Page 5 of Boy Issues

His father leaned forward. “Now, you listen to me,” he growled. “You’re going to attend this event with Charlotte Carrington. I’m not saying you need to propose the same night, but test her out. If you think you can build a respectable life with her, then continue the pursuit. If the two of you are truly unsuited, then find someone else who’ll work.”

Donovan wanted to add ‘does she have a cock?’ but felt the man had already reached his limit for the day with Donovan’s snarky commentary.

His father straightened in his chair, then gave a quick nod. “If you need any assistance finding another candidate, then I’ll be glad to help.” He rose. “But you’re not getting out of this. You have a year to comply.” His father turned on his heel then sauntered to the door. With one hand on the doorknob, he glanced over his shoulder. “Your trust fund isn’t immune to my interference, no matter what else your mother instructed.”

He left the room and Donovan fell against his chair, his heart pounding. He wiped the sweat that had beaded on his upper lip with the back of his hand. Fuck. His distress wasn’t only about the money, was also his anger at himself for allowing his father to affect him the way he always did. To shame him, make him feel dirty and helpless.

His gut roiled, a headache looming on the horizon. He might be swimming in money and assets, but his wealth did nothing to soothe his soul. To lighten his heart. But now, his inner rage had gathered more steam, and his father’s threats were eating away at him like they’d never done before.

A year.

Maybe he’d just make it a blow-out year, the party to end all parties, then simply succumb to his fate. He’d had a good run, but he was getting older. Once again, his wealth would likely ensure that his bed would always stay warm, but he found the idea distasteful. Donovan had always mocked the rich old geezers with the trophy wives that they paraded wherever they went, as if the women were prized show ponies.

Donovan dragged his fingers through his hair, the salt and pepper strands that were edging their way toward his shoulders another thing that annoyed his stuffy, conservative father. The man didn’t approve of his beard either, but fuck him.

The conversation, or more appropriately, command from his father gnawed at his insides until Donovan knew there was only one solution to make it all go away. Getting drunk and laid would fix everything—even if it was only for a few hours.

Donovan ran through the files in his mind of who might be a good possibility. He didn’t keep a list of booty calls the way a lot of guys did—despite his earlier remark to his brother about a little black book—because he didn’t want anyone getting too attached then trying to blackmail him or something of the like.

Then his thoughts landed on the hunky mechanic from the night before. Silver? Holy Christ. If anyone could eradicate the impending doom of his father’s ultimatum, this guy would be it. Besides his lickable muscles, Silver was a walking piece of art, his gorgeous brown skin a stunning backdrop to the ink that covered almost every inch of his body that had been bared to his gaze. Donovan adjusted his firming cock at the thought of what hidden parts of Silver’s anatomy might also feature tattoos.

Then there had been his deep, jet eyes and full, sensuous mouth. He radiated a hint of mystery, of danger. Goddamn, but the man was fine. They clearly shared a love of luxurious cars, so why hadn’t the guy fallen for his charms? Donovan had originally assumed it was because Silver was straight, but then there’d been that cryptic comment he’d yelled at Donovan before racing away. Had that been an invitation?

Hmm…

Perhaps he should drop by the diner later and find out.

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