Sid found what he was looking for and tossed Dante a pair of soft, grey joggers. “Was that sarcasm?”
“What do you think?”
Sid thought lots of things. Too many things. His brain felt crowded, a sure sign that he needed to eat before he engaged in a conversation that meant something. “I think I don’t care about that either.” He dropped his towel and pulled on a pair of black and red linen trousers that sat low on his hips. Then he padded barefoot to where Dante stood and pushed his damp hair back from his face, kissing his cheek. “You can be as sarcastic as you like, it won’t change anything.”
He left Dante to get dressed in peace and retreated to the kitchen. The slow cooker was bubbling away with the chickpea stew he’d thrown together that morning, but he’d forgotten to pick spinach on his way home.Don’t worry about it. You don’t need to eat greens with every meal. But Sid wanted to. Putting good food in his body was the one thing he could control, and he slept easier knowing he’d tried his best.
“What’s wrong?”
Sid jumped as Dante came up behind him. “Hmm? Oh. Nothing. I just forgot something.”
Dante peered inside the slow cooker, his expression the usual mix of curiosity and comical apprehension. “Forgot what?”
“Spinach.”
Dante sighed. “Really?”
Sid didn’t feel like repeating his inner monologue. He dropped the lid back on the slow cooker. “Whatever. You want to smoke?”
Dante shrugged, casual and cool, but his gaze drilled into Sid’s soul. “Tell you what,” he said. “You start that joint I rolled last night, and I’ll go get the spinach.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“No, but I have to do this.” Dante kissed Sid as though they were still in the shower, naked and trembling, pressed together like it was the final apocalypse and they didn’t give a single fuck as long as they had each other. Then he pulled away with a grin. “I’ll be back.”
Letting him go hurt, but he was gone before Sid found the words to stop him. The front door opened and shut, leaving a quiet behind that got under Sid’s skin. He switched the radio on and hummed along, but he couldn’t sing for shit and irritably switched it off again. A strange ringing in his ears remained. He scowled and rubbed at them. “Bullshit fucking symptoms. Have a day off, will ya?”
It took a moment to comprehend the buzzing beep coming from the bathroom was real.
Frowning, Sid tracked it to his discarded shorts and pulled out the dated iPhone he’d taken from Dante earlier in the day.His phone never rings.In fact, it never made a sound, and until today, Sid had rarely seen it unless he asked Dante for the time. He thought back to that hazy place that existed before they’d combusted in the shower. Dante hiding in the shed, drawn, worried gaze fixed on his blank phone screen.“I sent Paolo a message... now I’m freaking out that Luis told him not to because he never wants to speak to me again.”
Sid turned the phone over, and sure enough, Paolo’s name lit up the screen.
Shit.Dante wasn’t here, and though logic told Sid he could simply ring back if he missed Paolo’s call, instinct warned him Dante might not.
Fuck it. He answered the call. “Hello?”
Silence. Then a rustling sound. “You’re not Dante.”
“Nope,” Sid said cheerfully. “He left his phone here, but I know where he is. Can you hang on while I take you to him?”
“All right then. Who are you?”
“Sid. We work together. I asked him to fetch something for me, but he should be on his way back by now.”
“Unless he’s done a bunk.”
The man Sid assumed to be Paolo spoke dryly with a London accent that matched Dante’s.He’s joking.But Sid bristled all the same. “Doubt it, mate. He’s the hardest worker here.”
Paolo said nothing.
Sid glowered at the phone screen—prick—and stamped into some shoes before leaving the bungalow and dashing across the yard. Dante was in the distance, ambling along the path with his face upturned to the evening sun. It was such a pretty picture Sid almost resented Paolo’s intrusion. Then he remembered Dante’s stricken, defeated gaze when he’d been so sure Paolo wouldn’t call and doubled his pace.
He skidded to a stop in front of Dante, ignoring his obvious surprise, and held out the phone. “It’s Paolo.”
Dante blinked. “What?”
“Paolo,” Sid repeated, tucking the phone to Dante’s ear and relieving him of the spinach he had clutched in each fist. “On the phone. Talk to him.”