Page 27 of Viking Ink

Grabbing the teds, I shuffled back into the kitchen. Simon was still sitting at the table, head in his hands, not looking up when I came in. He was mad with me, I could tell.

“I’m going to go have a nap. Sorry for being annoying.” I didn’t wait to hear Simon’s response or see if he even looked at me. I didn’t think I could deal with it right now. I threw myself on the bed, not even bothering flicking my lamp on—the bear lamp that Simon had brought me after the first night when he’d heard me having nightmares. The lamp I slept with on most nights.

But tonight, I didn’t care if the nightmares came.

I was being ridiculous. Simon would never want to be my boyfriend, let alone my Daddy. I’d seen the young guys who came to the shop wanting Simon to tattoo them. They were hot and sexy in ways I could never hope to be. I needed to stop this stupid pining and grow up. I pulled the teds closer and tried to stop the tears that wanted to come.

Stupid, stupid heart.

Chapter 9

SIMON

God, I was a fucking numpty.

Rhys looked so fucking dejected as he went down the hall. It had been a slip of the tongue, but I wasn’t man enough to own it, to tell Rhys how I fucking felt. I scraped the remains of my plate into the bin. I should go talk to Rhys, let him know I fucked up, and try to get him to understand that I was a grumpy asshole with an absolutely shite record when it came to relationships.

In the bad old days, I would have gone straight to the pub and drunk away any thoughts, and later I would have made the trip to Newcastle and lost myself for a few hours in the care of one of the Crimson’ sweet littles, but even the thought of it felt like I was betraying Rhys somehow, and honestly, I couldn’t devote the right attention to a strange little—not when my thoughts kept circling back to Rhys lying on the rug drawing. I could damn well see he was rocking against the rug, getting off on thoughts I had no idea about. Watching the way his sweet little ass rocked was almost my undoing. He was wearing my old and sweats rubbing himself off, and it was so fucking hot.

I couldn’t stand around thinking about this. I would end up doing something stupid. Wrenching my jacket off the hook, I grabbed my keys, shooting one last look up the hall. Rhys’s door was closed, and I couldn’t see any light shining through. He’d looked exhausted. Maybe he’d put himself to bed for that nap.

Before I left, I wrote a quick note and stuck it to the fridge, I should have stayed home and talked to Rhys, but I’d admit it—I was a gutless twat.

“Simon? What are you doing here?” Callum grunted as he swung his front door open.

“I can’t visit my best friend?”

Cal stepped aside and motioned me to come inside. “I’d have thought you would rather spend time with Rhys. You two have been spending a lot of time together.”

“Well, I’m here instead.” I moved inside, ducking the bastard low beams that seemed to have it in for me and heading straight to the large couch that was currently covered in a pile of clean washing. Cal shrugged when I motioned to the mess.

“We were in the middle of folding up and got a bit behind in chores this week,” Callum mumbled. I wanted to smirk at how domestic these two had become since Mitch had moved in. They balanced each other out.

“Where’s Alice?” Cal’s little girl was nowhere in sight.

“Mum’s for a couple of nights. Going to London, visiting the museum and doing some shopping. Supposedly I can’t be trusted in buying my own daughter suitable clothes,” Callum groused.

“She has a point,” I answered, giving a shrug.

“Simon, I haven’t seen you look this grumpy since Newcastle got relegated—even then, you didn’t look this pissed. Is this to do with you pining for Rhys?” Mitch asked bluntly as he walked into the room.

Fuck. I both hated and loved my brother’s astute nature. I shoved the clean clothes aside and sat down, trying not to acknowledge the knowing looks my brother and best friend shared.

“I fucked up, okay? I’ve upset Rhys, and now I’m pissed at myself,” I mumbled, wishing I could sink deeper into the sofa to hide.

“What did you do?” Mitch asked. His look was none too friendly, reminding me how close he and Rhys had become over the last two weeks.

“When I got home, Rhys was—well, he looked like he was in little space.” I rubbed a hand through my hair. “He was so fucking adorable I nearly dropped down on the floor to help him colour.”

Mitch made a thoughtful hmm and smiled as he looked at me. “Was that all big bro, or were there pants feelings involved?”

“Mouse— that’s—that’s Rhys we’re talking about.” I glared at Mitch and the fucker just smiled. “All right, you smug bastard, yes there were pants feelings.”

“So? You’re a grown man. Rhys is a grown man.” Mitch looked at me like I’d grown a second head, then rolled his eyes. “Oh my fucking god, Simon. You’re still living in the land of denial.”

“Am not,” I mumbled, perhaps a bit petulantly.

“Okay, so you walked in, and Rhys was little. What happened? How did you fuck up?” Cal shot Mitch a look. “And you, stop trying to get a rise out of your brother and make yourself useful and make some cuppas.”

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