When a man discovers a second chance to connect with the one who haunts his dreams, he’ll do everything he can to capitalize on it.
In college, Drew Menard was deep in the closet, too afraid to step out. That meant he missed his chance to follow up on the most amazing kiss of his life. He’s always remembered who’d given it to him, though—Will Hanson. Drew had secretly watched Will at many a track meet and band performance. His biggest regret was never gathering enough courage to be himself and do something about it.
Almost seven years later, Drew no longer thinks of himself as in the closet, although he wouldn’t consider himself out and proud, either. His friends know his orientation, even if his father doesn’t. Why rock the boat when he has zero interest in anyone beyond one night?
All that changes when none other than Will walks through the door of the clinic where Drew works, and he discovers his desire for him hasn’t waned one bit. While Will is accompanying a student in need of physical therapy, he can barely concentrate enough to do his job. Can Drew convince Will he’s changed enough to give him a chance?
“Slow your reps,” Drew Menard ordered levelly. “Focus on your form. This is a marathon, not a sprint.”
Drew’s client, Ned Lucre, glared straight ahead, but he obeyed. “I want my leg back to normal,” he grumbled as a drop of sweat dripped down his temple. “Damn car accident.”
Even having heard it all before, Drew nodded anyway. “I’m sorry that happened to you.” He stated the platitude as he always did. Then Drew followed that up by reminding, “But according to your doctor, you’ll make a full recovery as long as you put in the work.” Seeing that Ned had begun speeding up his movements once more, he rested his palm on Ned’s shoulder. “Ned, if you do the work wrong, you’re going to re-injure yourself and set yourself back.”
Resting his foot on the floor, Ned growled under his breath for an instant. He tipped his head back and heaved a deep sigh as he closed his eyes. “I know you’re right,” Ned grumbled. Refocusing on Drew, he nodded slowly. “Okay. So go slow with the bungee-band flexing.”
“Exactly,” Drew confirmed, straightening again. “We’re strengthening your thigh muscles that were damaged by the breaking window glass.”
As Ned’s physical therapist, Drew knew the ins and outs of his injuries. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to guide him through his rehab.
For the next twenty minutes, Drew led Ned through a couple of other exercises to help the man strengthen the muscles that had been repaired by the doctor.
“Well done, Ned,” Drew congratulated as a sweaty Ned moved his feet off the bicycle pedals to the floor. “Let’s get you moved to the hot tub to soak your leg.”
Ned nodded as he rubbed his sleeve over his forehead. “Yeah.”
“Do you want your crutches, or should I wheel you in the chair?” Drew asked, knowing after the work-out, the man might need it.
Ned groaned as he pressed the back of his head into the cushion of the reclining bicycle. Turning his head, he squinted up at Drew. “Wheelchair.”
Drew nodded, offering the man an understanding smile. “Probably a smart choice,” he assured. “We’ll get your leg rested so you’ll be able to crutch on out of here.” Drew finished teasing him with a rakish smile.
A low, rough chuckle escaped Ned. “Right.”
Taking that, Drew headed to the wall and fetched the wheelchair. He returned to Ned’s side. Bending, he slid his arm under his client’s knees as the man slung his arm over Drew’s shoulders.
As Drew moved the six-foot-two, well-muscled frame, he appreciated his own six-foot-four build. He’d played as a linebacker in college for several years, and he kept his powerful body in well-defined shape. Still, as Drew helped the guy move, Drew’s muscles strained.
Plus, considering Ned was actually a damn fine specimen, Drew found himself struggling to control his prick.
Admitting to being gay had been a long road for Drew, but at least he no longer lied—to anyone—when they asked. As he straightened and stepped away from Ned, Drew was grateful his father would never think to ask that. He figured the man wouldn’t understand. Drew knew his dad already didn’t understand his job choice. His father thought Drew should have tried to pursue a future as a football player. That had never been Drew’s dream, regardless of how good his dad thought he was.
Besides, not like I’ve ever met a man that would tempt me to enter a relationship.
One-night stands worked just fine for him.
Leaving Ned in the hot tub, Drew headed to the front desk. He spotted Jillian Parsons behind the counter and almost turned around. The woman worked part-time, splitting the receptionist position with another lady—Katie—and made a habit of asking him out at least once a week, and Drew was running out of excuses to give her.
It caused his working environment to be more than a little uncomfortable. He’d made a passing comment about it once to his boss—Rafe Litman—and the older man had chuckled. Then he’d made a comment about how great it would be to be young and desired.
Drew wondered what would happen if he told her he was feeling sexually harassed.
Just as Drew saw Jillian begin to turn in his direction, as if she had some Drew Radar, the bell over the lobby door dinged, drawing her attention. Relief filled him, but he figured that might not get him out of talking with her. At least with a client there, she would be a little professional.
Right? Hope so.
Closing the distance to the front desk, Drew watched Jillian sweep her gaze over whoever was entering. He took advantage and slipped Ned’s file into her in-box. Then Drew turned and strode back down the hall again.
Drew had ten minutes before he needed to help Ned out of the hot tub. After that, he was done for the day.
“Hey, Drew,” Jillian called. “Got a sec?”
Fighting back a cringed, Drew turned and pasted a smile on his lips. “Sure. What can I help you with?” he asked, keeping his voice level and professional as he watched Jillian hurry to his side.
“It looks like there was a mix-up in scheduling,” Jillian stated, nibbling her bottom lip. “There’s a young man here that was supposed to see Mister Mindrid today, but he’s not in.” Her brows were furrowed, yet still she lifted her hand to her chest, teasing her fingertips along the neckline of her shirt.
Drew figured she meant to be provocative, but it was completely lost on him.
“Mister Litman is already with a client,” Jillian continued, her lips curving into a fake-concerned moue. “I know you’re supposed to be off after Mister Lucre leaves, but do you have time for a consultation?”
Even if Drew had had plans, he would never leave a client hanging because someone—probably Jillian—had messed up the scheduling.