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Gravity, a Hammer novel
by Sean Michael
Category: Erotica/Gay-Lesbian Erotica/Romance
Description: It's never easy to run into an ex-lover, especially when the break-up was a bad one. That's exactly what happens to Hunter Barrister one evening at the Hammer, though, and he's more upset over seeing the amazingly beautiful Forrest Greune again than he ever thought he could be. When he finds out that Forrest is not only back in town for good, but wants to join the Hammer Club, board member Hunter balks and refuses to give his consenting vote. Forrest, a now retired model, isn't the same flighty young thing he was when he and Hunter were together, and he wishes Hunter could just move on. When that doesn't happen, he finds himself amusing himself, elsewhere with disastrous results. Broken and injured, Forrest is surprised to find Hunter the one at his bedside, the one who sticks with him and offers support through everything. Can Forrest and Hunter put their history behind them and be what they need for each other, or will guilt, fear and the past put an end to the relationship neither of them seem to be able to abandon?
eBook Publisher: Torquere Press/Top Shelf, 2011 www.torquerepress.com
eBookwise Release Date: January 2012
 
29 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [234 KB]
Words: 51885
Reading time: 148-207 min.
It had been a long damn day and Hunter Barrister was more than happy to be sliding into a chair at the Hammer, a sweet twink at his elbow, wanting to know exactly what he wanted. It didn't get much better than that.
"I want a shot of whiskey and a beer chaser."
"Yes, Sir." The sweet boy gave him the dearest little grin.
He smiled back, relaxing, feeling better already. He did love his club. He'd been a member for a little under eight years, and each year got better than the last. He watched the cute little ass as it disappeared toward the bar.
"Still hunting the young ones?" The voice was husky, low. Horribly familiar, for all he hadn't heard it in years. Fucking Forrest Greune.
Hunter's hands curled into fists. He looked over, hoping Forrest had turned into a troll or a beast or something. It hadn't happened. Hell, if anything Mr. All-American was more beautiful than ever. Bright blue eyes, perfectly trimmed hair, lightly muscled body dressed in perfectly fashionable clothes. A desperate surge of need went through him.
Fucker.
"Look what the rats dragged in." He could have kicked himself for the words; he didn't want Forrest to get the wrong idea and think he had any feelings left for the asshole. Even if he did. No, especially if he did.
"Not so. Jack invited me. Have you seen him?"
"I'm not the maitre'd here."
"No. That's fairly obvious. You're one of the old bar flies, still in your same stool."
Anger flared, hot and sudden -- how could the man still get under his skin just like that? He stood, glaring down at Forrest. "I pay a membership here, yes. That gives me privileges and you don't have a single one, so if you don't want to be thrown out on your ass I suggest you get out of my sight."
Fuck, but the man was sex on legs.
"Gladly. Honestly, I was hoping you'd just moved on." Ice blue eyes stared him down, then the man just turned on his heel and walked away. Like Hunter meant nothing to Forrest.
God damn it.
Hunter clenched his teeth together to keep from spewing something nasty out. This was his club. His place. Forrest had no right. The man had played with him, but had never truly committed. Then he'd cheated. And now Forrest had the gall to come back in here and insult him?
Fucker.
Asshole.
Dickwad.
Punk.
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