Page 6 of The Best Parts of Him
One-sided chemistry. Dabbs had always been fairly indifferent to him, which stung.
Crushing on Dabbs was a bit like being a kid again, desperate for his parents’ attention. With the divorce, joint custody agreement, and living out of two homes, Ryland had felt . . . forgotten. Add in being the youngest of three, and it was like waving both hands in the air, trying to get his parents to just look at him, and instead they saw right through him.
Apparently, now was the time to think about how untethered he’d felt back then.
Fun.
Bellamy, as familiar now with Ryland’s childhood home as Ryland and Jason were, led Dabbs up the porch steps and into the house.
Ryland had asked Dabbs out just this past spring, and Dabbs had turned him down with a gentle “I don’t date people who are mean to my teammates.”
That had stung. Thinking about it made his stomach clench in remembered disappointment and his scalp prickle with shame. He didn’t want to be the guy Kyle Dabbs looked at and saw a bully.
He wanted to be the guy Kyle Dabbs looked at and saw . . . well, a potential love-interest at best, and a friend at the very least.
Except, Ryland was no longer being mean to Bellamy. So if that was the only obstacle . . .
He popped into the phone’s frame again and waved. “Sorry, folks, I’ve got to sign off,” he said, interrupting Jason’s monologue. “Stay tuned tomorrow: I’ll be going live at Maplewood’s annual Fourth of July ice cream festival.” He ended the live and said, “Bellamy’s here.”
Jason’s grin split his cheeks. He set aside the jar of maple butter he’d been showing Ryland’s viewers and headed out of the shed.
Ryland followed more slowly, determined to play it cool.
He met the group inside the house, where Bellamy was telling Jason about his week being a camp counselor at his team’s annual hockey camp. Dabbs stood at the kitchen table, where last night’s Scrabble game between Ryland’s dad and stepmom rested, the board littered with a dozen tiles. Arms crossed over his chest, biceps bulging, Dabbs frowned at the available tiles on his side of the board as Ryland moved to stand across from him.
“Hey,” Ryland said, his mouth going dry when Dabbs’ gaze met his. “How’s your summer been so far?”
Dabbs leaned his forearms on the top of the high-backed kitchen chair on his left. It sent his biceps straining against his blue T-shirt. Ryland forced his gaze off them.
“Well, let’s see,” Dabbs said, his voice a deep timbre that stroked along Ryland’s skin. “Bellamy and I just moved into a new place, so there are still boxes of crap taking up floor space in the kitchen. One of the kids at hockey camp this week decided the ice was too slippery, so he sat out almost every activity. And one of my dogs swallowed a bee.”
Ryland gasped. “Oh my god. Is he okay?”
“He’s fine.” Dabbs regarded him for a long moment, his expression softening. “Nice of you to be concerned though. How has your summer been?”
“Oh, its . . . ” Ryland stumbled over his words for a moment, still stuck on Nice of you to be concerned. “Fine. Good. I can’t top any of that, but my niece did puke candy all over my feet when I picked her up from daycare last week.”
Dabbs made a face. “Gross.”
“I was wearing flip-flops.”
Dabbs made gagging sounds.
“Imagine trying to get vomit out from under your toenails.”
“Oh god, stop talking.” Dabbs straightened and covered his mouth with the back of his hand, as though his gag reflex had engaged.
“On a lighter note, I built a canoe.”
“You . . . what?”
“Built a canoe. Well, me and six other people. We took part in a canoe-building workshop in Glen Hill over the past two months, and we built a communal wood strip canoe. We even took it out onto the water last week.”
“Did it float?”
Putting on his most scandalized Southern belle impression, Ryland brought his hand up to his chest. “Excuse you. Yes, it floated. Rude.”
Dabbs chuckled. “Sorry. You just don’t seem like the woodworking type.”
