The more Davis thought about it, the angrier he got. He knew that Lance could tell—during their movie night he kept glancing over at Davis the way people in action films looked at a ticking bomb.

What the fuck was Paul’s problem? He wasn’t satisfied with the people he could pick up easily in bars? He had to go and break Davis down too? Was this all some kind of game to him, some twisted version of, oh I’m bored I’m not being challenged enough, I’ll take my time wearing this guy down and fuck with him instead?

He was probably laughing at Davis right now. All those things he’d said to make Davis get comfortable with him, to think he genuinely cared, to get Davis to let his guard down—it had all been a show.

Unless Davis had somehow managed to do something wrong at some point in the evening and the more Davis thought about, the more clueless he was about how he could’ve slipped up. It wasn’t like they’d slept together, and Davis had started planning their wedding or anything, Jesus Christ.

No, Paul had to have been lying about all those things he’d said. He’d played Davis for a sap, and like the idiot he was, Davis had believed him.

Maybe Paul was right about one thing—maybe romantic love wasn’t out there, at least, not for him. Maybe all that people were ever going to see was Davis the gullible fool.

This whole time, Paul had probably been rolling his eyes at all the men going out with Davis because he’d thought they were idiots for playing Davis wrong. He must have been thinking ‘just watch and learn, boys, I’ll show you how to catch these stubborn romantic types’.

God, Davis wanted to punch his grinning, lying face.

The store on Monday wasn’t much better. He was distracted all day, thinking about Paul and going over Saturday night, turning it over and over in his head until it was like a shard of glass with rough edges made smooth by the constant wearing down. But while the memory had become more solid, less unsure, less jagged, his anger had only become sharper.

By the time evening rolled around, Davis was ready to smash something.

He texted Adam to ask what the schedule was for Joe’s. He might be angry, but he wasn’t Travis or Preston. He didn’t really feel like causing a scene or a bar fight. No, if he was going to confront Paul about this, it would be just the two of them.

If Paul thought that he was just going to get away with this, he could think again.

Adam let Davis know that yes, Paul was closing that night, since Monday wasn’t busy and he’d done such a good job of it on Saturday.

Perfect.

Davis waited until it was just about last call, and then went to the bar. Bill and Nancy were getting into their cars as Davis pulled up. If even those two were turning in for the night, then the place had to be deserted.

Sure enough, when he walked in, there was only Paul behind the bar, stocking up.

He had to have heard Davis come in, but he didn’t turn around, which made Davis wonder if Paul could tell that it was him. Was it something about the way that he walked? Did Paul think that he knew Davis that well, that he could just… tell, like that?

Well, if he thought Davis was just going to lie down and take this, be like all the other men who Paul had slept with and then abandoned over the years… hell no.

“Hey, stranger,” Davis said, leaning his elbows onto the bar. “Real nice of you to make coffee on your way out. Oddly considerate.”

Paul turned around. He looked… not the way Davis had expected. Not angry or smirking or annoyed. He looked tired. Davis had expected some air of superiority, a mocking tone. Instead, Paul looked like a guy who knew a beating was coming and wanted it over with.

“Would’ve preferred a goodbye kiss, but, you know.” Davis shrugged.

Paul sighed. “You’re angry, I get it. I’m sorry.”

“Wow, gee, that makes everything better.” Davis raised an eyebrow. “You got anything you want to say? Anything you want to explain?”

“What’s there to explain? Was sneaking out in the morning not enough of a message for you?” Paul asked in that oddly tired tone.

“Maybe I just wanted to hear it from you, face to face.”

“Davis, come on. Don’t do this.”

“No, you don’t do this. You made your bed, now you’re going to lie in it. You can’t get pissed when I come in here, it’s my right to demand an explanation from you.”

“Demand an explanation?” Paul rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t aware that an explanation was needed.”

“Did I do something wrong?” Davis demanded. He knew that he hadn’t done anything wrong, and his tone said as much, but he wanted to hear it from Paul. “Because I’d really love to know what it was that I did that set you running.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake. Fine.” Paul threw down the towel he was holding. “Fine, you want to know what your problem is, Davis? You want to know why guys are always running away from you? Why they don’t want to deal with it?

“It’s because you come on way too fucking strong. If you would just relax for two goddamn seconds, and stopped planning the wedding on the first date, you’d manage to get to the third or fourth date. You talk about your plans for your life, how you want a house, you know all of their interests—it’s creepy, they feel like it’s stalking.

“You fucking overwhelm them and that scares them off. You need to just calm down for two minutes and think about the person in front of you in that moment, not whatever fantasy you’ve constructed about who they are since you stalked their profile.” Paul folded his arms. “It’s like you walked out of the fucking Hallmark channel and people can’t fucking take that and, news flash, they shouldn’t have to.”

“As if you’re any better?” Davis growled. Shame, humiliation and anger were all snapping and snarling like starving wolves inside him, and he couldn’t see straight for the rage choking him. “You’re a shallow asshole who sleeps around so that nobody has to actually deal with finding out what a jackass you are. You’re only interested in the next one-night stand and everybody can tell. Everybody. That’s why you didn’t have anyone before you came here, because they all knew what you were and were sick of that bullshit.”

“At least I’m upfront about who I am,” Paul shot back. “You pretend to be all deep but you’re just as shallow as me. You want somebody who’ll fulfill your fantasy, be that perfect man so you can get that house with the dog and the picket fence but you don’t actually care about who the person in front of you is, you only care about what they can be for you—and that’s fucking selfishness if I ever heard of it.”

Selfish? It was like a slap in the face. Davis had never thought of it like that before—but like hell he was going to trust what Paul had to say.

“I’m selfish? Have you met yourself? You stroll up to a bar, pick the first guy who shows interest, and then you leave him. You build him up, make him feel special, then you just dump him and sneak out in the middle of the night. And you’re telling me that I’m the selfish one here? You’re a walking, talking advertisement for all the reasons why men shouldn’t trust charming strangers.”

“At least they enjoy themselves,” Paul shot back. “The men you go out with don’t actually enjoy their dates with you.”

Davis didn’t have to deal with this. He didn’t want to deal with this. He wasn’t going to put up with Paul for a second longer.

“Forget this.” He pushed back from the bar. “It’s not like you’re going to actually be a decent person and apologize for using me—”

“Using you?” Paul choked. “Are you—are you fucking kidding me? You were pretty damn into it as well if I recall.”

Davis couldn’t deal with this anymore. It was time to go. He was tired of dealing with men who disappointed him and didn’t care. He was tired of trying. He was done with giving himself to people who just used him.

He turned and walked out without another word.