Wyatt took this rare, unexpected opportunity to study Dr. Donnelly as he tugged off his rain-dampened sweater, racing a hand through the damp waves, swallowing down the nervous butterflies creeping up his throat.
Dr. Donnelly’s hands were clasped around a glass of whiskey as he leaned against the bar top, an achingly sad expression on his face. Wyatt took an instinctive step forward, recognizing the emotion instantly: loneliness. And that surprised him, because he was attractive with the hint of gray peppering his dark brown hair and beard, and the sexiest crinkles around his piercing blue eyes. He was especially handsome when he smiled. The older doctor was tall, at least 6’3, but his height never felt imposing. His broad shoulders were typically donned in the dark gray scrubs and the occasional sweater these days.
Tonight, he wore a white button-up that molded to his thick, brutish body, the sleeves rolled up past his elbows, with a silver watch glinting on his wrist. His strong forearms were sprinkled with rich, dark hair as he sipped his drink. Wyatt’s gaze fixed on his hands. They were aged with experience and life. Hands that brushed behind Wyatt’s neck on occasion, clasping roughly and then affectionately. Hands that he could easily imagine grasping him between the legs, taking control, demanding him with touch alone…
Collaring him while he sucked his cock.
Jesus, I can’t be thinking this.
He swallowed, wondering if the minty drink from the club was finally catching up with him.
This is stupid.
I should leave.
The nerves of this moment suddenly slammed into him like a bullet through the chest.
What the hell am I doing? Am I really going to—what? Join my lonely-looking attending at a bar and have a drink?
Inhaling an unsteady breath, Wyatt, deciding to man up, strode forward and maneuvered past a few candlelit tables, all preoccupied with lovey-dovey couples. The nervous energy increased the closer he got to the bar—to him.
I’ve literally inserted tubes down windpipes, removed bullets, been vomited on more times than I can count, and mended gushing wounds.
I can say ‘hi’ to Dr. Donnelly outside of work.
I’m not doing anything wrong…
So why did it feel like he was?
Wyatt’s foot caught the edge of the sleeve of his sweater that he was carrying, and he stumbled into the barstool next to Dr. Donnelly, face flushed and nervously grasping the edge of the bar to steady himself.
Shit. What am I doing?!
Dr. Donnelly glanced up immediately, and his dark blue eyes widened in surprise.
“Lawson?” he asked, the same surprise reflected in his gaze.
“Yes,” was all Wyatt could think to say, followed quickly by a stammering. “Sorry… sorry. I don’t mean to intrude. It’s just—well—I…”
Mercifully, the bartender interrupted his humiliation and asked him if he wanted a drink.
Yes, definitely, yes.
“Uh, yeah,” he managed out in a rush. “Whiskey.”
The bartender succinctly slipped away, preparing the drink.
He returned his gaze to Dr. Donnelly and saw him smiling gently, and somewhat incredulously. “Whiskey?”
Wyatt sucked in a breath, trying hard to calm the fuck down. “I don’t really drink, but when I do it’s usually just whiskey or beer,” he said with a slight shrug, trying to look casual and not flustered and heart-poundingly nervous.
“Same,” Dr. Donnelly said and gestured to the barstool Wyatt was practically straddling. “Well, if you ordered a drink, you might as well stay awhile.” He paused and glanced behind him, as though looking for a date or friends. “Unless there’s someone here with you?”
“No, and thanks. I would love to join you.” He tried not to flinch at how eager he sounded. “Sorry again, I didn’t mean to interrupt your evening. I really just wanted to come over and say hi.”
“You didn’t interrupt anything,” Dr. Donnelly replied coolly and seemed to mean it, a genuineness in his gaze that made the storming butterflies in Wyatt’s stomach ease a little. “I’m surprised to see you here, I will admit.”
“Really? How come?”
