans told a tale as well.
God damn…he shouldn’t do this. Shouldn’t even be thinking of this. It was too much like how he’d lived before, and he’d sworn he wouldn’t do that shit again. But he’d been so hungry, so tired for so long. And considering how crappy his luck had been lately, how often would another chance like this come around?
Seducing Cam Coburn might at least get him a warm bed for the night.
How had he thought Dylan was plain? He was…exotic. Erotic. Just desperate and edgy enough to have Cam’s inner beast wanting to wrap its wings around him and draw him close to his chest where he could taste and hold and have.
But it was forbidden.
If he glanced out of the corner of his eye, Cam could see the shadowy wings of his soul unfurling toward his impromptu guest. The drive to protect hadn’t stopped when he’d rescued Dylan from the gangbangers. It just…kept on. And that had never happened before. He didn’t know how to handle it. Instead, he stood there like a moron, wiping his damp palms on his jeans and praying Dylan didn’t notice his growing erection.
The dog gave him an out, growling low at him again even though he’d just handed her a dozen excellent meatballs.
“Hey,” Dylan scolded her softly, nudging her with his ratty, unlaced work boot. Even that was sexy. Everything from his lean face to his black-and-silver gauges to his narrow hips and washed-out skinny jeans drew out every protective, possessive instinct in Cam’s monstrous soul. He needed to ask Tash about this. No! Tash would be furious to know Cam had brought an unknown human to the house. He’d have to tell Tash how he’d found Dylan, driven out by the calling that only Cam heard, that made him a freak among freaks. “Cam?”
Cam startled, realizing Dylan must have asked him a question. He looked up, stopping his gaze at the other guy’s chin, hoping his hair hung over his eyes enough to hide them. Grabbing his dark glasses now would cause more problems than it would solve. “Sorry, what? Want another beer?”
Without waiting for an answer, he took Dylan’s glass, went to the fridge, and opened another can, then poured it in. His hands were steady enough. Good. He exhaled a long breath to calm himself, then got a beer for himself but didn’t bother with a glass. For a couple of minutes, he sipped his beer from the can and watched Dylan eat. Everything about him fascinated. The tattoo on his neck was of a phoenix, Cam realized, a fiery bird with its beak open, rising from the flames that must continue down below the collar of Dylan’s shirt.
Dylan caught him staring and smiled. He rubbed his fingers over the tattoo, and Cam dropped his gaze even more. Great, way to make the guy uncomfortable. “It’s a phoenix,” Dylan said.
Feeling like he was trapped in a spotlight, Cam nodded. “I know. I, uh, recognize it. From mythology. The bird that rises from its own ashes.”
Dylan scraped his plate for the last bits of pasta. “Yeah. I guess I thought it would be symbolic of my life, but I still seem to be flopping around in the rubble.” There was a gentle humor in his voice that drew Cam’s gaze again. “Did you make those meatballs yourself?” When Cam nodded, he said, “I could eat those all day.”
“It’s nothing. I’ve got plenty.” He reached to take the plate, then hesitated. “Want more?”
He risked a peek upward. And oh, the unexpected spark in Dylan’s eyes gave “more” a whole new meaning. Dylan slowly wiped a bit of sauce off his lower lip with the pad of his thumb, then licked it off—there was nothing overtly sexual about the movement, but it made Cam feel hot and prickly all over, as if his blood didn’t know which way to flow and was crashing through his veins in colliding waves.
“Maybe later,” Dylan said.
The dog belched, which made them both laugh, and the tension eased. “Looks like she’s feeling tons better,” Dylan said, rubbing her back with the toe of his boot. “I’ll still take her to see the doc in the morning.”
“So, are you going to name her?” Cam asked, sliding the plate into the sink, hoping Dylan didn’t think less of him for not having washed his dishes today.
“I don’t know. What do you think?”
The tan-and-white dog sprawled out on the Italian tiles with a heartfelt groan. Even cleaned up, she was still a scary-looking mutt. “I guess it depends on if you’re going to keep her.”
Dylan reached down to pet her, and she closed her eyes. “I don’t think I can. Like I said, my place don’t allow pets. I guess I have to hope Dr. Martin will let me keep her at the clinic until I can find a home for her.”
“I can’t imagine that’ll be easy.”
“No, but… There are kind-hearted people out there.” He smiled up into Cam’s eyes, and Cam ducked his chin. You could never tell the reaction a human might have looking directly into his eyes. Some froze up; some passed out. Some went into a trance, while other saw their worst nightmares pulled up from the dark corners of their minds and ran off screaming. Some keeled over dead, though that happened only in the heat of battle.
Of course, Dyla
n wouldn’t know that. He’d find Cam’s behavior bizarre, and it only reminded him of all the reasons his kind were forbidden to form attachments to humans.
He should grab his shaded glasses, make some excuse. But then he wouldn’t be able to see Dylan’s face clearly, and he truly longed to have that precious connection. Cam turned to the sink and ran the water to wash the dishes. “You could call her Graciela, after the restaurant where you found her.”
“Graciela. We could call her Gracie for short.”
We? Cam bit his lip, trying to ignore the way his heart skipped a beat. “Gracie’s good. Or something tough, like…Spike. Spikette.”
Dylan chuckled. “The Terminatrix.”
“Xena, warrior princess.”
“No, I got it.” He snapped his fingers. “Hillary.”
“Hillary?”
“Like Hillary Clinton. She’s tough, right?”
Cam snorted. “I guess. Or Gertrude. I don’t know anybody named Gertrude, but you’ve got to be tough to carry off a name like that.”
“True dat.” Dylan sat back in the chair, one long leg stretched out in front of him.
“That bruise on your cheek is starting to get purple,” Cam observed. “It’s not too late to put some ice on it. And you should take some Tylenol or something. I’ve got stuff.”
“Thanks, man.”
His gratitude made Cam feel all wiggly and warm inside, like a puppy that had done good. Absurd. He stopped with the dishes and got the ice pack and pills. He’d never taken care of someone before and found he really liked it. Or was it just taking care of Dylan? Come to that, he’d never even had a human under his roof before. Maybe it was just the novelty of the situation making him all jittery.
Dylan took the ice pack and swallowed down the pills with the last of his beer, maybe not the best idea, mixing them; then he handed his empty glass over. This close to him, Cam took in Dylan’s hot, earthy scent. Some humans might find the old-clothes and faded sweat smell less than appealing, but it was all he could do to stop himself from crawling into Dylan’s lap and rubbing his face all over him, marking himself with the other man’s mouthwatering aroma.