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“You said you grew up doing this stuff with your dad. How much?” Gus curled up on the floor next to the bedframe, and Derek’s hand found his fur like the dog was a life raft. Some of the anxiety vibrating off him stilled. “How much? Please?” The last word was barely audible.
“I genuinely don’t know. I’m still going to fix all the ceiling shit and the beams in the subfloor. That’s my fault, and I admit it. I’m not sure what insurance would cover either way. The plumber will give us a fair estimate, and then we have to, you know, check if there’s a mold situation.” Dylan grimaced.
Derek’s cheeks paled. “Mold.”
“I don’t know about numbers. I told you I’d cover the stuff that would be my uncle’s responsibility as long as we don’t involve him at all.”
“You really think we can keep this a secret from him?”
“I’d really like to try.” The back of Dylan’s neck heated.
“Why?”
“Personal reasons.” Dylan didn’t really want to explain his uncle’s situation with a stranger. Especially a stranger he didn’t trust.
“You really want me to believe you can pay for all—” Derek gestured to the hole in outrage. “It’s just… gah. Putting it on a credit card is not the same as paying for it, you know?” Derek’s mouth shut. He swallowed twice, like he hadn’t meant to say it. Or hadn’t meant to say it like that?
But he did say it. Why would Dylan say he could pay for it if he couldn’t? Damn, this guy really did think the worst of him. Did Derek think he was fleecing his uncle or that this was a scam?
What the actual hell?
“No shame in needing a place to crash or having debt and needing family to help you out. Doing reno work in exchange for a place to live makes sense as long as your uncle’s not getting a raw deal.” The tinge of reproach in Derek’s voice would have been more than enough to make Dylan feel ashamed about needing a place to crash or having debt had that been the situation.
Wow.
No wonder Derek thought the idea of him getting laid was a joke.
Dylan could explain he was a software engineer—a successful one—and owned his own company and could get his week’s work done in a few hyperfocused hours. He could explain that Uncle Sean needed to sell the apartment next year, but it was in terrible shape from years of neglect when the family didn’t realize how bad things were getting. Dylan’s brothers and sisters were all preoccupied with family, kids, work, or school, so he was the only one with the time to do this. The only one who didn’t have anything else in his life besides a dopamine deficiency that seemed to be fed by home renovation work.
Honestly if this was what Derek believed about him, then to hell with this guy, with all the crap Derek put him through with the mean looks and snipes already since moving in. He’d give this condescending, douchey, muscly ball sack the bare minimum of explanation.
“No, I’m not freeloading. Yes, I can afford this.” Dylan kept his tone almost robotic. “I’ll fix the ceiling and the rotten joists and the stuff I contributed to breaking, and you can figure out the rest after talking to the plumber.”
“You don’t have to be a dick about it.” Derek said, with a weird intentional callback to Dylan’s words last night. Was he making a joke? “Look, I didn’t mean—”
“Yeah, right. I’m the one being a dick here.” Dylan sniffed. “Just grab your stuff and you can have the bedroom with Gus so his joints don’t hurt until I finish with your ceiling or we can turn your water back on.” The oversized dog was beginning to worm his way into Dylan’s heart too.
Derek’s eyebrows pulled together for a moment, but then he shrugged. “Fine.”
“The ceiling has to stay open until the plumber fixes the underlying problem.”
“Fine.”
“I’ll text the plumber I have unless you’ve got a guy.”
“Your guy is fine.”
Dylan crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, fine.”
Derek stood up from the bedframe and mirrored Dylan’s pathetic attempt at the over-the-chest-arm-crossing power move with his own version that was anything but pathetic due to his having pectoral muscles worthy of the Marvelverse. “Fine.”
Chapter 9
“You have to get up,” said the voice of a man who would probably be dead soon if he didn’t let Derek sleep longer.
Derek pulled the pillow over his head and smacked the hand trying to snatch it away.
“I know it’s four thirty in the morning, but—”