“What do you think of the Bachelor Bid plan?” Dylan asked.
Dylan studied Alec carefully as the man glanced at his ex. Another worried look crossed Alec’s face, and Dylan felt the emotion all the ways to his goddamn work boots.
“I think the plan is sound,” Alec said. “But it’s not worth risking Tyler’s peace of mind.”
Alec still cared about Tyler.
Okay, maybe not in an I-want-you-back kind of way, but he clearly didn’t hate the man. Normally Dylan didn’t encourage hostility between people—peace and good will and all that bullshit worked just fine for him.
But…damn.
“I’m sure the clinic will raise enough money to match the grant in time,” Dylan said.
“If we don’t, our plans for housing will be seriously delayed.”
Alec stared blankly at the field below, obviously lost in thought and totally unconcerned as the Tigers attempted a first down and missed. Dylan hiked his ankle up to rest on his knee and wished he could fix the funding problem for Alec. No one knew better than Dylan that providing housing for their most vulnerable patients was vitally important. Expecting Alec to stay away from Tyler bordered on being one of the most selfish ideas Dylan had ever had.
And he’d had some doozies, for sure.
The two men ran a clinic together. They provided a crucial service. Of course they needed to get along, but a hint of lingering tension would be nice. A residual resentment would be awesome. But maybe Alec missed having a full-time partner in his home. Maybe he wanted someone who actually liked to touch in public.
Or maybe Alec simply missed blowjobs.
Dylan’s stomach took a Screamin’ Demon nosedive for the floor.
Fuck, what a stupid thought. Dylan slumped in his seat and watched the Tigers rally on the fourth down and gain fifteen yards on a spectacular pass. The fans below jumped to their feet, their screams and catcalls and fog horns muted by the thick glass.
Dylan briefly pressed his lids closed, his mind spinning.
Communication. After the hot, Da Vinci-inspired moment in Dylan’s garage, he’d promised to work a little on his communication skills. ’Course, at the time, he’d meant it in regards to sex, but maybe he should follow through on that promise in another way.
“So…” Dylan cleared his throat, keeping his voice low and hoping he didn’t sound as moronic as he felt. “At one point in my sordid past, I gave blowjobs in exchange for money.”
Chapter Thirteen
Alec’s breath whooshed from his lungs, and his stomach contracted with a sickening lurch. Christ, he felt as if he’d been tackled from behind. The need to pull Dylan into his arms and hold him was overwhelming. He knew Dylan would hate the response, so he gripped his chair and forced himself to focus on the activity below. The opposing team blocked a field goal, the chorus of groans from the crowd filling the silence between them as Alec struggled for something to say.
Dylan kept his eyes on the game, his posture relaxed as he reached for the beer sitting on the side table. Even the fingers wrapped around his mug looked loose. The absence of a white-knuckled appearance threw Alec off kilter. How could Dylan drop such a bombshell and act so nonchalant?
Three seconds ticked by before the muscles around Dylan’s mouth tensed, betraying his emotions.
Dylan still refused to meet his gaze. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”
Alec tried to swallow, but his throat felt too tight. “I think you’re one of the most amazing men I’ve ever met.”
The scoff that ripped from Dylan held a fair amount of skeptical amusement. “You’re too goddamn nice, Alec. We gotta work on that.”
But Alec didn’t buy any of the garbage that sprang from Dylan’s mouth, especially now. The moment felt huge. Pivotal. And Alec felt inadequate. Unfit for the conversation ahead. All those stupid letters after his name, all those degrees he’d earned, and not one of them had helped prepare him for this task.
He struggled for the right words as he stared at Dylan’s profile. “Don’t tell me you feel ashamed… because you shouldn’t.”
The thought actually hurt. Dylan lived his life wide open, not giving a damn what other people thought about him. And that was all well and good.
But what did he think of himself?
Dylan paused long enough to blink twice. “No shame here,” he said, finally meeting Alec’s gaze. “I did what I did to survive on the streets, and I don’t regret a thing. Regret’s a useless emotion anyway. But…”
His lips twisted wryly. Alec waited, not moving a muscle. Any reaction on his part could be misconstrued as judgment or pity. And Dylan clearly tolerated neither.
Dylan heaved out a breath. “I’m just sorry it’s ruined things for you.”
“For me? What are you talking about?”
“I can’t”—he rolled his hand as if to help the words along—“you know.”