Boy Issues - Morticia Knight Page 0,10

a one-night stand, or perhaps he was still just messing with him, but Donovan’s stomach was fluttering in a way he hadn’t experienced in years.

The type of fluttering that meant he might want more.

Donovan shifted in his seat, his excitement over seeing Silver again turning to unease. If only he could remain focused on getting off and nothing else, he’d be fine. Especially after his father’s insane demands from the day before, the timing had never been worse to contemplate having an actual relationship with a man. Not only that, but his father wouldn’t approve of Silver even if he didn’t have a dick between his legs. Too many tattoos, skin that was much too brown and too blue of a collar.

Donovan gritted his teeth as he again clasped the steering wheel in a death grip. His father gave new meaning to the word asshole. Truth be told, his brother was just as bad.

Brand Boulevard loomed ahead, the street that bisected most of Glendale being the final turn he needed to take before he reached Ray’s Diner. He could still bail. All he had to do was make a right at Riverside Drive, travel a couple miles or so and hit up one of his favorite bars in Silver Lake and forget all about the smoking hotness that was Silver Cruz.

The way I forgot about my architectural design career and living my own life.

Donovan stomped the gas pedal, speeding past the dull, safe turn that could prevent him from turning his world into a collision course.

Within a few more minutes, he’d made it to Silver’s work, and he steered the Benz into the diner’s lot. The relief he experienced when he spotted Silver’s Mustang parked in the usual spot could be felt through his entire body. The restaurant would still be open for another thirty minutes or so, and Donovan toyed with the idea of going inside and grabbing a cup of coffee.

After pulling his car next to Donovan’s and shutting off the engine, the idea had been discarded. Somehow, entering Silver’s domain seemed too invasive without an invitation. Or was it more of a case of him being uncomfortable in the world Silver inhabited, that Donovan really was a stuck up, judgmental prick after all?

Not that Donovan hadn’t stumbled into many a diner at one or two in the morning to partake of an alcohol-absorbing late-night breakfast, but this wasn’t such a scenario. Of course, his father, brother or any of the other pretentious higher-ups at the firm wouldn’t be caught dead doing such a thing. Donovan was aware that the specter of their disapproval continuously circled in his mind like a vulture ready to swoop down and pick at his remains.

He clutched the key fob in his hand, fiddling with the various keys on the ring as he contemplated what to do. The minutes ticked by. However, he doubted there was enough time for him to complete the inner therapy he needed to stroll inside the diner as though he wasn’t some lost Angeleno out of his element.

Fuck it.

Donovan pushed open the car door then unfolded his long frame from his vehicle. The Benz was one of the few cars he owned that didn’t make his father’s head spin. The man had no color in his life. Existed in the blacks and whites of what was proper and what wasn’t. Apparently, showing up at the country club in a bright purple Bugatti was frowned upon in polite society.

Donovan pinched his nose. If he didn’t stop allowing his father—and brother—to silently narrate their disapproval in his head over each moment he experienced, he would lose his entire mind. For some reason, from the moment he’d met Silver, the ongoing farce he shared with his family had begun to stand out in stark relief to the rest of his life.

Enough.

Donovan pretended he wasn’t nervous as fuck, then yanked the heavy glass door to the coffee shop open. He pasted on his casually debonair smile, and for the first time, the move felt artificial and awkward. After making his way over the threshold, he stood on the large mat covering the outdated, stained and chipped linoleum.

At the back of the drab restaurant, which was done in seventies muted orange and mustard yellow, were a few men on counter stools hunched over their plates or coffee mugs. Then beyond that was the open kitchen where two cooks were on the line, busily working. One glanced up.

Silver.

Silver’s eyes rounded then he pressed his