For the next two days, they danced around each other with some verbal fencing and a great deal of care not to get too physically close. The third night, Dylan could not use pain as an excuse and he really didn’t want to take any more of that damn codeine-laced junk anyway. The ache in his leg had subsided to a dull, itchy throb, which he could barely classify as pain. In his past life with the army, he had learned he healed fast. Apparently, that had not changed.
Grey was a good cook, the dogs seemed to take to him, and he wasn’t given to the constant chatter in which so many folks took refuge, and which rubbed Dylan’s nerves raw in no time flat. It grew harder by the hour to come up with reasons to keep the other man beyond arm’s length.
Maybe if we just get this over with it’ll be okay
