Chapter 11

After my shower, I towel dry and pull back on the same clothes I wore earlier. I wander into the kitchen, where Ryan is standing by the stove. He hears me come in and gives me a grin over his shoulder. “Hey, want to stay for dinner?”

I hesitate, and he hurries to add, “It’s okay to say no. You probably already have plans…”

“No, actually, I don’t,” I admit. And, honestly? I don’t want to leave just yet. “Dinner sounds great.”

I expect standard bachelor fare—my idea of eating dinner at home is reheated takeout or cold pizza. My freezer is also stuffed with frozen entrees. If I can’t microwave it, I’m not going to try cooking it.

But Ryan knows his way around the kitchen as well as he does in the bedroom. The dinner he whips up—his words—is restaurant quality, on par with our dinner Friday evening. Spicy Thai chicken breasts with sticky rice and mushrooms, and a fresh salad with sesame seed oil and vinegar dressing on the side. It’s better than any takeout I’ve ever ordered, and my moans of pleasure while I’m eating rival those earlier in bed. “God, this is heavenly!” I cry.

“It’s just something I threw together,” Ryan says with a disarming grin.

I shake my head in amazement. “At my place, the only thing I can throw together is a cup of ramen noodles and a bottle of beer.”

Ryan ducks his head in charming embarrassment. “You really arestraight, aren’t you? I didn’t think anyone ate ramen after college.”

“Hey, it’s cheap,” I point out. “And I know how to boil water. Anything more and I have to order in. You’re a fabulous cook, you know that?”

Ryan sort of nods. “I can do a bit more than just boil water,” he admits.

But I don’t stop there. “Hell, I don’t know why you have to pay for sex. I mean, look at you. Sexy, rich, great in bed, awesome in the kitchen. You’re like the perfect catch.” He stares at me for a long moment, until I feel I have to add, “For…you know, a gay man looking for Mr. Right. Don’t look further, right? You’re it.”

“You really think so?” he asks softly.

I’ve said too much, I know it, so I stare at my plate and concentrate on scooping up every stray grain of rice with my fork. Too late, I realize I was sort of gushing, and I can’t take back what I said.

Ryan clears his throat, and I hear his fork clatter against his salad bowl as he spears a lettuce leaf. “It’s hard for me to meet guys,” he tells me. “I don’t know. They’re all so fake, and they’re more into my house or my TV or my golf clubs instead of me. That’s why I like hanging out with you.”

“Yeah, but you’re paying me to be here,” I remind him.

He catches my gaze and holds it, the hint of a smile on his face that ignites his eyes. “I paid you to fool around this afternoon. You stayed for dinner because you wanted to. Or am I wrong?”

No, he’s right. “You’re fun to be with,” I say, but it sounds lame even to me.

Ryan sets down his fork and folds his hands in front of himself on the table. “Let me ask you something,” he says, leaning forward a little.

A mix of dread and hope rises within me, and I stop chewing to stare at him like a game show contestant waiting to hear what my prize will be if I choose the correct door. “What?”

“Have you ever felt anything for a guy?” Ryan wants to know. “One of your…I don’t know, your clients, maybe, or a friend you fooled around with back in school. Anything at all?”

You mean like the way I feel about you?

The words are on the tip of my tongue and I have to press my lips together to bite them back. I don’t feel anything for him, I try telling myself. I barely know him. He’s a guy I met online, someone who paid to please me orally, and besides, I’m not gay.

I’m not

And yet…

Maybe I wait too long to answer, because Ryan shakes his head with a soft laugh. “Never mind. I’m just being silly. You’re straight, I get it. You don’t like dick.”

“I like yourdick.”

It’s out before I can stop it, and I clamp a hand over my mouth, my eyes wide in shock above my fingers. I didn’t just say it. I didn’t

Ryan’s smile returns slowly and he reaches out across the table to cover my other hand with his. My fork clatters to my plate, forgotten. I need to get out of here. I need to go home. I can’t ever see this man again.