June 9
Bearish. Rough. Adorable. A bad boy, inside and out.
Burke summed up his date sitting beside him at the queer bar Mensville. The brute went by the name of Thomas “Tank” Martino. Italian. Six-three. All muscle. Hairy. Tank decided to wear a pair of tight shorts, which showed off his tube of d**k, and a skimpy, white tank that read Top Man. His dark eyes shined in the bar’s colorful lights.
“You’re thirty-six, right?” Burke asked, sipping a whiskey and Coke.
“Birthday’s next week. I’ll be thirty-seven.”
“Happy birthday in advance.”
Tank flexed a bicep and smiled at the same time. “Never thought I’d be attracted to a dude. Even some hunk like you.”
“Life is short. Play hard, I guess. We never know what’s going to come our way.”
Tank found his beer on the bar, drank half of it,
