Chapter One
Finding a loverwas like eating a taco, Jeremy Strauss decided. The first date was like the untouched shell, sitting there all perfect-looking on the outside with everything arranged neatly inside. You want to know more, find out what it tastes like, so you take a bite. That’s when it all starts falling apart.
It had only taken two dates for Jeremy to figure out that Brent was a taco. He looked great, tasted even better, but in the end, the man was too much of a mess.
“Look what I got today.” Brent slid a little bottle of clear liquid across the table at the restaurant where they’d met for dinner. A tingling shock of dread hit Jeremy, and he expelled a harsh curse under his breath. He didn’t need to read the label to know what it said.
Steroids.He’d seen so many guys and even a few women fall into that trap, and though he tried to keep it out of his gym and steered clear of it personally, obviously he wasn’t one hundred percent successful.
As beautiful as Brent might be, Jeremy had no desire to continue to see someone who used performance-enhancing drugs. Or drugs of any kind. For him, there was plenty about life to get high on naturally.
“Jesus, Brent. Put that shit away. I don’t do drugs.” Darting a quick look around to make sure no one else saw or heard, Jeremy pushed the bottle back to Brent and scowled at him. “I didn’t think you were into that shit. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“It ain’t a drug. It helps me look good.” Flexing his biceps, Brent showed off his muscular arms and shoulders through his skintight, long-sleeved T-shirt. “And it ain’t like you’ve never seen it before. It’s just steroids. No harm, no foul.”
“No harm? What’re you, crazy? You can kill yourself with that shit. Work out the right way, and you’ll get as strong as you need to.”
“Not if I want to body build. You know that. Those guys got muscles on top of muscles.” Brent pocketed the steroid bottle. “That’s what I’m aiming for.”
“I don’t think you should do it.”
“I wasn’t asking your opinion.” Brent picked up the menu and studied it. “Didn’t figure you to be a pussy about it, though.”
Over the top of his own menu, Jeremy stared at the handsome man dispassionately. Why was he here? He didn’t need to get laid that badly. His brother, Noah, would shake his head and tell him it was time he stopped saying yes to everyone who paid attention to him. But Noah never had to fight to get noticed. He’d been all their mother needed, leaving Jeremy in the dust, wondering what he’d done wrong that his own mother had never come to his games or school award ceremonies.
Jeremy could never tell Noah, a relationship expert, that he didn’t believe in love. Life was about living and trying new adventures, places, and people—not settling. But watching Brent butter a slice of bread, then chew noisily, Jeremy realized it also didn’t mean he needed to be with someone he knew wasn’t right for him from the beginning. He’d thought after dinner they’d take it to the next level, but now all desire to get naked with Brent had vanished, and Jeremy only wanted to get away.
“Whatever, man. If you feel that way about that shit and about me, then I’m out. See you around. And don’t be bringing that garbage into my gym. Iwillkick you out.”
A stunned Brent sat with his mouth hanging open, and Jeremy couldn’t even laugh, disgusted as he was with everything. He stood, tossed the menu on the table, and left the restaurant, heading to the subway for the half-hour ride home to Brooklyn. It had begun flurrying when he was in the restaurant, and now the snow fell in heavy white flakes, coating him in minutes. Only early-November, but it was already cold as fuck. Jeremy shivered inside his too-light jacket and hustled across the street, anxious to get down below to the warmth of the train station. The ride home from Kips Bay to his apartment in Prospect Heights gave him enough time to contemplate—he must be the worst judge of character in the universe because damned if his last few dates hadn’t been major disasters. Olivia only wanted him for a free gym membership, Carlton was too wrapped up in his mother, and now Brent, a steroid user. Three strikes and he was out.
No more.He trudged up the steps of the station to find it snowing hard in Brooklyn as well. The wind whipped the flakes around, and he bent his head to begin the two-block trek to his apartment. Happy to almost be home, Jeremy looked forward to his sofa, an evening of Netflix, and a hot Irish coffee. He shivered and faced the wind, the snow driving sideways into his face.
The sky had taken on the eerie glow it often did during snowstorms, and the streets seemed hushed, almost as if he were the only one about. Jeremy had only managed to walk half a block when he saw someone struggling with two grocery bags and an umbrella. The wind had flipped the umbrella inside out and offered little protection from its hearty gusts. As he got closer, he saw that it was a man about his age, dressed warmly in a puffy down jacket and heavy boots, which were rapidly becoming obscured by the falling snow.
“Need some help?”
The man turned his attention from fumbling with his umbrella to Jeremy.
“Uh, yeah, sure. I’m trying to turn this stupid thing the right way around, but I don’t think it’ll do much good anyway, huh?”
The furry hood of his parka framed the man’s face, and Jeremy glimpsed a few dark waves of hair that had escaped to curl over his forehead, but he was more fascinated by the man’s soft-looking lips. Dark-framed glasses covered with dots of water and dissolving snow sat askew on the bridge of his nose, and Jeremy blinked several times, rocked by his instant attraction to the cute guy.
“Um, here. Let me take these for you.” Without waiting for a response, Jeremy plucked the bags out of the man’s hands and waited while he wrestled with the umbrella. The battle was lost when a sudden gust ripped the fabric completely off one side, leaving it flapping in the wind.
“Shit.” The expression of disgust on the man’s face was priceless, and despite the freezing cold and creeping numbness in his hands, Jeremy couldn’t help but laugh.
“Listen. I live right on the next block. Why don’t you come and get dry and have a cup of coffee? Maybe by that time, the snow will have tapered off.”
Uncertain blue eyes met his. “Uh, that’s nice of you, but—”
“Weird since we don’t know each other?” At the man’s nod, Jeremy lifted the grocery bags. “I’d shake your hand but mine are full. I’m Jeremy Strauss. I’m not a murderer or a con artist, but what I am is fucking freezing here. I promise if you want to leave after five minutes, feel free, but I will tell you I make a badass Irish coffee.”
“I’m Blake, Blake Myers, and, um, if you’re sure…” He bit that full lower lip, and another sizzle of lust burned through Jeremy.
“I’m sure I’m gonna get frostbite on my ass if we don’t get out of this. Come on.” Still carrying the groceries, Jeremy began to walk, and Blake fell into step beside him as they battled the wind. His building, an eight-story, pre-war apartment house, sat on the corner like a gray fortress visible through the swirling snow and feeble light thrown out by the streetlamps. “That’s me, right across the street.”
Blake didn’t answer, and they crossed the street, careful to avoid the slick patches. Jeremy fumbled for a second with the front doorknob, then pushed the door wide open with his shoulder.
