Love And The Real Boy - Coming About, Book 2 by J.K. Hogan

night,” he scolded with a pointed look.
    Rich at least had the good grace to look chagrinned. “I’ve pretty much always known, but it’s not something I usually act on. I don’t do this,” he said, gesturing back and forth between them.
    “Do what? Screw around with men? I know you’re not a virgin.”
    “Of course not,” Rich said. “Don’t be silly. I get what I need when I need it—discreetly, anonymously if possible. But I don’t form attachments with men, however brief. I don’t do stuff with guys I plan on seeing again—as a rule. It’s a complication I don’t need…my career is everything to me, and I won’t do anything to jeopardize it.”
    “Ah. What did you say you do, again?”
    Rich flicked him an annoyed look that clearly said he hadn’t mentioned anything of the sort before. “I’m in advertising.” He turned and stared out the window for a few seconds before pointing out a billboard for some high-end men’s watches. “There. That’s one of my campaigns.”
    Patrick’s brows rose. The ad was masculine but not trite. It was very stylish to his unpracticed eye. He was impressed, and admittedly, he wasn’t easy to impress.
    At the marina, Rich surprised him again when Patrick was teaching him how to use the miter saw. He caught on quick and was able to work independently by midmorning.
    Patrick was taking measurements for the new mast that day. He hoped to be able to find something compatible with the model and vintage of the Galeocerdo at the O’Dowd woodworking shop. A brand-spanking-new metal mast just wouldn’t look right on a fifty year old mostly wooden vessel.
    He was doing some calculations in his head when his attention strayed down to the pier where Rich was measuring and cutting lumber to repair some holes in the boat deck. The man had taken his shirt off, and his upper body was slick with sweat—mouthwatering.
    Patrick frowned when he noticed a strange man striding purposefully down the pier toward Rich. He was probably a little older than Patrick himself, his dark hair peppered with gray, and judging by his tailored suit and briefcase, he wasn’t at the marina for boating.
    Because he was looking down at his work and he wore earplugs to drown out the sound of the saw, Rich didn’t notice the visitor until he was right beside him. Rich finished the board he was cutting, turned off the saw, and pulled out his earplugs. When he turned and saw the man standing right next to him, he jumped visibly, his hands balling into fists.
    Patrick couldn’t hear their hushed conversation from his vantage point on the boat, but he could tell Rich was pissed, his body clearly rife with tension. He had a very emotive face, and he talked with his hands, especially when he was upset…which was often. And those hands were flailing as he argued with the man.
    Finally the stranger left Rich alone, and he started furiously stacking the cut pieces of lumber. He looked angry for sure, but Patrick also knew wide-eyed fear when he saw it—it was the same expression he wore when he was forced to spend a day on the water. In that moment, Patrick figured out exactly who the stranger had been.
    Setting aside his notebook, Patrick climbed down the ladder to the dock, where he found Rich, red-faced and panting, staring out across the water.
    “You okay?” he asked, approaching with caution.
    Rich’s shoulders tensed even more—if that was possible—and his reply was cold and clipped. “I’m fine, thanks.”
    “That was the PI, wasn’t it? Was he pressuring you about your brother?” Patrick asked, unused to the feeling of protectiveness that seized him.
    Rich turned to face him slowly, pinning him in place with an icy glare. “I told you about that in a moment of…weakness, but it really is none of your fucking business.”
    Oh, hell no . He was not going to pull that rich-boy, too-cool-for-school shit with Patrick. He’d talked to Rory and Justice over drinks. He knew all about Rich