He had seen a few things. The first thing Wyatt noticed was his shoulder. The next was seared into his brain like a cattle brand. Donnelly, sprawled out on the king-size hotel bed, looking like the most delicious midnight snack Wyatt could’ve ever asked for. Blissed out of his mind, sedated in his orgasmic glow, utterly fucking glorious.
Donnelly was the epitome of a masculine old-school man, with a thickly built physique that could easily pack on muscle, rich, furry chest hair that trailed all the way down the flat planes of his stomach, and that impressive, mouth-watering cock.
Wyatt licked his lips, breathing hard through his nose, thinking about how he had briefly felt that dick in his mouth, and how much he needed to feel it again, and soon.
Stay fuckin’ cool, cowboy.
“What would you like, handsome?” asked the bartender, startling Wyatt out of his thoughts.
“Whiskey and a pitcher of beer, please.”
“Comin’ right up.”
“Christ, Lawson, is that you?” Samuels said, causing Wyatt to turn in time to see Donnelly’s shoulders tense at the sound of his name.
Wyatt tipped the brim of his hat to the doctor. He liked Dr. Samuels. He was like the cool uncle everyone liked hanging out with. He was around Donnelly’s age, maybe younger, with curly dark brown hair that was graying at the roots, and currently intent on growing a mustache. He was also stupidly handsome. Wyatt heard Ava complaining about how hard it was to keep her focus while they were both working the same shift, because they were both distractingly hot.
And now, a possible threat to making moves on his captain.
His captain?
Get a grip, Lawson.
“Why on earth are you trying to be a doctor?” Samuels asked almost accusingly. “You should be on a commercial or television show somewhere. Not in this old guy's ED.”
Donnelly slowly turned on his barstool with a firm grip on his beer, careful to glance only briefly and politely in Wyatt’s direction, and taking another sip of his beer.
Acknowledge, but don’t absorb, Wyatt thought, knowing precisely what Donnelly was attempting to do.
Keep it professional—keep it neutral.
Don’t think about the sounds their bodies made fucking, or how hard Donnelly came in Wyatt’s fist. His hand tingled afterward at the mere thought.
He swallowed thickly, heat flooding his body at how close Donnelly was to him now that he had turned in his seat. Wyatt couldn’t help but notice how handsome he looked in his worn jeans, long-sleeved dark gray overshirt, and black undershirt.
Wyatt came to the bar tonight with two things in mind: look as good as humanly possible and make Donnelly notice him, and then ignorehim. It was petty and low, but it was the only way he could enjoy this night without sulking in possible defeat. Because Donnelly wasn’t breaking, and maybe never would.
Maybe their sinful night of pleasure was a one-off, and he needed to accept it.
Except, he couldn’t. He had fucked plenty of men in his life, but Donnelly had surrendered everything. Giving everything over to Wyatt in a way he had never, ever felt.
It was invigorating and addictive.
And he wasn’t going to admit defeat until the bitter damned end.
“Who says I didn’t try?” Wyatt countered smoothly.
“Bullshit,” Samuels shot back over the noisy bar.
He shrugged, playing it off, but unable to stop the smile dancing on his lips.
“You serious?” Samuels asked, slightly impressed.
Wyatt never talked about this blip in his life, but it happened. One day, he was riding a horse; the next, he was riding a horse on a commercial for a major car company, all because the right producer came to his dad’s dude ranch with her girlfriends and hired Wyatt after watching him on a horse all weekend.
“A couple of years back, there was a Ford commercial for the latest truck. The one shot in the Arizona desert…”
He paused when Donnelly, for the first time all week, finally looked at him, his dark blue eyes riveted to his face.
