I raise my bottle of water and wink at the burly barman. “Why don’t you have a go, Terry? You can take him home to that love bed you keep telling me about.”

Terry sighs dramatically. “Those muscles would be perfect laid out across my Jamie Drake silks. But our blond Adonis only has eyes for you tonight. He obviously likes his men tall and broody.”

“Yeah, well, he’s gonna have to be disappointed. I’m not a beard man, see. Bit too rough for my sensitive skin. And what the fuck are Jamie Drake silks?”

Terry arches a brow, stroking his dark beard with thick fingers. “My dear Michael, I’m more than happy to introduce you to silk and the pleasures of man fur. You only have to say the word.”

I laugh and shake my head. “Keep hoping, big bear. You never know, I might mistake you for a hot chick one day and follow you home by accident.”

Terry sighs again. “I wait in earnest, oh broody one.”

He pushes off the bar and saunters over to the other side, affecting an exaggerated swish of his jeans-clad hips.

I chuckle. Terry isn’t the first person to try and coax me over to the other team. I may be dark-haired, six foot, and muscular, but I’ve got a fresh-faced, pretty-boy look going on. I can’t help it; I haven’t aged a day since my eighteenth birthday. I can’t even grow a beard. People seem to stereotype me, assume I’m into men. I’ve never been there, prefer the ladies. The assumption doesn’t bother me, though.

And playing the field—any field—is fairly recent. I was a happily settled man for a while there. Lived with the love of my life, Louisa Mayfair—a chocolate-eyed brunette with the body of a goddess and the attitude to match.

Until six months ago, when said Goddess packed her bags and left me for another man. The only explanation for the sudden change was a note that said she hoped I would one day decide what I wanted. Whatever the hell that meant.

Funny how life can kiss you one day and punch you in the balls the next.

But three months ago, at the same time all the weirdness with the shadow began, I started feeling a pulsing pressure at the base of my spine and a tingling energy that circulates through my limbs like a fire. My body heats till I’m sweating a river, and I crave sex with the ferocity of a sixteen-year-old on Viagra. I have a permanent semi most days. If I don’t get the release I need, I’m hot and edgy, the pressure builds, and the burn in my spine becomes unbearable.

I’ve picked up a woman two or three times a week in this bar. Terry calls me a man whore. I fear he’s not wrong. But my trusty right hand isn’t enough to relieve the tension.

My jeans pocket vibrates, my phone buzzing me a message. I tense, fingers hovering over my pocket. I’ve been having trouble with electronics too. The new tingling energy causes devices to spark and short when I handle them. It’s stressing me out. This is my third phone in a month.