Christian hated the bastard. He hated his big, brown soulful eyes that silently begged him not to be angry. The big, brown soulful eyes he could happily stare at for hours, just to watch the way the shining depths changed in the light. Christian hated his firm lips that pulled into an apologetic smile when he answered the door, entreating Christian to understand before he said a word. He hated the muscled body that deserved to be worshipped by a mob of minions, Chris first among them. Christian especially hated the bastard’s broad shoulders that had sagged with the weight of his confession.
He pulled the envelope out of his jacket and tossed it onto the bar. He hated the envelope. He hated the fact it contained two non-refundable plane tickets, and a three-week itinerary for a holiday he
