Page 8 of Fall for Him

“Burlesque is an underrated masterpiece,” Derek said solemnly.

“Is it the one with the legwarmers and ‘Maniac,’ or the one with Jessie from Saved by the Bell?”

“Neither.” Derek’s flush was either fury or embarrassment, hard to tell. “Those are Flashdance and Showgirls.”

Dylan shrugged. “Kay. If you say so.”

With an outraged grunt that was far too adorable to be scary, Derek glared at him. “Now, why the hell did you decide to just start going through my shit without asking me?”

“You said I could.” Dylan pointed toward the hallway. “Oh, and the bins with the books are completely fine because they had better lid situa—”

“Most of those are my best friend’s.” The words rushed out more quickly than necessary.

“Some had your name written in the front.” Dylan bit his lower lip hard to stop himself from laughing at how flustered Derek was getting about the hundred dog-eared and broken-spined romances that were mixed in with a few classics, as well as a book called The Joy of Gay Sex… which seemed like it had some pretty good information. “The… uh…” Dylan gestured to the opaque fabric box that was, unfortunately, not water fast. “Um—toys, I decided to let you handle yourself. Water got in there, so it might just be a trash and replace situation.”

“Goddamn it, Gallagher.” Derek grabbed hold of Dylan. For a second, Dylan was very confused about what was happening and why Derek was looking like he wanted to tackle him to the ground between the box of ruined sex toys and the stack of rescued Nora Ephron movies… not that part of Dylan would have minded…

But Derek’s fingers tightened and slid to his elbow.

“Ouch. I’m not judging you for the dildos, Christ, let me go.”

“I’m not attacking you.” Derek’s other hand cradled his wrist. “You bled through your bandage.”

“Aw shit. Again?” Dylan’s shoulders lifted dismissively, but he didn’t look at his hand. “It’s fine. Doesn’t hurt that bad.”

“You need stitches.” Derek’s tender frown contrasted with his irritated tone.

“It’ll be fine.” Unless the hand was in imminent danger of falling off, he wouldn’t be going to a hospital. Dylan hated doctors. “So… uh… where’s the monster?”

“Asleep in his back-up dog bed.” Derek’s head twitched toward the living room. “My dog walker knows the deal with Carol, so he’ll be around later today at the normal time.”

“What exactly is the deal with Carol, and what do you mean the normal time?”

“Carol Taylor is the bane of my existence,” Derek said with his face a complete deadpan.

“Is elaborating possible? Carol’s the one who drives that pink Mary Kay Cadillac, right?”

“Carol Taylor, HOA tyrant, hates big dogs, and—um—she didn’t like the previous owner of my unit. She specifically hates Gus because of a bad experience with a Great Dane. Not Gus, because Gus is a gentleman with better taste than to have his paws anywhere near a person who sells MLM products.”

“Out of curiosity, why is an enormous but purportedly gentlemanly harlequin Great Dane Bulldog mix here at all?”

“Because he belonged to my best friend’s brother who died seven months ago.”

Well shit, now Dylan felt like an asshole. No wonder Derek was so protective.

“I’m really sorry about your loss.” Dylan had never been good at this stuff. But his sister Felicity was in her psychiatric clinicals right now, and she had given him some tips at human-ing recently. “Do you… want to talk about it?”

Derek’s head snapped up. “The fuck?” Derek eyed Dylan as if he thought Dylan was an alien. “No, I don’t want to talk about it with you. I just want you to get out of my apartment.”

“What about—”

“I get off work at seven thirty tonight. We can talk about the logistical details for fixing stuff then. Back to Carol. I have her schedule mapped out for my dog walker. In addition to being a complete autocratic wackadoo, she keeps to a strict routine. If she sees Gus around, the deal is to pretend that Olive is here visiting and will be back in an hour. There’s no rule against short-term visits. She’s knows some vague details about Olive’s situation and has a soft spot—soft for Carol—for peripherally famous people.”

“Peripherally famous? Olive is—”

“My best friend.” Derek snapped his fingers. “Keep up, Gallagher.”

“Best friend. Olive. Peripherally famous. Visiting. Gus. Got it.”

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