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He waved a hand. “It’s not just that. Will busted his ass to get us off the streets—I just followed along and did what I was told. That was fine when I was a kid, but I’m starting to feel like I’ve been riding his coattails my whole life. I want something that’s mine and only mine. Or at least not his.” He winced and rolled his eyes, then ran his fingers through his hair absently searching for knots. “I sound like an ungrateful child.”
It was obvious he was waiting for her to cast judgment.
“You sound like a grown man who’s tired of living in another man’s shadow.”
“Yeah.” He blew out a breath as though relieved, then pulled a pen out of his top drawer and started to twirl it between his fingers—surprisingly nimble for a guy with big hands. Then again, he was usually fiddling with something. He got bored easily.
“Do you have a plan?”
“No, not yet. But I do think I want to start my own business.”
Hey, this really is a platonic friend conversation. Look at us go!
“Doing what?”
He grimaced. “I have no idea. I don’t really have any marketable skills—at least nothing I want to do for money anymore.”
Dex raised her brows at him impatiently. “Think about the skill set you’ve acquired helping to run Catacombs.”
“Hosting? Flirting? Showing new people around?” He glanced up at the ceiling as though it might hold the answer he wanted. The pen didn’t stop twirling between his fingers, and Dex found it as mesmerizing as she always did.
“Customer service is a solid, transferable skill.”
“Better than servicing customers, I guess.” His mouth twisted.
“It’s been a long time since you worked as an escort,” she said carefully. This was always a touchy subject for him. “You need to get past the idea that your dick and your charm are your only assets.”
“Right. I also have more money than I know what to do with.”
She ran her tongue over her bottom lip, trying to think of something he might enjoy. “If you have no business ideas, maybe you could buy a house instead. A fancyass one.”
“For what? So I can host dinner parties? So I can wear a Hugh Hefner robe with impunity?”
“So you don’t have to live in a shitty addition on the back of the club? To keep you busy?”
He made a dismissive sound. “It doesn’t matter where I sleep. As long as I have a roof over my head, and no one making me service them, I won’t complain.”
Inwardly, Dex flinched. A few times now Grant had alluded to having been assaulted when he and Will were staying at the shelter, back when he was seventeen. She’d thought it was typical inappropriate guy humor, but she was starting to suspect it was a fact.
Her heart broke for the kid he’d been, with no one to look out for him except Will, who was two years older. If she ever met their father and stepmother, she was going to give them a piece of her mind.
“I’m sorry,” she said, knowing that no matter what she said it wouldn’t be enough to express how she was feeling. Angry. Violent. Sad.
“It’s ancient history.” He pierced her with those feral green eyes of his. “Will doesn’t know what happened when we were living at the shelter, though, so please don’t bring it up.”
She dropped her feet back on the floor and went around the desk to him. He turned his chair to follow her movement toward him.
“What?” he grumbled, leaning back, away from her. With him sitting and her standing, they were practically the same height.
“I’m going to hug you now.”
“I don’t need a hug.”
“I need a hug.” She waited, not wanting to push him, but also knowing that he didn’t get a lot of affection.
He opened his arms without enthusiasm, but it was good enough for her. She hugged him, even though his seated position made it awkward. She melted against him, having missed his arms.
Don’t think about him being bare-chested, Dexter.
