Chapter 2

The main reason I was hesitant to get involved with Donovan was because he was my patient, but I also hesitated because he just didn’t seem like my type. He seemed too…alpha. I’d always preferred a lower-key kind of man. My previous boyfriend was a quiet physical therapist who was great in bed, although slightly dull outside of it. With Donovan, I had no fear of him being dull and I certainly didn’t think he’d be terrible in bed. I feared he’d be overbearing and try to micromanage me and my life. Thankfully, my fears turned out to be unfounded and I soon discovered he wasn’t the control freak I worried he’d be. When he told me he’d dated women for many years, I wasn’t exactly surprised. Everything about him screamed “heterosexual,” from the way he looked to the flirty way he often behaved with women.

When Donovan and I started seeing each other regularly, I understood that he wasn’t the kind of gay man you’d see at a pride parade. Because he had been closeted for much of his adult life, he still wasn’t comfortable being totally out. His close friends and family knew he was gay, but some of his coworkers and acquaintances didn’t. Prior to meeting me, he’d never even been in a long-term relationship with another man. Yes, he’d dated a few other men, but never for long. Once a man got too close, he told me he pulled back. But, he assured me, those days of hesitancy were over. He said he was ready for a realrelationship with me and I believed him because we were in love. Unfortunately, what Donovan said and what he did were two different things.

* * * *

After sulking over my breakup with Donovan for about a month, I decided it was time to pull myself out of my funk and go out. I didn’t head to a bar in Boystown necessarily looking for a hookup to take my mind off my ex, but figured if it happened, it happened. If it didn’t, it didn’t. I hadn’t been on the prowl for men since I’d started seeing Donovan regularly two years ago. I’d never been the kind of guy who was comfortable picking up men in bars or online. Not that I hadn’t done it, but I didn’t like it, nor was I any good at it. Some men knew how to smooth talk a stranger into bed, but I wasn’t one of them. I lacked the ability to flirt easily. I also found it hard to make small talk with perfect strangers, particularly those I found attractive. I preferred meeting men through work contacts or friends. I liked to have a referral before I invited a man into my bed and into my life. But, after the debacle with Donovan, I decided to deviate from my self-imposed rules and throw caution to the wind.

I was at the bar, nursing my second drink of the night, when I heard someone ask if the seat next to me was taken. Turning, I saw a handsome young man sidle up beside me. The first thing I noticed was his mouth. He had plump red lips that immediately reminded me of Donovan’s. I silently cursed myself for allowing Donovan to cloud my thoughts once again.

“No,” I told the guy. “Have a seat.”

Aside from his pretty mouth, he also had a cute face, thick brown hair, and blue eyes. He was of average height, thin, and neatly dressed in a pair of jeans and a black Henley. He looked like any number of college students roaming the streets of Chicago. But, even though he was largely covered up, I could tell his body was hard and tight underneath it all.

He planted himself in the empty chair and extended his hand. “I’m Ryan.”

“Matthew,” I said, taking it.

“You look like you could use some company.”

“Do I?”

“Yes. I’ve been watching you since you came in.”

I wasn’t sure how to take that admission. Should I have been flattered that he’d noticed me or concerned that he’d been watching me? He couldn’t have been more than twenty-one (if that). I wondered what he could possibly see in me, a man probably twice his age. Maybe he was on the prowl for a sugar daddy. If he was, he was barking up the wrong tree. I’d only recently paid off my loans from podiatry school and the last thing I wanted or needed was to financially support a struggling kid. I looked at him and wondered if he peddled his ass for cash. He certainly didn’t looklike a prostitute but, as I knew all too well, looks can be deceiving.

Before I had the chance to tell Ryan he’d probably be better off pursuing someone else, a dark-haired man—balding and probably in his late forties or early fifties—pressed against him and slid an arm around his waist before whispering something in his ear. Ryan shook his head and tried to move away, but the guy had him practically pinned against the bar. Even though I didn’t know Ryan at all, that didn’t stop me from feeling more than a little possessive of him, and I certainly wasn’t going to stand by and watch some jerk harass him. When the balding douchebag grabbed Ryan’s ass, I jumped out of my seat.