Chapter One
Ulysses
Ididn’t expect the next time I’d run into Finn O’Sullivan would be in a gay bar.
Ishouldhave.
But I hadn’t.
The man was the same cool drink of iced tea on a hot day that he’d been months ago when I’d snuck out of his bed in the middle of the night and ridden away on my motorcycle.
Now, I sat at the bar and he stood in the doorway.
Our gazes locked.
I refused to admit that my breath caught and my heart sped up. This wasn’t a cheesy romance movie.
He arched an eyebrow.
I gestured with my beer bottle to the seat beside me. As a rule, I didn’t drink alcohol. Today, though, I was already making an exception.
With the grace of a cat, he slid onto the stool next to me.
“Hey, sugar.” The server appeared out of nowhere. “How’s it going, Finn?”
“Doing well, Marc, thanks. Just a root beer. I’m driving tonight.”
“Fair enough. Coming right up.”
Marc was one handsome man and, for just a moment, I wondered if he and Finn had ever slid between the sheets together.
None of your fucking business.
Nope, it truly wasn’t.
My gaze cut to Finn. Same spiky red hair. Same trim figure with just the right amount of muscles under that jacket—very necessary for hauling around all that firefighter gear. Same solid thighs he’d wrapped around my waist as I’d fucked him into the mattress. Same stunning dark-blue eyes that assessed me thoroughly.
What does he see?
A man who felt washed up at forty—especially sitting across from the spry guy who was twenty-six. Or twenty-seven now? We’d parted ways nearly four months ago. A guy could pass a milestone in that time.
Did he see the horny, shaven-headed Black man who’d fucked him into the mattress with a great deal of pleasure?”
Or did he see the man who was likely to betray him? To cost him his job? To perhaps even get him arrested and thrown in prison?
I just didn’t know.
“Fancy meeting you here.” His voice was as light and melodic as I remembered—so different from my own deep baritone.
“Well, there’s only one gay bar in Cedar Valley. We’re both gay—” I gestured between the two of us.
His smile didn’t dazzle, as it had in the summer. This time, he appeared more reserved.
I didn’t blame him.
He shrugged. “I tend to go down to Davie Street in Vancouver.”
“One root beer.” Marc placed the glass before Finn.
