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“Again… Not sure I’m going to take lessons from you on how not to be an asshole.”
Dylan was too confused to come up with a biting response. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Some people need to work on their memory, in more areas than one,” Derek said in a low mutter as he walked away.
“Yeah, I’ll work on that.” Maybe Derek was referring to all the times he’d put out trash or recycling on the wrong day. Still, this guy barely knew him.
Baffled and furious, Dylan slammed the door behind him and ran down to grab the laptop. Unfortunately, he locked himself out of his uncle’s apartment without his car keys or phone. After climbing in the Jeep via the aforementioned sunroof and moving the laptop, for the sake of his dignity, he’d walked three miles to Felicity’s school in the rain to borrow her spare key, rather than give Derek the satisfaction of asking to borrow his phone.
All of this being why Dylan could never forget he hated Derek.
That hatred was for the best.
Hatred meant no temptation to investigate any other feelings or fantasies that had been triggered in the last twenty-four hours since seeing Derek in his underwear. Again, soaking wet. What was it with muscles and water that made Dylan want to lick up the column of that strong neck and—
Shit. HATRED.
Broken, water-damaged laptop. Not thinking about neck licking. Chest licking. Or… no goddamn licking.
He needed to leave this apartment ASAP. After quietly extricating his foot from under the dog’s head, Dylan gathered his cleaning supplies.
The front door shut.
Don’t look at Derek. Just don’t look at him. “You should get your stuff and come upstairs because—”
“Why can’t I sleep down here?”
“For one thing, your mattress is outside on the curb, and—”
“Crap.”
“And… umm… so… I… while you were talking to Olive, I found out I have to turn off the water for the entire apartment. Plumber says shutting off that one part isn’t enough.” Christ, making eye contact seemed impossible, but not looking at Derek just made Dylan feel more awkward. “Sorry about that. And I have to show you something else.”
Derek’s jaw clenched.
Dylan led him to the spot between the kitchen and the bathroom. “Anyway, it looks like that person tried to do the repair themselves and then did a shoddy job of it. Over here too.” Dylan showed Derek a place on the wall where the drywall seams were uneven and visible. He traced a finger across the white paint. “They did a patch job. I’m a little worried about what we’re going to find behind this wall, to be honest. I’ve seen work like this before when people don’t intend to live in a space. They just make it look pretty to sell. Bad repair techniques don’t last. Most of the water damage ran down the couple of rotten beams, but I think a lot of it is behind this wall and into the foundation of the building.”
“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Derek directed the words at the wall. He touched the same spot Dylan had, sliding a finger over the unevenness, bubbling, and soft drywall.
Well, at least he wasn’t cursing at Dylan this time.
“What am I going to do?” Any cockiness had vanished. He was any defeated homeowner contemplating how financially fucked he was.
The unfortunate answer in this case being super supremely fucking fucked.
“Did you do an inspection when you bought the place?” Dylan kept any judgment out of his tone.
Derek’s knuckle kneaded the crease between his eyebrows. “My sister bought it. Bought it from a ‘friend’ who was flipping it. It’s a long story. She… she couldn’t pay the mortgage anymore three years ago, and otherwise the bank would have foreclosed.”
“So you bought it as-is.”
“Essentially.”
“Well, damn.” Dylan leaned on the wall but then stopped, remembering the legitimate concern that the walls weren’t structurally sound. “Do you think your sister knew about the problem?”
“I don’t think so. She was having a tough time. Had just had surgery. Thought it was move-in ready because of the fresh paint.” Derek’s sigh seemed ambivalent, but he didn’t offer more details, and Dylan didn’t want to pry. “So how much?” Derek’s voice was raspy. “Don’t sugarcoat it, Gallagher.”
“I… I…”