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Excerpt

Holden held out his hand, and Greg took it, feeling an unfamiliar tension in his chest as his palm connected with the other man’s. Startled, he looked up and found his gaze was met by lively hazel eyes. “Greg,” he offered, but his voice was too soft to be heard over the noise. He cleared his throat and tried again, this time with more success.

The guy was older than Greg’s thirty-three by at least a decade, though he wore it well. A real silver fox with gorgeous dark hair sprinkled with gray. He was clean-shaven, but had the rugged look of a guy who spent his weekends rock climbing or hiking rather than cruising bars, and the way he carried himself with squared shoulders and a direct gaze… If Greg had a type, Holden was it.

A tug on his hand made Greg realize he hadn’t let go yet, and he tried to pull away, but Holden held on and nudged him forward toward the bar.

“I spent all night waiting for someone like you, I’m not going to let you get away now that I’ve found you,” he smiled. It was the kind of line that should have made Greg wince, but instead he laughed.

“You spend a lot of time coming up with a line like that?” Greg asked.

Holden smiled and shrugged. “Nope. You inspired me.”

Still laughing, Greg stepped up to the bar to order everyone’s drinks. He glanced over his shoulder and asked Holden what he wanted, adding a Manhattan to the list.

He tried to think of something to say while they waited, but Greg was really out of his element. Holden definitely ticked his boxes for physical attractiveness, and based on the way Holden was eyeing him, he did the same for Holden.

Over the years, Greg had figured out the signs that someone was attracted to him — something that had completely eluded him when he was younger. When he saw them, he could mimic signs of interest, but the kind of I-want-to-get-naked-with-you attraction didn’t happen for him. He wasn’t sex-repulsed or anything like that, he just rarely felt sexual desire. He also needed emotional connection, trust, and a genuine sense that this person would take care of him. It was a lot to ask of a hook-up. It was also a lot to ask of himself since Mason.

Greg’s phone buzzed again with an incoming text, and he retrieved it from his back pocket, wincing again at the sight of the cracked screen. The message was from Ricky, letting him know he was taking off with someone and not to wait up for him. Greg started to text back, but the cracked screen caught at his fingertips, so he just turned the phone off and slid it back into his pocket.

Holden leaned close enough he could speak into Greg’s ear. “For a moment, I was worried you were getting a better offer.”

Even with the wild variety of colognes and aftershave and body wash assaulting his nose, Greg could detect a scent he knew was Holden’s. It was musky and warm, not assaultive in the way so many men’s products were, and Greg knew it must be expensive. The kind of scent businessmen flying first class wore that spoke of tailored suits and leather accessories, smoky Scottish whisky and expensive cigars.

Greg turned toward Holden. His hazel eyes sparkled in the lights from the bar’s impressive display of high end spirits and the neon that edged the bar top, and Greg decided to take Micah’s advice. He could have a drink with Holden and ask the man to dance. It didn’t have to be the start of something.

“I don’t think anyone could give me a better offer tonight,” Greg said.

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