Page 4 of Spring Breakup
Tyler was too tired to spend another second gossiping. It had been a long day of plane rides and car rides and falls in the mud. He was ready to sleep. He made his way to the cabin to wash off.
A few minutes later, Rosie peeked through the doorway of the bathroom where he was washing his hands. “You okay?”
Tyler tried to smile at her. Rosie was his best friend. Though he would never tell her that. The news would shock her. They rarely hung out outside of the breakroom at the elementary school where they worked.
But his happiest moments in the last year were the fifteen minutes before school when they chatted over cups of decaf in the teacher’s lounge. Which was saying somethingloudabout all his other relationships.
“I’m fine.”
She gave him a gentle smile full of pity he pretended not to see. It was bad enough to fall in a mud puddle in general, but doing it in front of Rosie’s hot partner, Leo, and hot friend, Dean, was absurd.
He dried his hands and gingerly removed his coat so the mud on the back of it didn’t get on anything in the bathroom.
Rosie took the coat from him, and they examined it. The mud—glacial silt—had in fact dried already, and it flaked off easily. They quickly brushed it off over the shower drain and used the showerhead to wash it away. He needed to change pants but had left his bag in the van in his rush to get his hands clean.
“Have you talked to Francis?” Rosie asked.
Tyler wrinkled his nose and touched a tiny toucan near the bottom of his shirt. “Oh, he’s texting me a play-by-play of moving out. He’s pretty disappointed I took a vacation rather than sticking around to work through our problems. I told him I have bad service out here but haven’t checked my phone to see if it’s true.”
Dean appeared over Rosie’s shoulder and said, “It’s true. I’ve only got one bar off and on.” He held up Tyler’s duffel. “Bag.”
Tyler willed himself not to remember the way Dean’s hand had felt around his wrist outside. But, of course, his brain didn’t cooperate, pulling up the sense memories like a 5D movie. The scrape of rough calluses on his pulse point. The scent of ice and mud and Dean’s deodorant working hard after a long, long travel day. The melodic voice that seemed at odds with Dean’s frown.
Too muchthinking.
“Thanks.” Tyler took his bag and dug through it for a pair of sweatpants.
Dean leaned against the doorjamb of the bathroom, and Rosie stood there holding his coat. Neither got the hint that he wanted to get his muddy clothes off… privately.
“Are you sure you and this Francis guy are completely over?” Dean said. “Maybe you should have brought him. Tried to reconnect out in the romantic Alaskan wilderness.”
“And if I’d brought a plus-one, where would you sleep? We’re sharing a room.”
Dean winked at Rosie and said, “In my experience, king beds can sleep three.”
Tyler was scandalized by that. Was Dean saying he would share with Tyler and Francis in this scenario? Because that would not have happened. They weren’t nearly exciting enough for that.
Rosie smiled and shook her head as if she was charmed by Dean’s antics. Tyler loved Rosie’s sense of humor, but he was usually let in on the joke. He wasn’t in onthisjoke.
Screw this. He yanked his pants down so he was in nothing but boxers.
Neither Dean nor Rosie seemed fazed by him undressing in front of them. He pulled up his sweatpants and started to unbutton his shirt. It was cold in the cabin, and while it pained him to lose the comfort of his typical wardrobe, he needed long sleeves.
Dean watched him absently, his gaze moving over Tyler’s chest. It felt… almost careless, like Tyler wasn’t even there. Like his body was just a body and not connected to a human being. Dean’s expression was totally blank.
“Like what you see?” Tyler asked, fed up enough to be rude.
Dean didn’t say a word, but he left.
ChapterThree
Dean’s palms prickled.He could feel the shape of compressed charcoal between his fingers. He imagined the scratch of the tip along expensive paper as he sketched the silly birds on Tyler’s shirt.
Tyler had snarked at him in the bathroom, and Dean had gotten that hot feeling in his throat that was either annoyance or interest. He wanted it to be annoyance, so he was veryannoyedwith himself that it didn’t seem to be.
“Do you have your artsy stuff with you?” Rosie asked, meaning his pencils and drawing pad. Dean wasn’t like Leo. He wasn’t good enough to sell his art, and he hadn’t been inspired to draw outside the classes he taught in ages. But he always brought supplies when he traveled, just in case.
“I do.”
