One Time: A Second Chance Gay Romance E-Book

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• Herausgeber: Pride Before the Fall
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

A Second Chance Ryan was devastated after losing the love of his life. Acting as a boyfriend for a celebrity gave him renewed purpose when life didn’t seem worth carrying on. He helped out so many people with the fake boyfriend pretense.  His battle with depression continues. Everything is threatened when he meets a new man, including Ryan’s sanity.  One True Love Evan is an out gay artist who’d like to complete his life with a loyal boyfriend. More money would help too. He doesn’t want to be the bit on the side for a straight guy who wants to experiment. Especially when that guy has a girlfriend. Evan can’t stand men who cheat. The connection between them is special. It’s the sort of bond that changes lives. One time is a 22,000+ word standalone gay romance with a fake boyfriend, no cheating, and more than one second chance. Plus a happily ever after ending

Leseprobe

One Time

A second chance

by

Max Moore

One Time: A second chance

Copyright © 2017 Max Moore

Publisher: M.M. Romance

Editor: Erica Holmes

Cover: Silver Heart Publishing

Amazon Kindle edition

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise without the permission of the publisher and author.

Chapter 1

EVAN

Alluring. Smart but casual and alluring. Dressed in tight black jeans with a shirt and jacket, he knew he looked his most irresistible. He took off his jacket and slung it over a chair. Even though he was ready to set off to Desperados, Evan sat down at his kitchen table and picked up one of the pencils that lay scattered there alongside a small sketchpad.

He had an idea.

Evan was a man of vision, an artist, and when creative inspiration struck he knew he had to work. It would only take a few minutes to translate the image in his brain to a sketch on the page, and that would be enough for now. He'd be able to pick up that thread when he needed it later.

The vision in his mind would make a highly commercial work of art if he crafted it correctly. The sketch was a way of getting the idea down quickly before he forgot.

After a few brushes of the charcoal, the recognizable image of two men at one end of a park bench appeared on the paper. Various items occupied the vacant space beside them, books or bags, Evan wasn't sure. There were some parts of the image he couldn't picture. Clearly, he'd work on those later.

The details he knew he had to get right were highlighted with arrows. The way the men looked at each other and how they held each other's hands would put across a story to the viewer. The subtlest of details gave an image its deep meaning. The love the men had for each other was what would give the painting its value.

Excitement grew within Evan as he sketched. He knew this was the one image that, when painted, could stand alone as a showpiece of his portfolio. It would work as the beginning or the finale of a series that told a romantic love story.

The creative process never stopped; it was a lifetime's vocation, not a 9-to-5 job, at least not for Evan. He should have been on his way to Desperados, but was often inspired at the strangest of times; that was why Evan carried a sketchpad with him at all times. He had quite a collection of sketchpads in all shapes and sizes. They contained no works of art, just mostly scribbles and doodles, but most important of all, they contained ideas and details that he would work into future paintings.

Inevitably his art depicted what he most wanted for himself; love, romance, and the companionship of a good man. Not only was he inspired by this vision that worked its way into his brain's evening, instinctively, he felt the universe looked favorably on him this day and there was every chance he'd find his one true love waiting for him at the bar in Desperados.

He pushed the sketchpad away toward the center of the table and looked at the image for a moment or two longer before closing the sketchbook.

Portraits and character paintings sold well enough. He could always guarantee to sell his racier or humorous images at gay pride events, but the cost of the stall ate into those profits. Handing out his business card to gain commissions made it more worthwhile.

Evan made a living as an artist. And over the years he'd become a good judge of what would sell. His work appeared in magazines and sold in galleries, and he had enough private commissions to keep the debt collectors from his door. He made a living, but only just.

He'd carefully studied the work of Tom of Finland, very carefully studied with a close eye to detail, and he'd used the techniques to great advantage. Evan didn't mimic the style exactly. BDSM and leather daddies was a very particular niche that Evan feared would cost him more clients than he gained so he never ventured in that direction. Instead, his beautifully toned and well-proportioned bodies represented a more conventional male gay lifestyle.

Having completed his sketch, Evan was ready to go out.

Hunting.

He had a good feeling about the night ahead, and his good feelings were often accurate. He didn't have extrasensory perception or magical powers, but Evan seemed to know things that other people didn't, and he put it down to his artistic eye for detail. He noticed things and remembered them; things that other people didn't. He couldn't foretell the future, that would be ridiculous (totally awesome but impossible). Nevertheless, Evan was filled with an insanely optimistic expectation that he'd find the man he'd always wanted.

And as unlikely as it sounded, Evan was going to start the hunt for his man in Desperados.

Desperados.

Everything about the bar two blocks away screamed out steer clear; it was the last place you'd expect to meet the love of your life or anyone worth meeting again for the second time.

And yet, Evan walked in that direction for a drink and a chat with the patrons and bar staff.

On the inside, it appeared the perfect setting for a gathering of Tom of Finland characters, but Evan had never seen any gay leather men there, unfortunately. Not that leather men were his thing, or at least he didn't think they were. He'd still have liked to observe them in close detail if he ever had the chance.

Desperados had a certain appeal, and that was what regularly drew Evan there.

Firstly, although it was not a gay bar, everyone was welcome. Its clientele seemed to be made up from general passers-by so you could see a real cross-section of people in there and new faces every day. It wasn't such an unlikely place to meet a like-minded man of his persuasion.

Secondly, it completely lacked the super efficient and mass reproduced plastic ambiance of most American bars. It was independently owned, not part of a chain. It had a certain timeless character.

It wasn't impossible to imagine meeting absolutely anybody behind the Desperado door.

Chapter 2

RYAN

Their eyes met across a crowded room—sounds a bit of a cliché, and that wasn’t what happened. Not quite. In fact, the room was almost empty. And that man was directly in Ryan's line of vision when he opened the door to Desperados. The opening door must have attracted the man's attention, as he would've been dazzled by the incoming rays of daylight.

Ryan Atkins didn’t know who he was, or why the man only had eyes for him. All he knew was that from the second he'd set foot beyond the steely gray bar door, letting it close behind him, he had felt the gaze follow him as he moved across the room and a laser beam stare remain fixed on the back of his head. Ryan had a sense of what it must be like to be the prey of the proverbial hawk.

Unless the man had special eyes, such as in those paintings. The eyes didn't move, and yet they managed to follow you as you moved around the room. How could they, since they were painted eyes? How the fuck did that work? Ryan Atkins had no idea. He was an organiser, a man who got things done, a personal assistant for a celebrity, not an art expert.

The bar was almost empty, as expected. Ryan wasn’t anticipating a full house and a wild Thursday night out at Desperados; no bar in all America had such an appropriate name in a single word. He only hoped to find a stranger who didn't recognize him and someone he could confide in without self-conscious concern. To chat the hours away and to forget the world with another lonely guy who looked like he had it all when he presented himself to the outside world but existed as an empty shell. Maybe he'd find someone to team up with and seek out the meaning of life. Two minds are better than one, Ryan's father had always said, but did that hold true for two hopelessly lost individuals making a hash of their lives? Or was a pairing like that more likely to be twice the disaster?

Ryan sat at the bar, glass of Jack in one hand, a cell in the other. In front of him, the mahogany surface of the bar still held the stickiness of the previous night’s antics, too much for that to have only appeared today. In places, the black burn marks warned that bigger ash trays would've been a good idea before the smoking ban. He felt perfectly at home in front of a sticky, cigarette-burnt bar and didn't relish the day when the world went mad with hygiene as it did with anti-smoking. In the future, bars like this might no longer exist. At least this place was just as he liked it.

By the feel of the stare bearing down on him, the man who owned those eyes had a similar need for company. Ryan hadn’t renewed eye contact; he hadn’t yet conjured the courage. Scared? Just a little. Intrigued? Very much. But for a guy like Ryan Atkins, the two bled into one.

He had certainly been reminded of whoever was looking his way when he felt as though it intensified. And then, the reminder was taken to a whole new level.

When the warm hand touched his shoulder, Ryan knew it was the man with the eyes and the laser stare. It wasn't just his eyes that had superhuman properties. The magical touch instantly eased the loneliness and sorrow buried deep within. Ryan forgot he'd come to drink until his vision was blurred and his legs worked in a different way. He knew this hand was capable of touching him like no hand ever had; the owner of this hand was a man Ryan wanted, no needed, to know.

“I guess you want to be alone?”

Ryan turned. The guy that had been staring at him owned magic hands and a voice as rich and comforting as treacle. He was still staring, now, right into his eyes.

It had taken a moment before Ryan found his voice, but when he did, he answered. “Why do you say that?”

“Because a guy like you doesn't need to drink alone?” He was tall with brown hair; the stubble on his face only added to his attractiveness. The look in his eyes made Ryan feel all the good things that alcohol also managed: light headed, euphoric, and a little unstable. He knew he wanted to know more.

“Ditto. I could ask the same and say the same.”

Confident by day and lonely at night, Ryan Atkins was captivated.

“Evan Raisin.” He licked his lips, offering his outstretched hand.

He had a rather firm shake, Ryan noticed. And instantly reflected guiltily that he shouldn't assume a man as obvious and flamboyant as Evan Raisin wouldn't have a firm handshake.

“Ryan Atkins, at your service, as they say in the film.” He should never have introduced himself with the catch phrase of a dwarf, no matter how charming it sounded, what was he thinking? He wasn't, and he didn't care. A broad smile spread across Evan's face, suggesting he didn't mind either.

“Come and sit with me, Mr. Atkins.” Evan gestured towards his booth.

Booths lined the outer seating area with tables and chairs in the middle. The lighting was dim. And even though it was early, the space smelled of beer and salty sweat and the mysterious lingering smell of tobacco. The décor was bland, with the usual trinkets and pictures that no patron would ever remember. There were a couple of pool tables and of course, a large projector screen, for watching sports.

The TV was turned on with the volume down. Instead, they were treated to the sound of pop tunes from the radio. As Evan turned toward his seat with Ryan in tow, the all too familiar latest hit came on. The all-American sweetheart harmonized with the electronic dance music in a way that entranced the youth. Her clean-cut image was approved of by their parents and totally cultivated by her management team. Ryan couldn't hear it as music; he couldn't listen objectively. Thankfully it wasn't too loud.

“Please, call me Ryan.” Ryan stood and followed Evan over to the booth.