Gifting Dylan: A Blooming Desire Holiday Novella

by Anders Grey

  Gifting Dylan

  A Blooming Desire Holiday Novella

  Anders Grey

  Copyright © 2019 by Anders Grey

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Design by Cosmic Letterz

  Created with Vellum

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  Contents

  1. Nash

  2. Dylan

  3. Nash

  4. Dylan

  5. Nash

  6. Dylan

  7. Nash

  8. Dylan

  9. Nash

  10. Dylan

  11. Nash

  Keep In Touch

  Also by Anders Grey

  1

  Nash

  The holidays sucked.

  That was the only thing on my mind as my eyes opened, because for the past three weeks straight, Mariah Carey had been proclaiming that I was all she wanted for Christmas. It was stuck in my goddamn head and refused to leave no matter how much I tried to think about tropical beaches and sun and margaritas instead. Ugh.

  My bones creaked as I sat up, screaming at me for moving instead of laying in the warmth of my bed like a lump. The air in my room felt particularly cold, even though I had the heat on blast. It also seemed oddly bright, definitely brighter than it had been when I fell asleep last night.

  With a frown, I slipped out of bed and into a pair of slippers—or at least, I would have, if there was a pair of slippers there. I groaned.

  “Sheba, not again.”

  A big pair of pointy ears greeted me from the hallway. My white German shepherd, Sheba, stood there wagging her tail. In her mouth was one half of my pair of slippers. Only god knew where the other one was hidden.

  She dropped it when I approached, but I didn’t feel like sticking my foot in dog-slobber, so I politely passed and went ahead barefoot, even though the house was cold as a witch’s tit for some reason.

  I gave her a pat on the head as we walked to the front door. Even though I hated the holidays, I was glad to have her company. She didn’t care about Santa or presents or festivities. With the rest of my fractured family lacking any holiday spirit, Sheba was the only person I could rely on, even if she was a dog.

  “It’s just you and me, girl,” I mumbled.

  As I approached the front door and saw the blank white behind the windows, my dread grew. I realized why it was so damn bright. It had snowed overnight.

  “Great.” I slapped my forehead and dragged my hand down my face. “White crap.”

  Sheba tilted her head at me, that quizzical look that told me she had to go outside to potty, snow or not.

  I sighed and put my weight into opening the door. With some effort, I managed to shove it open, but I heard the telltale crunch of snow bunching up against it.

  Snow was fucking everywhere. I grabbed a coat and shoved my feet into a pair of boots, then followed Sheba outside. Her white fur disappeared on the snow, and her black nose and eyes, and pink tongue were all I could see. Despite my annoyance, I couldn’t help but smile a little. Even if I was having a shitty time, at least Sheba was having fun.

  Then I saw my car.

  “Oh, fuck me,” I groaned.

  I’d gotten home late from a catering event last night and left my car outside because it had been so cold that my garage-door opener wasn’t working. The forecast said today should’ve been clear, so I thought it’d be safe to leave it out. Weather was a fickle bitch, though, and now my car had disappeared beneath a blanket of snow.

  “Fuuuuck,” I said eloquently.

  A bright chuckle came from the sidewalk—or the snow-covered place where the sidewalk usually was, anyway. A blond-haired young man in a hideous Christmas sweater was walking there with his golden retriever.

  You know what they say about dogs resembling their owners? This guy literally looked like that. He had plump cheeks turned pink from the cold that matched his dog’s pink tongue, and they both had the same warm brown eyes that sparkled, excited to be alive. Most disgusting of all was that they both obviously loved the snow. Freaks.

  “Need some help with your car, buddy?” the guy asked.

  “No,” I said immediately. The last thing I needed was some cheery rando who loved Christmas talking my ear off while he helped dig out my car.

  That didn’t deter him at all. “Hey, you look familiar.” He pointed to my dog, who was face-planting and eating snow. “That’s Sheba, right? That must mean you’re, uh… Sheba’s dad.” He laughed. “Sorry, I know everyone’s dog’s name, but not who the dog belongs to.”

  Now that he mentioned it, I did recognize him, too. His name was Dylan, if I remembered properly.

  “Dylan?” I asked.

  “Wow, your name’s Dylan, too?”

  Dumbass.

  “No, I’m asking if your name is Dylan,” I muttered.

  “Oh.” He grinned. “Yes. And you are?”

  “Nash,” I said.

  “Right, right.”

  He started coming over, even though I’d turned down his offer. I felt my irritation growing. Why couldn’t he get the hint that I wanted to be left alone?

  Sheba noticed Dylan’s dog and curiously trotted over.

  “She friendly?” Dylan asked.

  “Unless you’re a robber, yes,” I replied.

  He chuckled. “I think we’re safe, then.”

  He unclipped his golden retriever’s leash. Immediately, the two dogs took off like shots, bouncing through the snow like a couple of little kids. Powdery snow flew up into the air behind them like cartoon dust clouds.

  The thing about dog owners was they were always friendly to you as a fellow dog owner. I chalked up Dylan’s friendliness to that and decided not to look any further into it.

  Dylan pointed his thumb at my car. “Got a shovel? Or even a brush?”

  “They’re in the garage,” I said, grimacing. “And the clicker for the door-opener is stuck.”

  Dylan looked amused. “Well, we’re two grown-ass men. I think we can open it through brute strength, right?”

  I sighed and joined him as he knelt down by the garage door. We heaved and grunted as we pushed the door up. It was cold, and my fingers felt like they might fall off, but we managed to slide it open. I grabbed the snow shovel and thrust it at Dylan.

  As he took it, Dylan suddenly looked me up and down and grinned. “Nice pants, by the way.”

  I frowned, not knowing why he was complimenting me. Then I nearly choked when I remembered I was still in my red flannel pajama pants.

  “Goddamnit,” I mumbled.

  Dylan laughed, his voice like bells.

  What the fuck? I thought. Why am I thinking that?

  I shook it off and chalked it up to my screwed-up morning messing with my brain.

  “I meant that, by the way,” Dylan added, giving the snow shovel a flourish. “They are nice pants. I wish I was wearing cozy flannel instead of jeans.”

  I shrugged. “I mean, I have another pair inside if you want.”

  As soon as the words left my mouth, my blood ran cold. Literally what the fuck was I saying? Why was I inviting him inside? I must have been getting hypothermia of the brain. That was the only explanation.

  Dylan lit up at the offer. “Maybe after we’re done out here, yeah?”

  He win
ked, then started the heavy-duty shoveling without any complaint. In fact, he seemed almost downright happy to be doing something nice for someone else. It was bizarre.

  Not wanting to stand around like a useless lump, I blasted snow off the windshield with the stiff brush. Though it was cold, my face was hot was embarrassment. I couldn’t believe I’d invited Dylan inside. I barely knew the guy except as a dog-park acquaintance. I didn’t want him in my house.

  But I had to admit, he didn’t seem like a bad guy—on the contrary, if he was willing to go out of his way to help his neighbor, he was probably one of the good ones. Not like me. No, Dylan was too nice to hang around with someone like me. I had to get rid of him ASAP.

  Once I’d half-heartedly brushed the snow off my windshield, I decided I should retract my offer before he got too excited about it. Tell him I was just joking or make up some lie about needing to run an errand. Anything to let him down—gently, if possible.

  “Hey, so, Dylan—”

  But as I took a step in his direction, my foot slipped on a patch of ice. I yelped as I went ass-over-teakettle, the snow shovel flying out of my hands as I landed painfully on my butt.

  I groaned. “Ow.”

  “Oh, crap!” Dylan cried. He tossed the shovel and ran to my side. “Are you okay, Nash?”

  “Just fine,” I said through gritted teeth.

  Dylan let out a sympathetic chuckle. “Well, that’s no good. Maybe we should call it quits for now. The car itself is pretty cleaned up, and I can do the rest later. Can you get up and walk?”

  He held out a gloved hand. I hesitated to take it. It wasn’t that I wanted to be rude—but Dylan was so goddamn nice, and I wasn’t.

  I grumbled and tried to get up on my own, but with the ice it was impossible. I was like a flailing turtle on my back. With a sigh, I admitted defeat and took Dylan’s hand. He lifted me in one smooth motion with a hup sound. I was surprised by his strength as he pulled me to my feet.

  But I was more surprised at how close we were standing when I stood back up. Dylan’s face was inches from mine. His rosy cheeks seemed pinker up close. His brown eyes were warmer, too, like pools of hot chocolate.

  What. The. Fuck.

  Panic flared up in me. I would’ve stumbled back, but Dylan was still firmly holding on.

  “Don’t want you to fall again,” he said. He nodded towards my house. “Why don’t we take a break for now?”

  Feeling stupid and with no brain cells left to make up an excuse, I simply said, “Okay.”

  What the hell did you get yourself into, Nash?

  2

  Dylan

  The guy was squirrelly, but cute as hell. Was he always so handsome or was it just the joy of the holidays coloring my vision? I hadn’t given him a chance before, mostly because he was always a bit standoffish, but there had to be more to him than met the eye. I found myself strangely intrigued by the surly man.

  Nash walked stiffly inside, and I wasn’t sure if it was because he hurt his ass or some other reason. There was a loose powdering of snow on his behind that I couldn’t stop staring at. I snorted.

  “What?” Nash asked, whipping around.

  “Nothin’. Just that your butts covered in snow.” I grinned. “If I knew you better, I’d reach out and brush it off myself, but…”

  Nash’s face turned redder than Santa’s suit. I burst out laughing, which didn’t help Nash’s carmine complexion. With an angry huff, he wiped off his flannel pants in angry pats. I tried not to enjoy the view.

  A high-pitched bark came from outside, and Nash’s eyes went wide. “Oh, shit. I forgot the dogs.”

  He ran to the door and whistled. A second later a snowman came barging in. It took me a second to realize the snowman was Nash’s pure white shepherd, and the lumps of coal on her face were her eyes and nose. My dog, Barley, ran in a second later. Both their tongues were lolling out, obviously having had the time of their lives outside.

  Barley, however, had a different fur texture than Sheba. Barley’s fur was long and wavy, and it looked like she was covered in a layer of powdered sugar. Snow crystals hung in her fur and I knew what was about to happen.

  “Barley, wait—”

  But it was too late. She shook out her golden fur. Snow and ice flew everywhere, all over Nash’s front foyer. When Barley was done, she looked pleased with herself for making a big mess.

  I smacked my forehead. “Sorry.”

  I expected Nash to be annoyed. He had that kind of uptight aura about him. But to my surprise, Nash was grinning—or he would’ve been, if he didn’t look like he was trying to hold it back.

  “Dogs,” Nash said simply with a sigh. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Wow. I thought you’d get all anal about that,” I said with a chuckle.

  Was it just me, or did Nash get a little brighter in the cheeks at the word anal?

  He cleared his throat and led me back to the kitchen. “I’ll make drinks. What do you want?” he asked gruffly.

  “Got anything with peppermint?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “Okay. Anything gingerbread-y?”

  Nash raised a brow. “No.”

  “Any eggnog?” When Nash shook his head, I frowned in confusion. “You don’t have any festive drinks?”

  “No,” Nash said flatly. “I don’t really do festive.” He put scare quotes around the word, like it was something bad.

  “Why?”

  He shrugged and turned away from me as he poured water in the coffee machine. “I just don’t.”

  I scoffed. “How can someone not do festive? It’s the best time of the year!”

  “Are you trying to sell me something? Because you sound like a commercial,” he quipped.

  “Not trying to sell you anything. Except maybe holiday cheer.”

  Nash frowned and went back to preparing drinks. I looked around his house and noticed there were no decorations. No lights, no tinsel, no wreaths, no tree… Nothing. It looked like a house during any other month of the year, not December.

  “I don’t need any of that,” Nash said. He pulled a mug—a regular ol’ mug, black, not red and green, with no reindeer or anything on it—from the pantry, filled it to the brim with steaming hot chocolate, and handed it to me.

  I pouted. “Not even a marshmallow on top?”

  Nash gawked. “What are you, five?”

  “Add twenty to that.” I grinned. “What’s wrong with a man wanting marshmallows in his hot chocolate?”

  Nash blinked. “Nothing… I guess. But I don’t have any. Sorry.”

  “That’s okay.” I winked. “But you better have them next time.”

  He barked out a laugh. “Next time? I don’t plan on getting snowed in again and getting help from a nosy neighbor.”

  “Yeah?” I shot back. “Well, this nosy neighbor saved your behind. Literally. Otherwise your car would be all snowed in and judging by the crappy way you were clearing off the snow, you might’ve broken your tailbone with all the falling-on-your-ass you would’ve done.”

  Nash’s jaw dropped. He picked it up a second later, flushing furiously. It made me laugh again—obviously, he couldn’t deny it.

  “How are you so… jolly?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at me like I had a contagious disease.

  I smiled. “Why not? Tis the season, and all that.”

  “I just don’t get it. It’s cold outside. It’s dark. The roads suck. And if I hear Mariah Carey one more time, I’m going to rip my ears off.”

  “Yeah, it’s cold and dark,” I admitted, still smiling. “But that’s why we put up lights and make warm drinks and sit by the fireplace and all that. I will concede that the roads do suck, though.” I paused. “But if you’re gay and hate Mariah Carey, I will have to fight you.”

  Nash’s eyes widened, as if in fear. “I—I’m…”

  I watched him carefully. Had I judged him wrong? Was Nash straight? But I’d seen the flicker of attraction in his eyes when I’d hauled him to
his feet earlier. A straight guy would’ve backed off immediately, but Nash lingered. Maybe he was just scared. If he was, I’d have to go about this gently, like approaching a spooked horse.

  “Got any other holiday complaints you’d like to air?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

  A flash of relief passed over his face. He went back to his stupid smarmy grin. “Plenty. But I’m surprised someone as cheery as you wants to hear them.”

  “Might as well get ‘em all out so I can start changing your mind.”

  Nash laughed. “Oh, that’s rich. So that’s your goal, is it? Well, tough, because it’s not going to happen.”

  I returned his smug grin. “It will. Don’t worry.”

  He crossed his arms. “I promise you it won’t.”

  “And I promise it will.”

  Nash blew out a breath, putting a hand on his hip. “We’re at a bit of a stalemate, aren’t we?”

  “That’s just what you think,” I said. “I’ll get you. You’ll see.”

  Nash snorted. “You make it sound like you’re gonna kill me in the night.”

  “Who said anything about killing?” I laughed. “Do you always jump to the worst possible outcome?”

  “Yes, because they always happen.”

  I smiled sympathetically. Nash was trying to be dry and snarky, but I saw the brief flash of pain behind his tough exterior. He was putting on a front when he didn’t have to. But maybe he thought he did. For some reason, I found myself wanting to be closer to Nash. There was a good person beneath his prickly persona, I just knew it. I wanted to show him he could let his guard down with me.

  “Tell you what,” I said. “You got plans today?”

  “Why?” Nash asked warily.