Technically, Sid didn’t need to go looking for Dantenow, but the pull in his chest said otherwise.
He crossed the yard and climbed the porch steps to Dante’s front door, raising his hand to knock, but the door flew open before his fist touched painted wood, and Dante stood before him, longer hair wild, eyes wide.
And... shirtless.
Jesus God.If Sid had believed Dante to be his every fantasy come to life before, there waszerodoubt in his mind now. Dante had the inked and carved torso of every wet dream Sid had ever had, from his lean chest to his washboard abs and the trail of dark hair that disappeared beneath his low-slung jeans.
He was barefoot too. Sid’s gaze travelled down Dante’s long legs, and he braced himself for a set of perfect toes—
“What thefuckhappened to your foot?”
* * *
Dante flinched, reeling back on his front step before common sense prevailed and reminded him that Sid wasn’t the first person to catch sight of the mess of his mangled foot and wonder if they’d strayed onto the set ofThe Walking Dead.
It ain’t normal to have bullet scars, remember? Not even in your world, let alone his.
As if Dante had any concept of what was fucking normal.
He caught himself mid flail, hand snapping to the doorframe.
Sid was still consumed by the wreckage of Dante’s foot. The masochist in Dante wanted to leave him there, as though the gnarled mess of raised skin could convince Sid once and for all that everything Dante had said about himself was true.
But he missed Sid’s wildflower gaze too much.
And I’m a selfish fuck. “Well, I guess that’s one way of saying hello.” Dante waited as Sid raised his bewildered stare to Dante’s face. “All right, mate?”
Sid nodded slowly. “I’m not seeing things, right? There really is a hole in your foot?”
“No, you’re not. And yes, there is. Is that all you came to say?”
“Um...” Sid rubbed the back of his neck, the gesture reminding Dante that he’d been out of commission for days and days and days. A whole fucking week.
A sudden cold breeze seemed to echo Dante’s thoughts.Get him inside.
“Tell you what,” Dante said when Sid didn’t speak, “why don’t you come in while you decide? It’s freezing out there.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
Dante let instinct take over and made a brave grab for Sid’s hand, tugging him through the door and kicking it shut before Sid seemed to know what was happening. “It’s cold,” Dante repeated, in case Sid hadn’t heard him the first time.
Sid nodded again, a frown cinching his brows, jaw twitching, clearly fighting the urge to eyeball Dante’s monstrous foot again.
Fuck that.
Still clutching Sid’s hand, Dante towed him into the living room and propelled him towards the couch. “Wait here a sec.”
He dipped into his bedroom and found the damp socks drying on the radiator, cringing as he yanked them over his feet, but the discomfort was nothing compared to what Sid had been through, and Dante brushed it off.
In the living room, Sid had dropped onto the sofa. His hands clenched tight around his weed tin and a red T-shirt Dante recognised.Whoops.You’d make a lousy housewife, Pope.“Did you need me to skin up for you?”
“What?”
Dante pointed at the weed tin. “I can roll you a few, keep you going?”
Sid glanced at the weed tin and shook his head. “That’s not why I came. I, um, came to give you this.” He held out the shirt. “I have no idea how it ended up with my stuff. Maybe Anna picked it up somewhere and thought it was mine?”