1. Luca

1 /

luca

The door slammed shut behind me as I headed for the kitchen, where I downed a bottle of water and grabbed a beer. The humidity was so thick it was seeping in through the walls, making the inside air sticky. On my way to sit down, I paused by the thermostat and noticed I'd left it set on sixty-nine. I chuckled at the coincidence—or was it a Freudian slip?—before lowering it to sixty-six.

In the living room, I set my phone on a table and collapsed into the leather recliner that offered a two-way view. Swiveling to one side had me facing an eighty-six-inch TV; on the other side, a row of arched windows offered a stunning view of Lake Erie. In the winter, the gray water and constant fog held a mysterious charm, but the summer transformed the view into pure brilliance. Today, the water sparkled like liquid sapphires, a scene fit for a king.

After spending the entire day in a photo shoot, I was worn out. The session was so long because the photographer had been a condescending jerk. Since I couldn't understand what he wanted me to do, I handed his attitude right back to him. Some lacrosse fans said I looked like a model, but I certainly didn't have a model's skill in front of a camera. I'd learned some things since Finley Sports Gear made me the official face of their lacrosse division, but it was slow going.

Fortunately, people liked the ads. Finley's lacrosse sales had increased an incredible fifty-three percent in the two years I'd been with them, resulting in a staggering profit and a new five-year contract for me. My fee had a lot of zeroes attached, a godsend considering the measly salary I received for playing with the Buffalo Steamrollers. Professional lacrosse doesn't pay the kind of money athletes earn in other sports.

While I drank my beer, I thought about what to do for the next four months until training camp started. Without a boyfriend, I was free to follow the wind, but that was nothing new. I'd never had a relationship. For most of college, I had sex with a different man every chance I got. If they had a dick and got mine hard, they qualified.

Then I became fuck buddies with my best friend, Caleb. When I fell in love with him, I was afraid to say so. I delayed too long, and by the time I found the courage to speak up, he'd fallen for someone else. I'd say I was devastated, but it was much worse than that. Crushed, shattered, gutted, and demolished might be closer to the truth. Somehow, we remained friends, and I even found a way to get along with his boyfriend. Shit—make that husband now.

Memories tumbled back, making my stomach clench. It had been a terrible time. No matter how hard I tried to move on, my heart had belonged to Caleb. For a while, I put on a brave face for my friends and teammates, but when I was alone, I'd go to bed, bury myself under the covers, and stay there until someone forced me to get up.

When my depression became so serious I couldn't get out of bed at all, my folks put me in a psych ward to get a handle on things. Therapy, combined with medication for depression and anxiety, helped me think more clearly, and I slowly made my way back into the world. I'd still been in bad shape, though, completely in love with Caleb.

I was celibate for almost two years after he fell for Daniel. The lack of sex had contributed to my illness, but my need was more than physical. I longed for companionship and craved the small, precious moments—being partners in crime, having breakfast together, texting each other during the day just to say hi. For a while, I had that with Caleb, but I let him slip through my fingers.

Desperate for any connection, I went back to my old ways. My specialties became hookups, weekend lovers, drinking too much, and making bad decisions. It was easy because my increasing notoriety as an athlete and model made it a breeze to find willing playmates. See a guy, make small talk, charm him into bed—it worked like magic.

Until last week, when it didn't.

I grabbed my phone and found his name in the contacts: Harper. Running my fingertips over the screen, I summoned him from my memory. Light brown hair, messy enough to make me want to card my fingers through it; glimmering hazel eyes that shone like jewels; the face of a cherub all grown up. His mouth had a raffish angle that piqued my curiosity, making me want to find out if his kisses were as naughty as I imagined they'd be.

He'd worn a green polo that made his eyes pop. The well-fitted shirt displayed every peak and valley of the impressive muscles underneath. His khaki shorts had been a revelation, showcasing massive quadzillas and an ass to die for.

I was disappointed when he said he couldn't leave his buddies, and I tried to get a look when he went back to their table. The place was too crowded to see anything, and when I took another bathroom break, Harper had disappeared. Since he'd seemed as interested as I was, I hoped he'd text later, but he didn't. Assuming his friends had taken him to another bar, I left him alone, but my disappointment grew when there was no message the next day, or the one after that.

Harper and I hadn't even kissed, but he made a big impression. I'd jerked off a few times a day since we met, imagining his pretty mouth around my cock. My fantasies progressed to hearing his smutty moans while I tongued his ass, and when that wasn't enough, I pictured him laid out on my bed, groaning while I fucked him six ways to Sunday.

I was confused, because this didn't happen to me. My so-called love life involved dim bars, mumbled words, and dating apps. Occasionally, I liked a guy well enough to see him a couple of times, but never more than that. Whatever happened, I didn't obsess over men.

It took three beers to untangle my thoughts. Those brief moments with Harper had awakened something inside me. For the first time in ages, I'd looked at someone with what I used to call lust-plus, that feeling you get when a guy turns you on like crazy, and the excitement involves more than just your dick. I couldn't expect more than a hookup or short-term fling with Harper, but that was for the best. Getting emotionally involved couldn't happen. Experience had taught me emotions led to feelings, and feelings resulted in devastation.

But would dating someone for a few weeks be so bad? I wasn't looking for Mr. Forever, but finding a man who could be more than Mr. Tonight would be terrific. Sharing some laughs and a ton of sex was exactly what the doctor ordered. If I kept my guard up and moved on before feelings got involved, I should be safe.

I wondered if Harper would be interested in an arrangement like that. It had been four days since we met, and he still hadn't texted. Had he found someone he liked better when he and his friends moved on? Or had he realized there was something about me he'd be better off avoiding?

Granted, I hadn't messaged him, either, and I didn't know why I was waiting for him to make the first move. I texted guys all the time. Harper was far from the first man I'd exchanged numbers with, and I'd even joked about blowing up his phone.

Fucking fuckshit. I'd never know if he wanted to hang out unless I asked. Rejection was a risk, but I might still get laid. Either way, I needed company. I'd worked too hard on my mental health to let it go to shit, and Harper intrigued me. It was time to be brave and figure out how to approach him.

What the hell could I say after four days? I'd developed a good repertoire of "let's meet and fuck" texts, so I tried one of those.

LUCA: Hey, it's Luca, the guy with the unbelievably sexy eyes. They'd sure like to see you again. Wanna have some fun?

That usually worked, but it wasn't right for Harper. I deleted the last sentence and substituted, "Coffee and see what happens?"

That wasn't any better. It sounded like I already had condoms and lube laid out on the bed, so I tried another one I'd used before.

LUCA: Remember the guy who left you breathless? That's me, and I was wondering if you'd like to get together.

Ugh. Clearly, an original composition was in order. I hadn't spent so much time deleting and retyping since I used to write English papers, but I finally came up with something I liked.

LUCA: Hey, it's Luca from Revolution Hops last week. I'd love to see you again. Coffee and conversation? I felt something the night we met, and I think you may have too. Want to meet in the light of day and see if it happens again? :) Hope to hear from you.

It wasn't perfect, but it would get my sentiments across. This was a landmark in my post-Caleb life. I heard an imaginary drum roll while I took a deep breath and hit Send.