Page 16

I can't believe he brought me soup. Home-made, chicken, the ultimate cold medicine, delicious soup. I never had someone drive so long to see me and bring me soup just because I fell ill with a simple cold.

The things I want to say to him to express my gratitude are embarrassing so I just stare stupidly at him, standing at my front door.

"You better get back inside, you look like you're about to pass out."

I clutch the soft blanket I wrapped around my shoulders and move to let him in. "I'm sorry, just can't believe you came over."

"I was just about to eat too. It's no big deal."

No, not a big deal. It's huge. Now all my shameless flirting, efforts to get this man in bed are just making me feel stupid.

I am definitely not someone who is worth the trouble.

He's right, I'm just a kid. A kid who has no clue how to deal with the attraction that I've been feeling for this guy since the moment I've seen him.

Instead of behaving with some sort of respect, restraint–I've been throwing myself at him like I'm still back in Cincinnati working at bars and flirting my way through men just so they buy me drinks and take me to restaurants or their homes so I could have a bed to sleep in.

I feel embarrassed that Dylan is even giving me a second thought, that he might actually like me.

There's nothing to like about me. I'm a glorified man whore. I'm a nobody.

"Hey. Where did you go?" A strong, cold hand is pressing against my forehead. And then slowly glides down to the back of my neck. I shiver part from how cold his palm feels on my skin part from how deliciously possessive that palm feels on my neck. "I think you should lie down, you're burning up."

"Um..." His touch brings me back to that day, the feel of his hands gripping my arms so I don't trip, and then me, just standing there like an idiot, going for a kiss.

What was I thinking? Even if he liked me, a guy like Dylan would never cheat on his boyfriend.

And the boyfriend who looked like an Abercrombie & Fitch model.

"Yeah, I think you're right. My room is upstairs. "

Both my uncle and aunt are away for their anniversary–they are celebrating it in Anchorage, so the house is empty as I lead Dylan to my very modest room.

I hesitate before I open the door, unsure of what exactly is he doing here.

He could have just given me the soup and left– I know how to use a microwave.

He takes off his shoes by the door, comes in and wordlessly starts unloading the bag. I see that it's not only the soup that he brought. There are boxes of cold medicine and tea bags, a thermometer and a paperback novel.

"I wasn't sure how dire the situation was, so I figured better safe than sorry," Dylan says, and plops down on the bed as there is nowhere else to sit.

He is just so big and long-limbed on my small bed, looking around, curiously taking everything in.

It's sparse. I have very few personal belongings, and the place has that hotel room air about it.

But he is in my bedroom. Is the fever making me hallucinate already?

I rarely get this ill, it just hit me out of nowhere but now I'm kind of glad because Dylan is here.

"Won't your boyfriend mind this?" I make a vague gesture with my hand, pointing at the two of us as my headache suddenly feels like sharp spikes pushing into my brain. I decide to sit down.

Dylan glances at me, then at the medicine he has in his hands. He hesitates before finally responding. "I don't have a boyfriend."

"That was not your boyfriend?" I was hoping the very naked man from his house wasn't important to him, but all this time it was constantly in the back of my mind. Men like Dylan most certainly are not alone. He is the whole package.

"Nope."

"What was he doing in your house?"

"Should I really explain to you what a guy was doing in my house?" He says and his voice suggests that he's considering the fact that I might be an idiot. "I mean, I can. If you're not familiar with the term hook up, it's when one person has sex with another person with no strings attached."

"He was there in the morning. He slept there. He was showering, walking around like he owns the place."

"You clearly gave this a lot of thought.

" He looks at me with a tiny smile tilting the corners of his lips upward.

"He is just a guy I met in the bar. But I'm not a dick.

He lives in the other town, I live in the middle of nowhere, it wouldn't be very nice of me to let him drive in the night after hours of being. ..you know."

"Mhm... how thoughtful of you..."

Wait, he said hours? I visibly gulp while Dylan stares purposely into my eyes. "And do you want me to explain to you why he had to shower?"

Because you fucked him so hard he needed a hot shower to relieve the muscle pain. Because you came all over his back and ass he was all sticky with your cum. Because... "No, I think I can guess. Thanks."

He is suddenly grinning widely at me but I can't seem to let this go now. He's single, and he came to see me, this must mean something.

"So what is this bar where you go to meet a hot guy like that?"

"You're not going there."

"Why not?" I bit out, feeling my temper rise.

This is not the first time he's been all grouchy at that topic.

He needs to spell out for me what he means, because being all vague about it only makes my mind wander with different possibilities and all of them begin with Dylan being jealous.

"Why do you have a say in where I go? I can do whatever the fuck I want. "

"Calm down, Noah. I just meant that it's not safe for you to just go there waving the pride flag, looking for guys to have sex with.

It's not a gay bar like you might think it is.

It's basically a hellhole, a seedy place where you need to know the right people if you're queer.

And if you want to hook up, then there's a back room.

It's... not glamorous. It's dirty. Sometimes I go there for a drink and if the opportunity presents itself I meet a guy in the back room to get off.

And when I want more than a three-minute blow job, then we go to my place. "

"Oh... That seems complicated."

"It's not complicated in bigger towns, there are places and bars, and communities are bigger.

Here, it's just..." He stops and takes a slow, deep breath.

"I don't want to be noticed, pointed at, labelled as the gay one.

Like I said, I'm not closeted but my sexuality is nobody's business.

I just want to do my job without distractions and gossip.

Beyond that, I'm not interested in dating or anything like that, so there's no need for anybody to know whether I'm gay or straight.

Once in a while, I can go there to scratch the itch and that's enough for me. "

I close my mouth at that. He's built up a huge wall around him and is not willing to break it down.

I can't help but feel sad about the fact that Dylan is feeling this way about his sexuality and dating.

Not that I had any valuable experience or advice on that subject, I'm a train wreck when it comes to any type of relationship, or anything else.

But he is this amazing guy, and on top of everything else very good-looking, so why is he not enjoying life?

It sounds so lonely, he doesn't even allow himself some good sex. Why is he punishing himself?

I am not sure if that's the fever thinking or me but it hasn't escaped my notice that Dylan hasn't moved away, and if anything, seems to have relaxed against the bed.

"So for example, if I'm also not interested in dating, and want to hook up, sometimes... in the future. Hypothetically. And you are the only gay person I know in this state. Would you..."

"Would I, what?" Annoyance flickers across his face.

"Help me out?"

Dylan's face hardens but I keep my voice light.

"In finding someone, I mean.... Someone safe? Someone who is also looking for a casual hook up... Or whatever..."

"I can see what you're doing. And it's not going to happen."

"What?!" I fake cluelessness.

"It's not happening."

"And if I tell you that this doesn't have to be any distraction from work or complication for you. No town gossip either. Just to have a little fun."

"I don't do fun."

Dylan's face is still stony, but there is a hunger in his eyes that hasn't been there a few moments ago. I know damn well what the look Dylan has given me means. There's an attraction there.

"I do." I slowly start moving closer to him on the bed. I moisten my lips with my tongue. They feel dry. Parched. And I'm not sure if it's from a fever. "Come on. What's the harm?"

"Plenty." Instead of leaning in as I hoped, Dylan turns away. "Lie down. I'll be right back with the soup."

He goes to stand up and walks away and all I want to do is reach out my hand and grab his, like a child.

It's pathetic, but I feel so unhinged, bordering on panic and hot shame and blistering rejection burns through me as I realize what I'm doing.

I'm ruining one of the best things in my life, maybe the only good thing in my life.

I have to lie down, because my heart is screaming at me to walk out and run away from my own bed. If I close my eyes I might feel better.

Within minutes he returns, balancing the hot soup and glass of water on a tray.

He instructs me to sit up before settling it onto my lap and encouraging me to eat when all I want to do is sleep.

He puts two tablets into my palm and hands me a glass of water.

He keeps a watchful eye as I finish his soup and drink more water, and he continues to monitor my fever.

"Thank you," I say, wrapping myself with the blanket again. "You're good at this."

"At what?" He asks.

"Taking care of people."

"I'm not," he objects. "Not really."

"Dylan... Do you think you could stay here tonight?"

"I don't think that's a good idea." He doesn't look at me and I can't stand it. A wild sort of panic rocks through me, and I sit up again ignoring how unmoored I'm feeling. I hug one of my pillows to my chest for something to anchor me.

"I'm not going to try anything. You made your point.

Multiple times." The words are coming out and I'm not able to stop them.

"I'm sorry Dylan. I just don't know how to do this.

This being a better person thing. Normal life, nine to five job, having somebody like you in my life.Shit.

..I know I'm fucking it up. You're here, being a nice guy, a friend and I'm trying to get in your pants.

You probably think I'm disgusting at this point.

But I... I don't know how else to..." I shake my head frowning slightly.

It's so hard to breathe all of a sudden.

"Hey, shush... " He grabs my foot which is covered by the blanket, cutting off my rambling.

It does delicious things to my insides. "You are not disgusting.

Christ, you're the most beautiful person I've ever seen, Noah.

You took my breath away when I first saw you.

I didn't know how to talk to you. Even now, sick, with your nose all red. "

He's pulling me in like a quicksand with his words. Nobody's looked at me like this before. Like I'm something new. Undiscovered. Like I matter.

"And I like it when you flirt. I like your confidence." His fingers flex against my ankle. "But please don't do this because you want to pay me back for letting you keep your job or because you think you owe me for being nice to you."

"Why else would you be here, with me, when you're...when you're you," I say, in a voice too loud, too desperate. "I have absolutely nothing to offer you."

I can offer sex, that's what I'm good at.

Everything else I have is not worth it. I had too much baggage, too much going on in my chaotic life, in my chaotic head.

But he's been the first person I met, so to speak, on this new journey of mine.

And without Paul and Adel, and now Dylan, I don't think I would've made it alive.

However all of his touching gestures at times feel utterly confusing to someone like me.

"Because you somehow feel different. And because I'm lonely," he admits softly, opening something in me and leaving me speechless for a long time.

"So you have other reasons for rejecting me?" I dare to ask, even though I'm so tired I can barely keep my eyes open.

"There are many reasons."

"Like?"

"I'm your boss. I'm much older than you." He pauses before speaking again. "I don't get close to men."

He takes my foot in his lap and starts massaging and I am so close to purring. How much I like being close to this man. It is somehow both exhilarating and comforting.

"Who hurt you, Dylan?"

His hand stops on my foot.

"Like I said I have my reasons. And you don't have to understand them. We should stay friends."

My T-shirt is now damp with sweat, sticking to my body and all of a sudden I feel exhausted both from this fever and from the conversation.

"Go back to sleep, Noah."

"But..."

"I'm not going anywhere. I'll sit right here until you wake up again. I'll sit here all night if I have to."

I'm sure I flush even more at those words. His dark-blond hair escapes his low ponytail around his face, his big eyes full of depth and emotion. He brings so much need into my body and heart that I don't know how to handle myself.

"I enjoy your company too," Dylan says with a small smile. "There, I said it. Now sleep. That's an order."

"I kind of like it when you order me around."

"I guess in sickness and in health applies to flirting too," he says and chuckles as he makes himself comfortable at the foot of my bed, with his long legs stretched on the floor.

I tell myself I'll just shut my eyes for a second or two, and between gusty winds outside, and the soothing sound of TV on low volume, it doesn't take long for me to go under.

The howling of the wind jars me from sleep sometime later, as if begging to be let in, and the TV has been left on, now without any sound just leaving the room in limbo between light and dark.

I suddenly realize I don't know where I am, or did I dream of Dylan here earlier or not? Was he actually here? He can't be.

"Dylan?" I ask, as I blink awake, my voice so raspy I can't recognize it. I feel the blanket move from my body, but it's not me doing it. I shiver uncontrollably even though I feel so hot. There's an arm around me, helping me into a sitting position and the hand travelling to feel around my face.

"I'm here," he says. "Your fever's back."

I groan, closing my eyes briefly before lifting them to half-mast. "Dylan?"

I breathe deeply. He's here. He stayed. Stretching my neck from side to side, I finally see him sitting next to me, his hand pushing my hair back from my forehead.

I notice the worry in his eyes. And I'm so happy at that moment.

Beads of sweat are forming on my upper lip, but there is a wet, cold feeling on my face–he's doing this, with a wet towel he's touching my face, relieving the discomfort.

I think I pass out again. And I welcome the sleep this time knowing he will be here to take care of me. I dream of soft, sweet lips pressing against my fevered forehead.