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I moved to the window and pulled back the curtain. I could look down on Georgia Street in downtown Vancouver. All the little people scurried around, trying to stay dry in this horrible rain.

Jesus, I rarely even entertained clients in the restaurant downstairs here, the place was so expensive.

Maybe you were trying to compensate?

I tried to shrug off the idea, but it wormed its way into my brain. I had wanted to impress my hookup. Hell, that he chose to spout off misogynistic bullshit and risk losing a roll in the hay in one of Vancouver’s luxury hotels spoke volumes.

I should figure out who his wife is and warn her. I’ll bet he doesn’t even always use condoms. Something about the guy…well, now I could see how off he truly was.

And I was more concerned about his wife than my own self-preservation. He could very well turn the tables on me and show up in my office to make a stink.

Still, my mind circled around the poor woman, at home with the kids and dogs, while her cheating asshole of a husband fucked random men in hotel rooms.

I probably should’ve been worried for myself, and not for some stranger. But then, I always had a soft spot for the weak and vulnerable. I tried to strike a balance—the successful lawyer who got all he could for his wealthy clients—and the kindhearted man who did pro bono work.

Huh.

The balance wasn’t always right.

Possibly why my wife of fourteen years had just left me.

Probably.

Might’ve also been because I’d forgotten our wedding anniversary.

I’d tried to explain.

How my client was leaving an abusive marriage and had a short window to escape.

My wife pointed out that, as a very wealthy woman, my client could’ve afforded to hire protection.

I tried to explain leaving an abusive marriage wasn’t always as easy as renting someone for a few hours while one removed their stuff from the marital home. Especially when one had three children.

My wife was unmoved.

My client was in a safe house and the divorce papers—along with a protective order—had been served.

I’d felt somewhat reassured, even knowing my client had a very long way to go before being safe. That her husband was a famous hockey player meant she either had more protection or less, depending on perspective. On the upside, her soon-to-be ex wouldn’t want the negative publicity of being a wife beater.

On the downside, some fans wouldn’t believe the abuse, even if my client was bruised and bloodied.

And the worst-case scenario of all would be that he killed her. He’d threatened to—on numerous occasions. Her and the kids.

So while he’d been away with the team, she’d left.

There was some irony in the fact that while I was helping one woman leave her husband, another woman was leaving me.

Of course, my wife might’ve also left because she’d fallen in love with her trainer.

Possibly.

Probably.

I pressed my forehead to the cool glass. Only early November, and cold rain lashed the window. Our first major storm of the season with gusts of almost one hundred klicks. Not a night to be out. Not a night to be scooting away in cowboy boots, jeans, and a suit jacket. I chuckled.

His wide eyes as I slammed the door…

The bright lights of Vancouver tempted me. I had a trench coat. I could get dressed, grab a cab to Davie Street, and be amongst people in just a few minutes. I would have my pick of nightclubs. Surely I could find a hookup for the night.

Do you really want your first time in fifteen years to be with some rando?

Well, Chevy would’ve been a rando.

Yeah, but two cute dogs —

And enough of that line of thinking. Yes, I’d picked the guy even though he had a dick pic. Since I worried about blackmail if I’d put one up as well, I’d opted for my chest and abs. Two things I was very proud of. Less likely to be used against me. That said, everything involved risk.

Being Vancouver’s top divorce lawyer meant putting my face on a hookup app just wasn’t a good idea.

Hell, meeting up with someone before the ink was dry on my divorce papers wasn’t a good idea either. Thea would have my balls in a vise—even though the divorce was her idea. She’d learned a lot in our years together—including how to take me to the cleaners.

I was scared of the tax authorities more than I was afraid of losing half everything I owned in a divorce, so I never did anything that wasn’t strictly legal. All my assets were accounted for. The money I’d put aside just in case was enough to buy me out of my marriage.

I was miserable…I just didn’t want to admit it.

Well, that was very true.

After a long moment, I pulled the drapes shut.

The cocoon the silence created could’ve been stifling, but wasn’t. For the first time in months, I felt like I could breathe.

In a few weeks, your second home, in Mission City, will be finished. Then you can breathe fresh mountain air whenever you want.

The country house had been my passion project, not Thea’s. She couldn’t understand the concept of leaving Vancouver unless we were headed to Whistler to ski or to some exotic foreign destination for a vacation. Preferably a luxury resort where her biggest worries were whether to take a mai tai with her while she had a pedicure or if she should have a massage first.

Me? I’d rather see the world. Pyramids of Giza. Cobblestones in Amsterdam. Geysers near Reykjavik. Tibetan monasteries. The Great Wall of China. The Amazon rainforest.

Maybe this marriage was destined for failure. Too bad we wasted so many years making each other miserable.

Except I hadn’t felt miserable. I’d been busy building my practice. I’d wanted to be the best divorce attorney in Vancouver. In British Columbia. Hell, in Canada. I wanted the well-heeled to seek out my specialized services. I wanted to make tons of money.

Because that meant keeping Thea in style, helping my family and, most importantly, having the ability to take pro bono cases of spouses fleeing domestic violence.

In honor of my first client. The one who hadn’t made it.

Her memory drove me to be the best. And I hadn’t lost another client since, so I figured I must be doing something right.

Or my luck was about to run out.

Could go either way.

Would the guy have stayed the night?

I’d hoped so.

As I sorted through my pockets and hooked my phone up to a charger, I tried not to mourn what might’ve been. As a closeted bisexual, I hadn’t spent much time with men in romantic or sexual relationships. Nolan, in university during our undergrad years, but that’d been it. Once I’d started in the rarified air of the Peter A. Allard Law School at the University of British Columbia, I’d shoved that part of myself to the back of the closet.

Upon graduation, I married my sweetheart and had assumed we’d have children promptly. My stunningly successful law practice would soon follow.

I undid my belt and yanked down my trousers.

How did I wind up here? Why all these memories?

Because I’d designated tonight a fresh start. A delineation between my old life and my new one. An opportunity to remember why I liked cock.

A chance to obliterate the last fourteen years from my memory.

Off came my boxer briefs, and I sucked in a breath as the cool air hit my cock.

Should I turn up the temperature?

The bed looked comfy, so I turned it down. I’d just hop in and be warm in no time.

I eyed my overnight bag.

Fuck it. You only live once.

I carefully removed tomorrow’s clothes—jeans and a henley with a pair of running shoes—and set them aside. Then I removed the false bottom.

My pretties.

My toys.

The ones I never used for fear of discovery.

Thea might’ve been on the other side of the world sometimes, but I always worried someone might turn up at my house. One of my myriad of siblings, my parents, my assistant, the woman who kept our house… For all my desire to be alone at times, I very rarely was.

Hence building the house in the country.

My oasis. My escape from the rat race. My place of sanctuary away from nosy family, demanding clients, and diligent employees. Away from everyone who always seemed to be making demands on my time.

Riley, my foreperson, said we were on track.

She hasn’t checked in with me recently.

Better plan to call her. Later. Much later.

That resolved, I grabbed my dildo and headed to the bathroom.

Damn, lube .

I pivoted back, went to the case, found the lube, then resumed my journey to the bathroom.

Once inside, I judged the height that would give me the perfect angle, then positioned the dildo using the suction cup.

Almost like I’d known I would be using this alone.

Well, I probably wouldn’t have had the courage to ask some random stranger to use it on me. Because that would’ve been too weird.

Right, but hooking up with a total stranger isn’t?

Even though you’ve never done it before.

Before I turned on the shower, I made my way to the sink.

And looked into the mirror.

Something I rarely did these days.

Unless to ensure I didn’t nick myself shaving.

Muscles that rivaled most of the men I knew who worked out regularly—only many of them went to the gym to show off. I chose to stay home and use my personal equipment.

Defined chest with just a smattering of chest hair I refused to wax, no matter how often Thea spoke of my sternum derisively.

Long, blond hair better suited to a model than a lawyer.

A strong jaw that resembled my favorite action hero, Cole Hamilton’s. His even longer black hair gave him a roguish look. He and his two perfect ménage partners, Caressa and Michael, were expecting a baby.

A baby.

Hope none of them ever come to me to request an uncoupling.

Finally, I stared at my dark-gray eyes.

Mine, not Cole’s. Not that I’d ever compare myself to my man crush…but his piercing baby blues were spectacular.

In contrast, my eyes were often shadowed. From having seen too much pain. Too much grief.

Who knew being a divorce attorney would be so emotionally taxing?

Certainly not me, when I left law school with lofty dreams. Even my expensive office, with all the accouterments of wealth, didn’t mitigate what I’d witnessed within those walls.

I pressed my hand to the mirror, attempting to obliterate both the image of myself and the dark memories I carried.

A shiver wracked my body—whether from the actual cold or some long-buried horrendous memory—I couldn’t be certain.

Because I certainly wasn’t innocent, although I tried to pick my clients carefully. If my client won, then the other side lost . All by inches or degrees…but that could be millions of dollars or visitation of minor children—which often held more importance than money.

I moved to the shower and flipped the water on. I held my hand under the spray until I had just the right temperature. Then I stepped into the luxurious stall.

Scalding water cascaded down my body. My first instinct was to moderate the temperature, but I loved the heat as it permeated my muscles. As it sank deep into the marrow of my bones. As it tried to warm me from the outside in.