Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
DIMA
The last person Dima expected in his office on a Monday morning was the twink who’d sucked him off in a club bathroom about thirty-six hours earlier.
They both froze, Dima half-standing from his desk chair and the man hesitating in the doorway. “Please, come in,” Dima said, and the potential study participant slipped inside.
A thick bubble of silence enveloped them as he tugged the office door closed and cut off the conversations in the hall. No photo accompanied the paperwork marking Jacob Nichols as next on Dima’s interview schedule, and, well, they never exactly exchanged names. Dima also hadn’t pegged him as twenty-five, but his black-framed glasses and smart casual attire were a far cry from Saturday night’s body glitter and crop top. Of course, Dima assumed his lab coat came as a surprise after his own tight leathers. “Jacob Nichols?” he asked, half in confirmation of the guy’s identity and half in hope he had stumbled into the wrong office.
At Jacob’s jerky nod, Dima suppressed a sigh and waved to the chairs before his desk. “I’m Dr. Dmitri Moroz. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me about the long-term therapy trial.”
Jacob sat across from him with the same grace that attracted Dima across the crowded dance floor. “Thanks. Erm. Pleasure to meet you?”
Dima chuckled. “Nice to meet you too.”
Jake’s worry lifted by the way he broke into a sweet grin. If his moves had called to Dima, his smile had sealed the deal. Memories of his mouth’s delicious heat assaulted Dima. He shoved them away before they reached his cock and made this meeting even more uncomfortable.
Then Jacob’s smile vanished as quickly as it appeared. “Oh. I suppose I don’t qualify for the study anymore?”
Dima had already read over the contents of Jacob’s application more than once. He shut the folder and moved it to the side of his desk. Jacob’s face fell further, but Dima lifted a hand to stall any protests. “You’re a good candidate. I’ll give your file to one of my study assistants and make a note the other project lead should be consulted on anything relating to your care. By the time we review results in a few months, all data will be deidentified and our…previous involvement will not create any conflict of interest.”
“Okay. Good.” Jacob toyed with the sharp crease of his pants near his knee. “I’m glad you’re not mad.”
“Why would I be mad?” Dima swallowed the sweetheart that nearly followed his question. Jacob was no longer one of the unnamed men he showered with affection to ease the ache in his heart. Even if Jacob would also never be his patient, this ache was why Dima never wanted to learn their names.
Learning names was dangerous, especially when accompanied by the adorable crinkle of Jacob’s nose as he gestured to his file. “Because I didn’t tell you…”
“You told me you were on PrEP when I asked whether you’d be more comfortable if I wore a condom.”
Jacob offered either a half-shrug or simply how he squirmed under Dima’s sharp gaze. “I’ve been undetectable for over a year, and blow jobs are considered low risk. I feel like I should still be sorry for lying.”
“Don’t be. You gave me all the information I needed to weigh the risks on my end. Ultimately, all parties of a sexual encounter have to be responsible for themselves.” Dima used the protective armor of his desk and lab coat to distance himself from the conversation. He’d pretend Jacob was one of hundreds of patients with whom he’d discussed the thorny topics of risk and disclosure. “Though I can only speak for myself,” he added.
“Thank you. I appreciate it.” Jacob peered at Dima through his eyelashes. “So, I’m not going to be your patient now. You wouldn’t be…interested in getting together again sometime?” The pitch of his voice rose at the end, making obvious the question in his indirect words.
Dima had a physical type, which Jacob fit to a tee. The backbone and courage exhibited by the query acted as much as an aphrodisiac to Dima as Jacob’s slender frame and wide doe eyes. Did Dima want a repeat, or more, with Jacob? Hell, yeah. But even as his body reacted, his heart shunned the idea, retreating to the safety of its hardened shell.
“I’m sorry.” Dima steeled himself against Jacob’s disappointment. “I don’t think it would be appropriate.”
Voice steady, he replied, “I understand. The study, and all.”
Not quite, but allowing Jacob to blame the research trial on his rejection wasn’t the worst option. Not when the alternative was the half-assed explanation Dima had given too often. He hooked up away from home, one and done, and the men stayed nameless for a reason.
“I do apologize that you’ll have to return for another intake appointment with Dr. Paredes. The assistant who directed you to my office—please tell her I asked you to reschedule with her instead of online, so you can bypass repeating the review process.” Dima rose from his chair, and Jacob echoed the action a beat later. This time, masochist that he was, Dima extended his hand across his desk.
“Thank you, Dr. Moroz.” Jacob’s handshake was firm, professional…and way too tempting. As was how his lips twitched with a touch of sass when he added, “Maybe I’ll see you around.”
“Maybe,” Dima said, simultaneously praying for and dreading any future glimpse of Jacob in the halls outside.
Jacob exited Dima’s office on the same light steps he’d entered. Dima collapsed back into his chair, feeling every minute of his thirty-nine years. Even if they never encountered each other again, Jacob’s file shined like a beacon atop his desk, containing phone number and email address in juicy temptation. Temptation Dima should not, and would never, take. As soon as enough time passed for Jacob to make his new appointment and leave the building, he’d bring the file to Amy and erase the man from his mind.
As always, when Dima craved peace and steadiness, his gaze sought the pictures framed in the corner of his desk. Jacob was younger than his brother Val, who grinned at Dima from one of the images. An irrelevant age difference for a club hookup but inappropriate for more.
Perfect for Sipho, though, frozen forever at twenty-seven. Sipho had loved boys whose sweet exteriors hid strong cores. He’d have brought Jacob home from the club the same night and not let him out of bed for days.
Dima’s strong core remained, but Sipho’s loss had stripped him of all sweetness. Except for the tiny bits he borrowed in clubs from gorgeous men he’d never see again.