“Bye, Daniel. Thank you for your help.”
I hang up before I can hear about all the “things” he was just going to say that would likely make me wish it were possible to bleach my ears. Thinking that maybe I’ll try to make Shiloh dinner for a change, I quicken my pace toward his house. I’m going to have food on the table for my man to come home to.
“Ugh, of course,” I mutter, pulling into the parking lot at the harbor at the same time as Dryden Roy. I give myself half a second to consider if I’m petty and childish enough to pretend I didn’t see him, before I push open my door and wave a hello. I can be polite.
“Howdy,” I say, and then immediately groan, inwardly flinching.Howdy?When have I ever said howdy in my fucking life?
“Howdy, partner,” Dryden Roy replies, the words so sarcastic they’re liable to catch fire if I were to flick a match his direction. He pops the trunk on his car, ignoring me so expertly I’d believe he didn’t know I was here if he hadn’t just spoken directly to my face.
“A little late to be heading out to haul,” I comment. He doesn’t reply, so I add, “Nice day for it, though.”
“Did you need something?” he asks, glancing around as though trying to figure out why I’m breathing air so closely to him. My eye twitches.
“Just being friendly.”
“I’m sure you could find someone else to be friendly with,” he notes, delivering it so dryly I can tell it’s not a joke. I have the sudden vivid fantasy of slamming the trunk of his car on his pretty, long-boned fingers.
“I could,” I agree, and silently add,but I’m going to stay right here and bother the shit out of you instead.
Silently, I stand there with my hands shoved into the pocket of my hoodie, watching as he pulls a crate of stuff out of the trunk. It’s a little unwieldy, if the way he’s trying to maneuver it is any indication. When he finally gets it out, he turns, spots me, and pauses. I smile.
“Here. Make yourself useful, then.” The plastic crate is shoved none too gently into my chest, and I barely manage to get my arms around it before he’s letting go. I’d been feeling a little bad for how things ended between him and Shiloh, but he sure doesn’t make that easy. What a dick.
He pulls another crate of supplies out, balances it on his hip, and slams the trunk closed. He doesn’t even glance my direction as he strides off toward the pier, his boat one of the only ones still there. On the other side, Shiloh’s slip is empty. Not for long, though, as he usually comes in around the same time each afternoon, hence my presence here waiting for him. I could have just waited at home—his home, that is—but the urge to get out was strong, and the back patio hadn’t provided quite enough distance for me.
“Put it there,” Dryden instructs me, tipping his head to the side in a clear indication of leaving the crate on the dock and not following him on board his boat. I give it a second’s thoughtbefore I clamber down behind him. I can be a dick, too.
He sighs when he realizes I’m still behind him, and I smile. I put my crate next to his and look around. His boat—Maiden Seas—is larger than Shiloh’s and has a slick, fancier feel to it. Less used, perhaps, although the equipment and general setup is the same. I walk the length of the boat, running a hand along everything idly. It’s a nice vessel. I wonder how many crew members he runs for a boat this size.
“As fond as I am of your presence,” Dryden says, “I do have some work to do.”
When I look over at him, he’s bent over a trap, face hidden as he fiddles with something. I move a little closer, wanting to see what he’s doing. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to run a commercial fishing boat, and he definitely doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to repair his own traps.
“Need help?” I offer, which earns me such a heavy sigh, I laugh. “Okay, never mind. I guess I just wanted to see if we were good.”
“I don’t know you well enough to have an opinion of you. If that makes us ‘good,’ then we’re good.” He moves to the side, and I have to take a quick step backward to avoid him bumping into me. I’m floored that this is the guy Shiloh spent the past couple of years with. He’s got more attitude than me, and frankly, that’s saying something.
“I didn’t come back home with the intention of messing anything up between you and Shiloh.”
“Cute that you think you have that much power over anything I do,” he replies silkily. I nod. Fair enough.
“Well…” I trail off, not really sure what, if any, reply could be given to that. Maybe I should just do what the man so clearly wishes and leave. “Okay. That’s all I wanted to say, I guess. I’m sorry if?—”
“Buddy”—Dryden’s gaze is disdainful when it meets mine—“I think you might be mistaking me for someone who gives a shit.”
“You’re really a delight to be around,” I tell him warmly, making it sound as though I’m bestowing some great compliment on him. He snorts, because he doesn’t give a damn what I think. I kind of like the fucker. I know one thing, though: there is no way he acted like this around Shiloh.
“Listen, I get where you’re coming from, but this”—he gestures between us—“is unnecessary. I’m not the guy for Loh, and I wasn’t the guy for him when we met either. I was just keeping the bed warm.”
He straightens after he says this, turning to face me, crossing his arms casually over his chest and leaning back against the stack of traps. The smirk on his face tells me he knows exactly how much I want to hit him after that pronouncement.
“Seems like you might have something you want to say after all,” I grit out through clenched teeth. Dryden shrugs, nonchalant.
“Consider me a curious bystander, watching the train derail and waiting for the crash.”
“Poetic,” I deadpan. “And somehow, meaningless.”
“I think you’re trash,” he says mildly, voice so calm and even he could have been giving me a compliment. “I think you’re aselfish piece of shit who feels so secure in Shiloh’s love that you can do whatever you want with it.”
