Find your next favorite book

Become a member today and read free for 30 days
Lyin' Ryan

Lyin' Ryan

Read preview

Lyin' Ryan

152 pages
2 hours
Mar 6, 2019


When forty-year-old Chicago podiatrist Matthew Pepper is approached in a bar by college student Ryan Meade, he figures hooking up with the handsome twenty-one-year-old might be just what he needs to help him get over his recent breakup.

But the hookup doesn’t go as planned and Matthew writes the evening off as a failed one-night-stand. Ryan, however, views things differently. To him, a failed hookup is nothing more than an opportunity to try again.

Ryan pursues Matthew, not just because he wants to be with the man, but because he wants something ... and he’s determined to get it. Will Matthew find out Ryan isn’t as transparent as he claims to be? Does Lyin’ Ryan live up to his nickname?
Mar 6, 2019

About the author

Kim P. Davis, author and speaker, is the compiling editor ofVoices of the Faithful. For more than 13 years, she and her family served in Africa as missionaries. Kim is a journalism graduate of the University of Georgia. She and her husband have three children and one funny dog.

Related to Lyin' Ryan

Related Books
Related Articles

Book Preview

Lyin' Ryan - Kim Davis


Chapter 1

"You’re wearing that?"

I looked at my boyfriend Donovan, who stood only a few feet away, watching me get dressed. We were going to a Cubs game at Wrigley Field and, according to the weather reports, the temperature was supposed to drop into the forties that night while we were at the stadium, so I’d grabbed a scarf from my closet to wear. The scarf, a gift from a former boyfriend (though I’d never told Donovan this), was camel-colored cashmere and I loved it. Aside from looking great, it also kept me warm and, living in Chicago, warmth was often hard to come by.

What’s wrong with my scarf? I asked. I’ve worn it a thousand times.

Yeah, but not to a Cubs game, Donovan said before scrunching up his face. It looks…gay.

I sighed and rolled my eyes. "Well, then it’s perfect since I am gay and, guess what, so are you!"

Donovan frowned. Come on, Matt. You know what I mean. I’m not looking to get into a fight over this.

Too late for that, I thought, as I looked at the scarf in my hands.

I just want to go to the game and not have any trouble, Donovan said.

I considered just choosing another scarf from my closet, one that would meet his approval, or just picking a heavier jacket to wear to the game to keep me warm and skipping the neck ware altogether, but I didn’t. I’d had enough of Donovan and his rules of civility.

I tossed the scarf onto my bed. I can’t do this anymore.

He looked confused. What are you talking about?

"I can’tI won’t keep jumping through hoops to be with you. We’re done."

He was silent for a few seconds before asking, Are you breaking up with me?


Because I asked you to change your scarf?

"It’s not about the scarf. It’s about you."

Donovan Clark, the man I’d been with for two years and thought I’d be with for the rest of my life, looked at me for a moment before hanging his head and quietly saying, Please, Matt. Don’t do this. I love you.

I love you, too, but I’ve had enough.

And, with those words, our relationship ground to a halt.

* * * *

Don’t ever fall in love with a closet case, a friend told me years ago. Being openly gay myself, I didn’t exactly gravitate toward closeted men, nor did they gravitate toward me, so I figured my friend’s advice would go unheeded…until I met Donovan. Don came to my podiatry office a little over two years ago for a shin splint back in the days when he was still a runner. (Those days were, sadly, over.) When I first saw him, I thought he was handsome, but I immediately classified him as a former frat boy slash jock who liked women, beer, and the Cubs, though not necessarily in that order. While Don had dated women in the past, he’d come out (sort of) in his thirties. (He also wasn’t a former frat boy or a jock, but he was a Cubs fan and he did like beer, so I wasn’t totally off base in my initial assessment of him.) Even though being a podiatrist in Chicago brought many handsome, athletic men my way, I didn’t date my patients. But Don made me break the rules I’d set for myself. During our first appointment, it didn’t take long for him to ask if I was married.

No, I said.



He smiled. Boyfriend?

No, I muttered, sitting back in my chair. Not at the moment.

Then have a drink with me later.

I stared at him, wondering if he was joking. A drink?

Yeah, a drink.

I looked at Donovan and seriously considered his offer for a moment. He was an attractive man, tall (just a bit under six feet) with light brown hair, dark brown eyes, an oval-shaped head, and broad shoulders. He was forty when we met and worked as a producer for a local political show that aired nightly on one of the public television stations. Even though Donovan was handsome and charming, I still turned him down for a drink, but my refusal didn’t stop him from asking me out again when he came to my office for a follow-up appointment.

I’m only asking you to have one drink with me. That’s all. If you’re not feeling it, then I’ll back off.

Are you even gay?

He shrugged. I’m gay enough.

What does that mean?

It means, he said with a smile, I can make you happy if you let me.

That made me laugh. He was good. My buttons were definitely being pushed…and I liked it. We went out for that drink and the rest was history.

The main reason I was hesitant to get involved with Donovan was because he was my patient, but I also hesitated because he just didn’t seem like my type. He seemed too…alpha. I’d always preferred a lower-key kind of man. My previous boyfriend was a quiet physical therapist who was great in bed, although slightly dull outside of it. With Donovan, I had no fear of him being dull and I certainly didn’t think he’d be terrible in bed. I feared he’d be overbearing and try to micromanage me and my life. Thankfully, my fears turned out to be unfounded and I soon discovered he wasn’t the control freak I worried he’d be. When he told me he’d dated women for many years, I wasn’t exactly surprised. Everything about him screamed heterosexual, from the way he looked to the flirty way he often behaved with women.

When Donovan and I started seeing each other regularly, I understood that he wasn’t the kind of gay man you’d see at a pride parade. Because he had been closeted for much of his adult life, he still wasn’t comfortable being totally out. His close friends and family knew he was gay, but some of his coworkers and acquaintances didn’t. Prior to meeting me, he’d never even been in a long-term relationship with another man. Yes, he’d dated a few other men, but never for long. Once a man got too close, he told me he pulled back. But, he assured me, those days of hesitancy were over. He said he was ready for a real relationship with me and I believed him because we were in love. Unfortunately, what Donovan said and what he did were two different things.

* * * *

After sulking over my breakup with Donovan for about a month, I decided it was time to pull myself out of my funk and go out. I didn’t head to a bar in Boystown necessarily looking for a hookup to take my mind off my ex, but figured if it happened, it happened. If it didn’t, it didn’t. I hadn’t been on the prowl for men since I’d started seeing Donovan regularly two years ago. I’d never been the kind of guy who was comfortable picking up men in bars or online. Not that I hadn’t done it, but I didn’t like it, nor was I any good at it. Some men knew how to smooth talk a stranger into bed, but I wasn’t one of them. I lacked the ability to flirt easily. I also found it hard to make small talk with perfect strangers, particularly those I found attractive. I preferred meeting men through work contacts or friends. I liked to have a referral before I invited a man into my bed and into my life. But, after the debacle with Donovan, I decided to deviate from my self-imposed rules and throw caution to the wind.

I was at the bar, nursing my second drink of the night, when I heard someone ask if the seat next to me was taken. Turning, I saw a handsome young man sidle up beside me. The first thing I noticed was his mouth. He had plump red lips that immediately reminded me of Donovan’s. I silently cursed myself for allowing Donovan to cloud my thoughts once again.

No, I told the guy. Have a seat.

Aside from his pretty mouth, he also had a cute face, thick brown hair, and blue eyes. He was of average height, thin, and neatly dressed in a pair of jeans and a black Henley. He looked like any number of college students roaming the streets of Chicago. But, even though he was largely covered up, I could tell his body was hard and tight underneath it all.

He planted himself in the empty chair and extended his hand. I’m Ryan.

Matthew, I said, taking it.

You look like you could use some company.

Do I?

Yes. I’ve been watching you since you came in.

I wasn’t sure how to take that admission. Should I have been flattered that he’d noticed me or concerned that he’d been watching me? He couldn’t have been more than twenty-one (if that). I wondered what he could possibly see in me, a man probably twice his age. Maybe he was on the prowl for a sugar daddy. If he was, he was barking up the wrong tree. I’d only recently paid off my loans from podiatry school and the last thing I wanted or needed was to financially support a struggling kid. I looked at him and wondered if he peddled his ass for cash. He certainly didn’t look like a prostitute but, as I knew all too well, looks can be deceiving.

Before I had the chance to tell Ryan he’d probably be better off pursuing someone else, a dark-haired man—balding and probably in his late forties or early fifties—pressed against him and slid an arm around his waist before whispering something in his ear. Ryan shook his head and tried to move away, but the guy had him practically pinned against the bar. Even though I didn’t know Ryan at all, that didn’t stop me from feeling more than a little possessive of him, and I certainly wasn’t going to stand by and watch some jerk harass him. When the balding douchebag grabbed Ryan’s ass, I jumped out of my seat.

Back off, I said, shoving the guy just enough to get him off of Ryan. He’s with me.

The guy looked me over and sneered. Oh, sorry. I was just offering to buy him a drink.

And you needed to put your hands on him to do that, right?

He muttered something that sounded like asshole as he walked away. I turned to Ryan and asked if he was okay.

Yeah, he said. I’m fine. Thanks for that.

Are you here with anyone? I asked, looking around. I was concerned about his well-being, although I wasn’t sure why. He was a stranger, but I couldn’t help worrying about him being alone at the bar.

Yes, he said with a smile. I’m here with you, remember?

I was just trying to help when I said that. You shouldn’t feel obligated to stick around.

I don’t feel obligated, he said before resting a hand on my thigh. "I’m here because I want to be."

Ryan and I talked and I learned he was an undergrad at Northwestern, studying linguistics, or at least that’s what he told me. I still wasn’t entirely convinced he wasn’t a straight-up hustler, but that didn’t stop me from giving him my number when he asked for it.

When he inquired what I did for a living and I told him I was a podiatrist, he laughed. Does that mean you have a foot fetish?

No, it doesn’t. And even if I did, do you honestly think I’d tell you about it?

He shrugged. "Sure. It’s

You've reached the end of this preview. Sign up to read more!
Page 1 of 1


What people think about Lyin' Ryan

0 ratings / 0 Reviews
What did you think?
Rating: 0 out of 5 stars

Reader reviews