Page 63 of The Boyfriend Gamble

“And…?” I might’ve said that with a bit of an imperious tone.

“Twenty-two.”

So eleven years. That’s not so bad. At least he’s not a barely-over-the-legal-limit nineteen-year-old.

Except he might’ve been lying to me.

“Relax, Doc. I’m legal.”

Ah, so he knew me. Mission City had a number of dentists, but I could say with absolute certainty I was the only Black one. “So you know me.” I considered, even as the path turned sharply to the left. “Do I know you?”

“Do you want to know me?”

No missing the amusement in his voice. “Well, considering you’re going to, uh, suck my cock…”

“All good. If you think I did a good job and want to know after the fact, that would be okay.” He squeezed my hand. “An air of mystery.”

“Yeah.” The temperature was also dropping. I’d been overheated by the fire. Now? Getting chilly.

Bonfires in mid-December were nearly unheard of, but we’d had a dry spell with no precipitation, and the kids were home from university. Given we were usually waterlogged, the break was appreciated. We still weren’t close to the fire hazard of the dry summer we’d just endured.

“Here.” He flashed the light onto an older wood structure.

A shed? A cabin? I couldn’t be certain.

He handed me the flashlight, then dug some keys out of his pocket. A moment later, he had the padlock open and was guiding us into the space.

“Is there electricity?”

“Nah. It’s just a storage shed. Watch where you’re walking.”

Clearly, he meant for me to avoid the various gardening implements—a lawnmower, a wheelbarrow, a wall of shovels, hoes, clippers, and even some things I didn’t recognize.

“Can you lean against the door?”

He closed it.

The temptation to shine the light on his face overwhelmed, but I tamped it down.

The door didn’t look overly dirty. Plus, I wore a jean jacket I’d had since high school—because I thought I looked cool in it.

Well, he did approach you.

But he already knew me.

Right…carry on.

I leaned back against the door, still pointing the flashlight at the floor. “Do you want me to turn it off?”

“Nah.” His voice was a little rough.

And I was inordinately pleased when he placed a large kneeling pad on the floor by my feet. The idea of him crouching or kneeling on the floor while getting me off hadn’t sat well with me.

Slowly, he sank to his knees.

The beam emitted from the flashlight illuminated his blond, spikey hair.

I wracked my brains for who this might be, even as he unbuttoned my jeans and lowered my zipper.If he’s a patient, I’ll have to refer him to another dentist. Dr. Bunston will have an opening, I’m certain.

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