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Rub Me the Right Way

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Chapitre 1: Chapter 1

It wasn’t that Mitch Adams didn’t trust his boyfriend Daryl Danson. They’d been in an exclusive relationship for eight years, during the last five of which they had lived together. He knew Daryl wasn’t interested in other guys, and he knew Daryl loved him. Every day he heard those words, and he knew they were true. Mitch just didn’t like the fact that Daryl spent all his working hours touching other people’s bodies.

* * * *

The two men met at a rehabilitation facility Mitch’s doctor recommended after a bad car accident left him with constant shoulder pain. A state trooper, Mitch was on patrol late one night when a speeding motorist on the interstate zoomed past his speed trap going almost a hundred miles an hour. Mitch flipped on his lights and gave chase, but the hotshot lead-foot didn’t even slow. He radioed in for assistance, and was assured exit ramps were being monitored in case the motorist left the highway. When another trooper pulled out into the interstate ahead of the speeding vehicle, lights flashing, Mitch’s quarry must have pulled up on the hand brake and let off the gas because the car did a lazy three hundred sixty degree turn in the middle of all three lanes of traffic, then zoomed back Mitch’s way.

He barely had time to react. His first instinct was to the turn the wheel, but he waited until the last possible moment to make sure the motorist hit the rear panel of his patrol car. The impact stopped the speeder, but it also dislocated Mitch’s shoulder in the process.

The rehab facility was part of the Henrico Doctors’ Hospital network, and approved by Mitch’s health insurance. On his first visit, he spent most of the time filling out paperwork, which only made his shoulder ache worse. Then a young woman wrapped his arm and shoulder in hot towels, which felt heavenly. Then she gave Mitch a tennis ball to squeeze in his fist. “Really work it,” she said. “Make the muscles burn.”

“They already do.” Mitch let his gaze roam around the room where he was seated. It was an open area filled with therapeutic toys, almost like a playground for injured adults. There were weights to lift, medicine balls to roll on, large rubber bands to pull taut. A handful of others were in the room, each focused on his or her own routine, each supervised by a licensed therapist.

Then Mitch spotted Daryl. Tall, lithe, well-toned, Daryl had chiseled good looks and a mop of brown wavy hair. He was working with an older woman, coaxing her to keep moving on a slow treadmill. As Mitch watched, Daryl cheered the woman on, pretending to run alongside her to encourage her efforts. When he smiled, his eyes seemed to light up his entire face. Mitch wondered why he couldn’t have gotten someone that handsome as histherapist. Would it be rude if he asked to switch?

He didn’t realize he was staring until Daryl glanced over at him, then did a double-take. The smile faded slightly as Daryl watched Mitch watch him. A long moment passed, something unspoken between them, something visceraland real. Then Mitch’s therapist stepped between them and sat down in front of him, blocking his view. “So, how are we doing?” she asked brightly.

He wanted to ask her about Daryl, but didn’t want to sound creepy. Turned out he didn’t need to ask—Daryl was just as interested in him. As Mitch was signing out at the front desk after his session, Daryl came out of the room with his client. The older woman headed for the restroom, and Daryl stopped at Mitch’s side. Leaning onto the front desk, he looked at Mitch with an open expression. “Hey,” he said. “How’s your arm?”

Mitch shrugged his shoulder and felt the muscle pull. “It’s been better,” he admitted. “The doctor says I’ll live, though. Mitch.”

He stuck out his hand and Daryl shook it with a firm, steady grip. “Daryl.” Keeping Mitch’s hand in his, he took a step closer and lowered his voice. “I saw you looking earlier. Do you like what you see?”

Mitch let his gaze drift down, appraising. This close, Daryl was sexier than he’d been halfway across the room. Tight muscles, flawless skin, pretty eyes. Kissable lips. “Oh hellyeah,” Mitch breathed.

With his free hand, Daryl clapped Mitch’s elbow, then massaged the tense muscles in Mitch’s upper arm. “You know, a massage would work wonders on this arm.”

“The doctor said to take it easy,” Mitch said with a laugh. “I don’t want to ruin this shoulder.”

Daryl gave him a coy smile. “I’ll be gentle. If you’re interested…”

Of course Mitch was.

* * * *

Eight years later, Daryl couldn’t imagine not having Mitch in his life. When they met, Daryl was instantly attracted to the older state trooper—something about the way Mitch’s dark hair was already peppered with gray, or the ramrod way he held his shoulders back, or the way his jeans hung on his hips. Daryl couldn’t put his finger on it, but when he saw Mitch eyeing him from across the room, he knew he wasn’t going to let the man walk out of his life so easily.

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