Page 3 of The Truth of Loving You

He heaved himself off the building and promptly fell flat on his ass.

“Big guy, I think you’re done drinking for the night.” I braced myself to help him to his feet.

In the dicey tango to get him upright, my hand inadvertently clutched his ass. The good news, I got a handful of his wallet. In his inebriated state, he didn’t notice as I extracted it from his pocket to get his ID.

“You looking for a piece of my ass?” he asked, and that blinding smile almost made me drop my phone.

“No. I’m not...” It felt wrong to finish that sentence even though a half hour ago I would have said I wasn’t attracted to men with a hundred percent confidence.

“Good.” He sounded irrationally angry.

After I entered his address in the rideshare app, his phone started ringing again. We both stared at the name “Alec” on the screen.

“He’s trying to save me from myself,” Cole grumbled.

Alec called back again. Since the car was three minutes away, I figured I’d answer it and deal with Alec, who clearly intended to blow up Cole’s phone until he got a response.

Turning my back to Cole and taking two steps away, I answered in a whisper, “Cole’s phone.”

“Fucking hell. Is he okay?” asked a panicked voice.

I peered over my shoulder at Cole leaning against the building. At least he had someone who cared about his well-being. “I’m putting him in a car to get home.”

“Thank you. I’ll take care of him when he gets here.” He hung up.

I wouldn’t have to deal with this confusing situation for much longer. Those reports were calling my name. If he got in the car, then I could finish my work and be home by 10:00 p.m.

Cole started a slow sideways slide.

“Hey there.” I rushed over and wrapped both arms around him to prevent his fall.

His mournful green eyes looked down at me, nearly breaking my heart. “I don’t want to be alone,” he rasped as he pulled me tight against him.

I did not have the willpower to let him go. Echoes of grief pounded through me. Only a monster would leave him in this condition.

As I tried wrangling him into the car, he locked eyes with me and said, “You’re not leaving me.”

His voice wrapped around me, silencing all thoughts of work and misgivings about why being seen with him was a terrible idea. I obeyed by sliding into the car first and pulling him next to me. Normally, I would analyze every possible reason why Cole had the power to calm the storm in my brain. But then his head dropped to my shoulder, and after that, the reasons didn’t matter.

The driver’s smug expression in the rearview mirror caught my attention, but I decided against explaining the ridiculous situation I’d gotten myself into.

A brief detour with Cole, a handoff to the mysterious Alec, and I’d be back at the office in thirty minutes. I forced myself not to notice how soft his hair felt on my cheek or give in to the urge to run my fingers through it. Nope. A sharp corner sent us off balance, and Cole’s head landed in my lap. My dick decided it’d been too long since it’d had any attention and joined the party.

Cole hummed appreciatively and rubbed his face against it.

Fuck. My. Life.

Using probability and statistics, I reassured myself that other straight guys probably—accidentally—got turned on by a broken-hearted gay guy. It wasn’t a high percentage, but I wasn’t the only one.

Right?

A few blocks away, the car stopped in front of an upscale high rise with a doorman who rushed to open the car door for us.

“Mr. Branson, so good to see you.”

Cole didn’t move from my lap. “I, um, I think I’m going to need some help. His boyfriend or friend, Alec, said he’d be here to help him,” I said like a question instead of a statement.

The doorman’s eyebrows rose to his receding hairline. “Sir, Mr. Branson hasn’t been here in months, and no one else has been here since...” He glanced at Cole as his voice trailed off.

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