Wrecked

What's the first rule of running a gym by and for combat vets? Enjoy the scorching hot scenery, but get your kicks somewhere else. Never mind that my cousin-slash-business partner ignores that rule every chance he gets. I don't ignore it. Ever. And frankly, between Grindr, and living in one of the gayest cities in America, it's not exactly a hardship. That is, until a pair of blue eyes, swimming with vulnerability, shows up at my door, looking for a job. He's too skinny, too mouthy, and way too young for the likes of me, but he pings that protector instinct in me - hard.

He survived the Rwandan genocide to become an NBA legend. I survived a few hours of truly amateur torture to become the guy who falls apart when someone drops a tray of dishes. We both volunteer at my brother-in-law’s gym for combat vets, and we’ve been circling each other for a year now. It’s possible that pairing a seven-foot wall of sunshine with me—the guy who gets snarky about that one time I got waterboarded—might just be the mother of all bad ideas. An even worse idea? Let’s add a splash of kink to the mix.

Heath has every reason to hate me, and that only serves to fuel our explosive chemistry. Now that we live in the same city again, all I want to do is show this sexy bear of a man that I’m not the jerk he once knew. My career as a US Navy SEAL changed the course of my life, and I'm desperate for him to see the new me. Unfortunately, my reconciliation efforts so far have ended in hospitalization, second-degree burns, and a broken towel rack. Not my finest work.