Not What it Seems by Nicky James
Prologue
River - 2 months ago
If I’d known beforehand the hot guy in the suit didn’t comprehend the term one-night stand, I might have left his sorry ass at the bar, sipping his gin and tonic, and found someone else to take home.
However, if I’d known my whole life would depend on somehow converting his neurotic, troubled mind into a free-thinking risk-taker’s, maybe I’d have tried harder to befriend him instead of ghosting him after a few hot nights in bed.
Oh, how the swinging pendulum of fate doth mock us all.
Life was a bitch like that. All I’d wanted was a Friday night fuck. No names. No questions. No regrets.
I got all three.
The Tool Shack was three blocks from my shoddy apartment located in the Masonville area of London, Ontario. The Western University campus was nearby, which usually provided a healthy supply of young, hot, Friday-night ass to choose from. I wasn’t a stranger to the scene.
A few drinks, a lot of flirting, maybe a dance or two, and before long, I was dragging someone home to have my way with them. It was routine.
Simple.
If I was lucky, I’d run into one of my regulars. We would do away with the flirting and small talk and get down to business.
That Friday night should have been no different.
I had a type, and it wasn’t the older man who walked through the front door wearing a starchy business suit and a grimace. Initially, my gaze roamed right on by, acknowledging his presence but moving on just as quickly.
As the bass music thumped through my chest and the psychedelic lights flashed multicolor bursts over the crowd, I found my attention drifting back to the door. To the man. He didn’t fit in. Not only was his stance awkward, but he seemed anxious if the way he tugged endlessly at his thick sandy curls told me anything.
While camping out at the door, looking unsure if he was coming or going, he adjusted his tie and glanced around. When he didn’t retreat and headed to the bar instead, I wanted to congratulate him. The bartender took his drink order, and a moment later, returned with a short glass filled with a clear liquid, a lime, and a tiny straw.
The stranger sipped it, shuddered, and set it down. I didn’t hear it, but by the way his shoulders rose and fell and the way his cheeks puffed out, I imagined he sighed.
A body rocked into me, jarring my focus from the older man at the bar. I spun and came face to face with Dalton, one of my regulars. Dalton was a third-year med student who shared my views about commitment-free hookups.
“Hey, wanna do this?” He swung a finger back and forth between our bodies. His eyes were glazed from too many drinks, and he swayed on his feet.
“You’re smashed.”
He held up a brown bottle and grinned. “Been a long week. Been drinking since my last class let out at four. Come on, man. Let’s ditch this place and have some fun.”
It wasn’t midnight, and the three beers I’d pounded back weren’t giving me the buzz I’d hoped for. I glanced back at the bar and the older man in the suit. He was scanning the crowd, rolling the small straw from his drink between his fingers. Anxiety poured off him in waves as he licked his lips and did all he could to look like he belonged.
Wrong crowd, man. Wrong crowd.
His stuffy persona would have been more suited to a smoky jazz club, not the Tool Shack.
“I’m not ready to leave,” I said, dismissing Dalton as I pushed through the crowd toward the bar for a refill. “Another time.”
Dalton could find someone else. It wouldn’t hurt my feelings—or his.
At the bar, I inserted myself between the stranger and some chump on the stool beside him, waving at the bartender and holding up my empty bottle. When the bartender brought me a refill, I gestured to the stranger’s drink. “My friend here needs another.”
The bartender nodded and wandered off as I turned to face the man who’d caught my eye.
He blinked warily. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”
“Not yet.” Grinning, I swigged my new beer. “You looked like one drink might not be enough.”
He stared at his glass with a deep frown. “Am I that obvious?”
“Like a neon sign.” I ran a knuckle down his silky tie. When I got to the bottom, I clutched it and gave a small tug. “We don’t get too many fancy suits in here.”
He touched the knot at his throat and glanced around, panic marking grooves in his face. “I should go.”
Before he could slip off the stool, I caught his arm and helped him sit again. Wild powder-blue eyes traveled over my face.
“Relax. Here. Let me make some adjustments.” I tugged the knot of his tie loose and pulled it over his head, handing it to him. “Hold this.”
Next, I unbuttoned three buttons at his collar, folding it open and exposing a touch of the dark hair on his chest. At his wrists, I unhooked more buttons and rolled his sleeves to his forearms. They were covered in dark hair as well, and I scratched my nails down their length when I finished.
Lastly, I ruffled his curls, tugging them through my fingers and leaving them in stylish disarray. A few strands of gray caught the light, punctuating his age. Not a lot, but enough to remind me this guy was outside my usual range for bed partners.
Examining him with a smirk, I nodded. “There. Much better.”
“Um… thanks?”
Chuckling, I thrust out my hand. “You can call me Craig.”
The stranger took my hand and shook. “Cyrus.”
The bartender delivered the stranger’s fresh drink and walked away.
I drummed my fingers on the sweaty glass. “Bottoms up, Cyrus, and maybe we can get to know each other better.” I winked, emphasizing my point.
Without looking away from my face, he brought the tiny straw to his mouth and sucked. He hadn’t done it with any degree of flirtation, but I felt it right in my balls.
The night was looking up.
