Asher's at his wit's end. It's been two weeks of walking on eggshells around an increasingly bad-tempered Derek. Add in Dean finding a job right between their apartment and his place, and suddenly Asher is facing some hard truths.
Like how lopsided the threesome has become...or why the idea of Dean leaving is the scariest thought he's ever had.
The scratch-click of a key turning in the lock grabbed my attention, but Derek's stayed glued to the screen. He was in the middle of an intensely complicated maneuver of some sort on Madden, so I guess I understood.
The door swung open, revealing a heavily swathed Dean. He took one look at us and shook his head as he stepped in, shutting the door with his hip. “Video games after the drinking hour? You two are pathetic.”
“Hello to you too, darling,” Derek drawled without looking away from the screen. “Did you have fun at school?”
“I got hired.”
My gaze – which had begun to wander back to the screen and the glorious amount of tight male 3D ass in it – snapped back and I was off the couch like a shot. “Dude, that's awesome!”
Dean's bulky jacket hit the floor a second before I threw myself into his arms. He twirled me, gently in acknowledgment of my healing, making me laugh. “Yep.” His grin glittered. “Start on Thursday.”
I planted a smacking kiss on Dean's smiling mouth. “So very proud.” Since the fire had obliterated Derek's bar, a very real case of accidental arson since the fire had been aimed for the club next door and spread out, the boys had been out job-hunting with only halfway decent luck. Derek's enthusiasm had been significantly less than it could have been, but I'd swallowed my worry and my irritation. The guy had just lost his bar a few weeks back, and nearly his boyfriend in the process.
I could forgive a little time to mourn. That and we had a savings account that was still decent, even after paying off the hospital bill. Still, with my ability to sew cut in half as my body mended itself, it was hard not to fret. Or yell, in this case, as Derek's mumbled, “Congratulations,” barely made it over the sound of a referee's whistle.
I answered Dean's eyebrow lift with a helpless shrug. Derek had sunk into a mood no more than a day after I got home from the hospital, and it only seemed to darken by the day. In truth, I was more than a little pissed. Anger – my refuge when I was confused. Though Derek, Dean and everyone else I knew called it aggressive pouting.
It was absolutely not my fault that anger on me looked like a tantrum to everyone else. One of the many cons of being the pale-skinned, dark-haired, gay version of a life-sized Barbie.