The one of his ass. “Yeah, I know the one.”
“I heard they paid that kid two hundred and fifty bucks for the photo—and he took that on an iPhone. It seemed like getting some better shots and selling them to bigger publications could be good money.” He shrugged. “It’s not illegal.”
“We’ve established that.” As much as he hated rewarding this slimeball’s behavior, he didn’t have a lot of time—and this guy already had contacts at Gossip Miner. Ryan gestured with the card. “I’m going to read your work. If I like what I see, I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“I’m just trying to make a living, man.”
“Yeah, me too.” Ryan turned and walked back to Trey’s truck. When he got in, Trey and Kim both stared at him, eyes wide.
“What was that all about?” Kim asked.
“We might have a ‘journalist’—” he made scare quotes around the word “—to help us save the theater.”
“The guy who’s been stalking you? Ryan—”
Ryan held up his hands. “I know, it sounds crazy—but he’s here now. He doesn’t have to charter a flight. He already has connections with the gossip sites. He can provide exactly the sort of sleazy gossip-driven clickbait we need. It’s perfect.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Trey put the truck back in gear. “I hope this plan of yours works.”
“Me too.”
Geoff Walsh, it turned out, could write. He’d been covering local sports—mostly high school, but some college games too—for the past five years. A lot of his pieces were the kind of hokey human interest stories the athletes’ mothers would keep in a scrapbook, but his writing was clean, careful, and emotive without being over the top. It was humanizing.
After clearing it with Ali and West, Ryan scheduled the interview.
Walsh was obviously nervous when he arrived at the beach house. He held up his camera. “I’ve gotten some interest already, but they want photos. Is that okay?”
“How nice of you to ask,” Ali murmured drily.
West sat down next to her and took her hand, while Ryan sat on her other side and wished like hell Trey were there to hold his hand, because his nerves felt like opening night without the anticipation. What if this plan didn’t work? What if, for all his “he works for me” bravado, he got blowback from his agent, and it didn’t even help the theater? What if—
“Breathe, goober.” Ali poked him in the ribs. “It’s going to be okay.”
Walsh held up his digital recorder.
“Shall we get started?”
Trey watched from the couch as a shirtless Ryan paced around the living room with his phone, nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Every time Ryan paced close to Ferdy’s mattress, the big dog would cock his head to the side. Finally, Ryan flopped down next to Ferdy, buried his face on the dog’s shoulder, and let out a muffled groan.
“Waiting is killing me.”
Ferdy snuffled his head, then licked his hair. Trey stifled a laugh as Ryan sat back up with a shout.
“That’s what you get for going to a mastiff for comfort instead of your boyfriend who happens to be sitting right freaking here.”
Ryan looked at the dog, then back at Trey. “I’m sorry, did I hurt your feelings?”
“My feelings are fine. If you’re up for it, I know how to take your mind off the wait.” Trey palmed himself through his jeans. “Come here.”
Those fey hazel eyes of Ryan’s widened, and his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed. “There?”
Trey nodded, and Ryan stood up and crossed the room. Even though it was warm in the house, goose bumps were scattered across Ryan’s naked chest. As soon as he was in arm’s reach, Trey gripped him around the waist and pulled him close so he could trace them with his tongue.
“Oh my god,” Ryan murmured, his head falling back.
Would Trey ever get enough of how Ryan felt under his hands? He ran them up over Ryan’s nipples, trying to memorize the gasps and the shivers of Ryan’s response. Touching Ryan might as well be catching lightning in a mason jar—no matter how electric it was, it couldn’t last forever. Every laughter-filled kiss was one kiss closer to the end of summer, and Ryan’s return to LA. Trey shuddered, and his hands tightened on Ryan’s hips. To hide the sudden melancholy sweeping through him, he leaned down and tugged the button of Ryan’s shorts open with his teeth.
Ryan’s hand came to rest on Trey’s head as he eased the zipper open and tugged Ryan’s briefs and shorts down to expose his cock. Trey took his time worshipping Ryan’s dick, rubbing his lips along the length and tugging gently on the sack. As much as he wanted to take Ryan deep and hear him groan, he held off. He licked lightly at the head, then drew back and blew on the tender skin.
“Oh— Fuck that’s— You’re a goddamn tease.” Ryan groaned.
“Mmm.” Trey hummed and gave Ryan’s balls another tug. “What do you want, Ryan? You want me to fuck you?”
“I want your mouth on my dick.”
Trey smiled up at him wickedly, then gave him another slow swipe of his tongue. “Seems like you’ve already got that.”
Ryan jerked at his hair. “Please?”
And Trey couldn’t resist that request. He took as much of Ryan into his mouth as he could, pulling back only when his eyes watered and he gagged. Ryan’s hips moved forward, as if chasing Trey’s mouth.
“I can’t—” Ryan grasped Trey’s hair with both hands, like he was trying to gain control of his own body through holding on to Trey. But that wasn’t what Trey wanted. He wanted Ryan out of control like the summer storm he was. He pulled off Ryan’s dick and looked him right in the eyes.
“Don’t hold back.”
Before Ryan could say anything more, Trey took him deep again. Was he trying to prove something to Ryan? To himself? Did it matter when Ryan was groaning like that, and burying his hands in Trey’s hair? Trey let go of Ryan’s hips and let Ryan take over the pace, let him push deeper and drive in harder.
Letting someone else take control like this, use him like this—this was a measure of trust he hadn’t given anyone in a long time, and it was decadent and thrilling and terrifying all at once.
He gagged again, and tears sprang into his eyes, but then Ryan bit out a whispered, “I’m gonna—”
Trey grabbed Ryan’s hips and swallowed around him, letting him know this wasn’t just okay, this was what he wanted—
“Oh, I love—love—ahh—” Ryan babbled and came, and Trey did his best to swallow it all.
Ryan collapsed down next to him on the couch, kissing his shoulder, then his chest, then straddling his lap and kissing him hard, like he didn’t care that he’d just fucked Trey’s face and come in his mouth.
Like he didn’t realize he’d almost said, I love you.
Trey kissed him back, clumsy and shaking. Somehow the blowjob intended to distract Ryan had turned Trey inside out instead.
Then Ryan was on his knees, pulling at Trey’s cutoff sweatpants and holy shit his hands felt good, and his mouth, desperate, eager, and hot—
“Fuck!” Trey’s already-on-edge body rushed past the clouds-rolling-in stage and right onto storm surge. “Ry, I’m gonna come.”
Ryan’s eyes met his, and he somehow managed to flash a grin—or the idea of one—around Trey’s cock, and that was all it took for the overwhelming pleasure to course through his body. Ryan’s hands and mouth gentled, and he rose up over Trey to kiss him again, long and sweet. When he moved away, he stared Trey in the eye and smiled.
“I love you. I’m sorry to be that cliché of a guy who says it in bed. But I wanted you to know.”
Trey’s heart pounded in his chest as he stared back at Ryan. Finally he said, “Technically, we’re on the sofa.”
Ryan grinned and reached for his clothes, but then dropped them and kissed Trey again until they were both stretched out, skin to skin, the heat rising between them.
Ryan’s phone beeped, and they broke apart, breathing har
d. Ryan gave Trey an apologetic shrug, then fished it out of his shorts and glanced at the screen.
His eyes met Trey’s.
“It’s live.”
Trey shook a heavy set piece with all his strength, testing to expose any last-minute vulnerabilities. While he trusted the stagehands to move and reattach the set pieces properly, this was his first time designing a set on wheels—and he’d be damned if he was going to let the show go on without regular examination of the hardware.
“It’s fine.” Caro rolled her eyes. “I’ve got the hands looking over all the joins every time they move the pieces. We’ll know if there’s trouble before it’s a thing.”
“It’s dark on stage. Humor me and let me inspect it myself.”
“All right.” She shrugged. “We trust you, though.”
“Caroline Evelyn Hertzog!” Mason’s voice boomed through the theater. Trey’s eyes met Caro’s.
“Did he just middle-name you?”
“As bad as my mother.” She grimaced, then shouted back: “What’d I do?”
Mason stormed out of the wings onto the stage. “Your cousin.”
“Ryan?” Trey glanced at Caro. “What’d he do?”
“He gave a fucking interview to Gossip Miner is what he did.” Mason thrust his phone into Caro’s hands. “And our box office phone hasn’t stopped ringing for the last hour—I’ve been covering the overflow of calls for Tabitha.”
Letting out a whoop, Trey picked up Caro and swung her around. “It fucking worked, didn’t it?”
“You knew about this?” Mason growled.
“Dude, you’re big and scary, but have you met my dog?” Trey patted Mason’s arm. “Yeah, I was with him and Ali and West when they came up with the idea.”
“Holy shit, he came out.” Caro was scanning the website, wide-eyed. “Aww, Trey.”
“Okay, skip that part.” Trey grinned. “You guys don’t have to worry about his reputation. He makes his own choices, and he’s doing Hollywood on his own terms.”
The box office door sprang open and Tabitha, the head of ticket sales, emerged with a shocked expression on her face.
“We sold out. Opening weekend is sold out. Both nights, both matinees.”
“I gotta call Ryan,” Caro practically squealed.
“What does this mean?” Trey grabbed Mason’s arm. “Is it—is it enough?”
Mason put his hand over Trey’s, gently detangling them. “I don’t know. Goddamn. I don’t know. But that man of yours is something, isn’t he?”
Trey grinned. “Yeah he is.”
Ryan arrived at the theater two hours before call for opening night, and cornered Caro and Mason in the office.
“If it’s not too late—I spoke to my lawyer and my accountant, and I want to create an endowment for the theater so you guys don’t find yourself counting pennies at the start of every season. It won’t solve all your financial problems, but it will help. Can we do this?”
Caro glanced at Mason, and the two of them seemed to share some silent communication. Finally, she sighed and turned back to Ryan.
“It feels wrong taking your money. But yes, we can.”
“Why does it feel wrong? You have at least two other endowments that I know of. And I’m not even asking for advertising in exchange. I only want to help.”
“I’m sorry, Ryan. I still think of you as my little cousin who I have to take care of. With the shoe on the other foot—I guess it’s hard for me to accept.”
Mason looked down at the desk, then at Caro, then back to Ryan. “After your interview went up on that gossip site, we sold out this weekend’s performances—and ticket sales are up for the whole season.”
“I thought that might happen.” Ryan smiled. “I still don’t understand your reluctance. Isn’t that why you hired me? ’Cause I’m famous and working for free?”
“We hired you because you’re a talented actor who shows up on time to work and was willing to work for free,” Caro answered. “We didn’t exploit your name—shut up, Mason—we didn’t exploit your name because you needed time away from all the Hollywood bullshit. How would it have helped you to have the Hollywood bullshit follow you home?”
“How would it have helped me to have home no longer be here because you two were too stubborn to let me help?”
They didn’t have an answer for that.
“I love you guys for letting me come home and figure my shit out. And, Mason, I love you for letting me be a cast member in this amazing, talented company. You’re the best Shakespearean actor I know, and this theater is a treasure.”
Mason smiled. “Thank you, Ryan. I’m glad to have you in my company. For all my reservations at the beginning, I’m proud of you—not just on stage.” Mason shifted from one foot to the other, obviously uncomfortable.
Blushing, Ryan ducked his head. All he’d ever wanted was this kind of praise from Mason, and now he found himself tongue-tied. “I’m just doing my job.”
“And you’re doing it well.” Caro squeezed him around the waist. “Thank you for being here this summer.”
“You’re welcome. Now, I’m going to go for a walk to clear my head, and I’ll see you guys soon.”
He made his way down to the ghost-lit stage and climbed the steps to the little balcony he and Trey had painted. Stretching out on his back and studying the ceiling, he let the turmoil of his thoughts rumble around each other. The man he loved would be in the audience tonight, watching him perform to a sold-out crowd. Against all odds, he’d managed to help save the theater and maybe his reputation too. So why did it feel like everything was ending instead of beginning?
A noise from below caught his attention, and he sat up. Annsley was walking in a circle around the stage.
“Hey,” he called out, and she looked up and waved.
“Hi. What’re you doing up there?”
He shrugged. “Opening night melancholy. You?”
“Something like that.” She crossed the stage and climbed the steps to sit with him. “So, um. We all read the interview. It was really good.”
“Yeah? It seems to have done the trick. We’re sold out for the weekend.”
“Yeah. Let’s see, what was my favorite part?” She pantomimed concentrating then, “Oh! I think it was ‘Hart describes his bisexuality in frank, no-nonsense terms, but when asked about his current relationship status, he blushes like a teenaged virgin and admits there is someone very special.’”
“Oh god.” Ryan buried his reddening face in his palms. “It sounds so cheesy when you say it like that.” The article had gone on to profile Trey in breathless—but shallow—speculation.
“It’s sweet. Trey’s a lucky guy.” She leaned against him, pressing their arms together. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me this summer.”
He slung an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “It’s an honor to share the stage with you. You’re going to be an incredible Beatrice.”
“Thank you. You’ve been an incredible mentor.”
Remembering the dressing down he’d taken from her earlier over their scandal earlier that summer, he smiled. “So have you, Ann.”
She sniffled, laughed, and punched his arm. “I’m about to cry, so I’d better head back to the house to get some carbs in me before the show. The rest of the cast is there too—want to come?”
“Nah. I’m just going to sit here for a while. Calm before the storm, you know?” He shrugged. He’d grown to enjoy his castmates’ company, but on opening night, he prized his solitude.
“Okay. See you in a couple hours.” Annsley gave him a last hug good-bye, then hurried off, wiping her eyes.
Opening nights were emotional for everyone, but for Ryan, this night was the culmination not only of weeks of rehearsals, but also his efforts to figure out who he was beyond “the party guy.”
He was Mark Antony, and Don Pedro, and Bryan Hart.
And he was Ryan Hertzog—a bisexual actor from North Carolina who had finally found comfort
in his own skin.
I only hope my career survives.
The energy in the dressing room backstage was intense—nervous and animated as everyone tugged on their tunics, togas, and sandals. Julius Caesar was a tragedy, and the actors’ faces were grim with concentration and tight with focus as they ran through their favorite vocal warm-ups.
“How’s it going, David?” Ryan took an empty seat at the vanity beside the Brutus to his Antony, and met his eyes in the mirror.
David was still green from his bout with food poisoning over two weeks before—he’d only barely made it out of the hospital in time for dress last week. The bright dressing room lights emphasized his pallor.
“Fucking salmonella,” he moaned. “I have the worst UTI.”
Oh, ouch. “Are you going to be okay?”
David shuddered. “The show must go on, right?”
Ryan gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Yeah, buddy. Can I get you anything?”
“Can you pop into the girls’ dressing room and ask Ann to come over with my pills? I forgot to take them out of her purse when we got here.”
“Sure.”
Though the theater had been built with two dressing rooms out of some sense of propriety, theater folk were known for their lack of giving a shit about propriety. Men and women walked in and out of both dressing rooms with no one batting an eyelash. Ryan found Annsley applying makeup at the vanity.
“Hey, gorgeous.” He sat next to her.
“Hey, Ry. Or are we calling you Bryan now that your secret is out? I can’t keep track.”
“Whatever you want. So, David is . . . not good.”
She put down her eyeliner and pointed to the cubby holding her street clothes. “I don’t know which pill he needs for whatever particular not-good he’s feeling but there’s a whole arsenal of them in my bag. Just take the whole thing to him, and make him drink a bottle of water.”
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