Lyin’ Ryan

Chapter 1-3

After sulking over my breakup with Donovan for about a month, I decided it was time to pull myself out of my funk and go out. I didn’t head to a bar in Boystown necessarily looking for a hookup to take my mind off my ex, but figured if it happened, it happened. If it didn’t, it didn’t. I hadn’t been on the prowl for men since I’d started seeing Donovan regularly two years ago. I’d never been the kind of guy who was comfortable picking up men in bars or online. Not that I hadn’t done it, but I didn’t like it, nor was I any good at it. Some men knew how to smooth talk a stranger into bed, but I wasn’t one of them. I lacked the ability to flirt easily. I also found it hard to make small talk with perfect strangers, particularly those I found attractive. I preferred meeting men through work contacts or friends. I liked to have a referral before I invited a man into my bed and into my life. But, after the debacle with Donovan, I decided to deviate from my self-imposed rules and throw caution to the wind.

I was at the bar, nursing my second drink of the night, when I heard someone ask if the seat next to me was taken. Turning, I saw a handsome young man sidle up beside me. The first thing I noticed was his mouth. He had plump red lips that immediately reminded me of Donovan’s. I silently cursed myself for allowing Donovan to cloud my thoughts once again.

“No,” I told the guy. “Have a seat.”

Aside from his pretty mouth, he also had a cute face, thick brown hair, and blue eyes. He was of average height, thin, and neatly dressed in a pair of jeans and a black Henley. He looked like any number of college students roaming the streets of Chicago. But, even though he was largely covered up, I could tell his body was hard and tight underneath it all.

He planted himself in the empty chair and extended his hand. “I’m Ryan.”

“Matthew,” I said, taking it.

“You look like you could use some company.”

“Do I?”

“Yes. I’ve been watching you since you came in.”

I wasn’t sure how to take that admission. Should I have been flattered that he’d noticed me or concerned that he’d been watching me? He couldn’t have been more than twenty-one (if that). I wondered what he could possibly see in me, a man probably twice his age. Maybe he was on the prowl for a sugar daddy. If he was, he was barking up the wrong tree. I’d only recently paid off my loans from podiatry school and the last thing I wanted or needed was to financially support a struggling kid. I looked at him and wondered if he peddled his ass for cash. He certainly didn’t look like a prostitute but, as I knew all too well, looks can be deceiving.

Before I had the chance to tell Ryan he’d probably be better off pursuing someone else, a dark-haired man—balding and probably in his late forties or early fifties—pressed against him and slid an arm around his waist before whispering something in his ear. Ryan shook his head and tried to move away, but the guy had him practically pinned against the bar. Even though I didn’t know Ryan at all, that didn’t stop me from feeling more than a little possessive of him, and I certainly wasn’t going to stand by and watch some jerk harass him. When the balding douchebag grabbed Ryan’s ass, I jumped out of my seat.

“Back off,” I said, shoving the guy just enough to get him off of Ryan. “He’s with me.”

The guy looked me over and sneered. “Oh, sorry. I was just offering to buy him a drink.”

“And you needed to put your hands on him to do that, right?”

He muttered something that sounded like “asshole” as he walked away. I turned to Ryan and asked if he was okay.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m fine. Thanks for that.”

“Are you here with anyone?” I asked, looking around. I was concerned about his well-being, although I wasn’t sure why. He was a stranger, but I couldn’t help worrying about him being alone at the bar.

“Yes,” he said with a smile. “I’m here with you, remember?”

“I was just trying to help when I said that. You shouldn’t feel obligated to stick around.”

“I don’t feel obligated,” he said before resting a hand on my thigh. “I’m here because I want to be.”

Ryan and I talked and I learned he was an undergrad at Northwestern, studying linguistics, or at least that’s what he told me. I still wasn’t entirely convinced he wasn’t a straight-up hustler, but that didn’t stop me from giving him my number when he asked for it.

When he inquired what I did for a living and I told him I was a podiatrist, he laughed. “Does that mean you have a foot fetish?”

“No, it doesn’t. And even if I did, do you honestly think I’d tell you about it?”

He shrugged. “Sure. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. There are worse things to have a fetish for.”

Like what? I wanted to ask, but didn’t. I was afraid the question (well, his answer, really) might ruin the mood. If Ryan was into some kinky s**t, I didn’t want to know about it…yet. I hadn’t been with a man other than Donovan in more than two years and hadn’t really wanted to be with anyone else, but sitting at the bar talking and drinking with Ryan made me want to take him home and go to bed with him. He was so friendly and sweet and handsome and young. I didn’t normally f**k around with men out of my age range, but I was willing to break my own rules for Ryan because I liked him, I was horny, and I was lonely.

“What are you doing later tonight?” I asked Ryan.

He smiled and leaned closer to me. “Going home with you.”

I signaled to the bartender to close out my tab.