Seeking Single Male. Stephanie Bond

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      LANA SLID HER GAZE sideways at the handsome man walking next to her. The day was definitely looking up. The first person to respond to her ad seemed like a pretty cool guy, even if he was a little stiff. Greg Healey was certainly one of the most masculine gay men she’d ever met. She was a tall woman, and he was a full head taller. His profile was strong, his shoulders wide, his stride assertive. A bizarre thrill raced through her at his proximity, causing Lana to chastise herself. She wasn’t the type of woman who would try to “convert” a gay man, but if she found out that he was intelligent on top of looking good, she was going to be supremely irritated.

      Meanwhile, she liked him. There was something…undiscovered about him. In fact, she’d bet her tea bag that he was very recently out of the closet.

      “So, Greg, what do you do for a living?” she asked, a few steps down the block.

      “I’m an attorney,” he said. From the tone of his voice, he wasn’t in love with his job. Little wonder, if he didn’t make enough money to afford his own apartment. When he glanced at his watch, she said, “Don’t worry—this shouldn’t take long, so you can get right back to work.”

      He coughed, and Lana hoped he didn’t have any kind of weird allergies, such as to rubber. Choosing between this guy and Harry, her blow-up doll, would be tough. “Any hobbies?”

      “Hmm?” He looked as if she’d spoken in a foreign language.

      “Hobbies?” she repeated with a laugh. “If we’re going to be spending so much time together, I’d just like to know if you have any strange pastimes.”

      “I have a telescope,” he said, then his cheeks reddened. “I mean, I used to enjoy astronomy.”

      Ah, a Science Club guy—how sweet. “Used to?”

      “My job is rather demanding. I don’t have a lot of free time.”

      “I can relate. What else should I know about you?”

      He shrugged. “What do you want to know?”

      Lana laughed. “Well, do you sleepwalk?”

      At last he cracked a smile, an extraordinary smile that transformed his grave features. “No, I don’t sleepwalk.”

      “Good, because I live on the third floor.”

      He suddenly looked uncertain, and his step slowed.

      She winked. “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

      He ran his hand over his dark hair. The movement revealed the barest glints of silver. Suddenly he stopped, and a bemused expression came over his face. “Listen, um, Lana, this is pretty new to me.”

      Poor guy, he was still wrestling with coming out. “Don’t worry,” she said, laying a comforting hand on his arm. “I’ll help you as much as I can. I want us to be friends, you know.”

      In fact, until this moment, she hadn’t realized how much she missed having someone with whom she could share little things. Oh sure, Alex lived just down the hall—but Jack was there now, too, and they were building a home on Versailles Road, where the rich of Lexington migrated to live among endangered horse farms. She sensed an uncommon connection with Greg and hoped he would feel comfortable with her, too.

      He shook his head. “But the money—”

      “Hey, I’m fairly flexible. My rent is due on the first of the month, so as long as you pay me the day before, we’re square.”

      He pursed his mouth. “Exactly how much money are we talking about?”

      Ah—he was broke. A man who lived above his means, by the looks of his suit, and who probably hated the thought of having to share an apartment. Well, at least the man had good taste in clothing, even if he erred a bit on the Republican side. She smiled. “Four hundred a month.”

      He studied her, as if sizing up what kind of a roommate she’d make. “In return for?”

      She gestured ahead of them to an ivy-covered brick structure. “There’s my building up ahead. Why don’t I just show you?”

      More studying—Greg Healey was a studier. Suddenly, she very much wanted the chance to get to know him better. Say yes, she urged him silently.

      His chest rose as he inhaled deeply, then he lifted his hands in a gesture of submission. “Okay, let’s go.”