Chapter Eight

Shawn unexpectedly lost his breath. He was even more handsome now than he had been in college, manly fair, and as prim and proper as usual. But the raw need in his eyes drew him to Ivan like a moth to a flame.

Ten years had passed since that day in the locker room when he had caught Ivan, who told him he was not gay and would never be one, swapping spit with Alexander Stroviv. He had fooled himself into believing Ivan was straight, as he had endlessly said, and that he was pushing too much.

He hated the fact that he had thought he had freaked out Ivan, wanting him to do things he never wanted and had decided to take it slow or back out. Begging to be kissed by Ivan, to touch him, to hug him, Ivan had rejected him, pushed him away, threatened him, called him all sort of hurtful names, Yet, he was in the boy's locker room, going hot with Alexander, an image even after ten years, Shawn hadn't forgotten about it.

Still, wanting to be with Ivan was instinctual. Like jumping out of a tenth