by Beth Bolden
Eric sighed. “Alright. I’ll email you after I do.”
He left without much of a goodbye, but that was fine by Ryan because he knew they were both on the edge, and the one thing he’d always sort of liked—at least respected—about Eric was that he knew when to quit.
Ryan flopped down on the couch in his media room and picked up the remote, even though he really didn’t want to watch TV. Whenever he was this keyed up, all temper and fizzy emotions shook up with nowhere to go, he usually opened Grindr and found a hookup. Worked off his extra energy the good, old-fashioned way.
But he couldn’t do that now. He was going to be in a relationship shortly—even if it was a fake one—and the only rule that Eric had laid down, with no exceptions, was that Ryan’s hooking up days were over.
“Too many stories, too many rumors,” was what Eric had said bluntly. “The GM doesn’t like it. And if the GM doesn’t like it, he doesn’t like you, and then he has the ammunition not to re-sign you. And that’s the last thing we want to cultivate in a contract year.”
It was why they had landed on the idea of a fake relationship in the first place. The GM wanted to see Ryan steady and dedicated, on and off the field, because in his small, homophobic mind, being gay meant being a flighty party boy. And then Ryan had been dumb enough to give him the evidence to believe he was right.
The boyfriend was supposed to prove the opposite. But it also meant that Ryan had to walk the walk. Ryan didn’t want to, but he wanted to stay in LA and play baseball more.
He couldn’t help but wish Wyatt had gotten here today, instead of in a few days. Wyatt would have known what to do with all his excess energy.
Ryan flipped his phone over, the generic action movie on the TV all but forgotten. The little app icon for Grindr tempted him for half a second, but Eric had done a good job convincing him the temptation wouldn’t be worth the risk. So he clicked on another icon instead.
Sorry that Aquino kicked you out, he typed out right under Wyatt’s single “Hi” that he’d sent so that Ryan would have his number.
Ryan couldn’t help but wonder, as he stared at the text screen, if Wyatt hadn’t been annoyed at being deceived, that he might have sent something different. Something playful. Something flirtatious. Maybe even something sexy.
A ding from his phone made Ryan jump.
It wasn’t exactly a surprise, Wyatt texted back. Aquino has a temper. And he hates it when people leave.
After the interview, Ryan had actually done a little research on Bastian Aquino, Wyatt’s old boss. And after reading a handful of articles, he’d been surprised that anyone could tolerate such a dickwad for any amount of time, no matter how good the job was.
Don’t worry. No plate smashing here. Unless you convince me to throw a Greek-themed party! ;) Ryan texted.
He half-expected Wyatt to brush him off because he was still pissed off that Ryan had kept the interview a secret. Ryan still didn’t know why he hadn’t told the truth. He’d meant to when he’d followed Wyatt outside, and then Wyatt had looked at him, awestruck that Ryan had followed him, and Ryan hadn’t been able to confess that he’d sought him out because he looked exactly like the guy he was supposed to interview the next morning.
But, Like it a little wild, huh was the very unexpected text that Ryan got back as a response.
Wyatt had only a tiny inkling of how wild Ryan could get, but he had every intention of enlightening him.
I went off with you on your bike, didn’t I? Ryan reminded him.
You did. The response came through almost instantly, like before Wyatt had put his phone away between texts, but now had kept it out, intent on talking to Ryan. And then he sent another text before Ryan could even come up with something else to say. I really enjoyed having you behind me.
Ryan stared at the screen. Usually it was a no-brainer that guys flirted with him. It was always overt and typically very blatant. He definitely wasn’t used to trying to read between the lines. The last thing he wanted to do was guess wrong with Wyatt and scare him off.
After he typed and discarded half a dozen responses, Ryan settled on something equally as ambiguous. I’ll be happy to get behind you anytime you want.
Wyatt clearly wasn’t agonizing over Ryan’s meaning the same way, because the next text came through too fast. I got that impression. :)
What the hell, Ryan thought. He’d done this so many times, it should have felt old and used up, but with Wyatt it was exciting again, got his blood pumping and the adrenaline fizzy in his veins like he was fourteen and it was the first time all over again. No, you got the impression I’d get on my knees anytime I want.
What about whenever I want? Wyatt shot back.
Ryan glanced down and wasn’t surprised to see he was half-hard in his jeans. I was pretty damn clear, he texted.
And then . . . nothing. An excruciatingly long ten minutes went by without a single text. Ryan checked, then double-checked his coverage. Restarted his phone. Even wandered into the front of the house because the Wi-Fi was always stronger there.
Still nothing.
Ryan couldn’t believe it, they’d had a really good, nearly sexy banter going, and the unfortunately short memories of their one encounter were already flashing through his mind in three-dimensions and full-technicolor. The sharp dig of the gravel into his knees. The clean, musky taste of Wyatt’s dick, and the weight of it on his tongue. Ryan pressed the heel of his hand against his own interested dick. It didn’t want to wait and entice Wyatt into repeating the past. It wanted more. It wanted everything, and it wasn’t usually inclined to settle, even though Ryan was pretty sure he wouldn’t need to.
Just not tonight.
Tonight, Wyatt was clearly going to leave him hanging and unsatisfied, which Ryan was man enough to admit he probably deserved. Not that he’d left Wyatt hanging the other night—he’d definitely been fully, if not completely, satisfied then.
But not entirely, Ryan thought, as he remembered the way Wyatt’s face had fallen when he realized that Ryan had no intention of exchanging phone numbers with him.
No, Wyatt had definitely wanted more. He’d wanted more the next morning too, but Ryan had fucked that up by not being honest enough.
Not a mistake that Ryan or his dick were going to make again. As soon as Wyatt got here and settled in a little, he was going to find out what Ryan needed—and also what Ryan wanted—from him.
He never took a chance of being the last one interested, much preferring to cut and run and move onto something better, something more exciting, when a hookup ran its natural course. But tonight, he texted Wyatt again.
Ryan told himself it was the veneer of professionalism that he was trying to maintain because he was technically Wyatt’s boss now. Not that he’d exactly been professional the first time they’d met.
I’ll be around during the day tomorrow and probably the evening too. Hope to see you.
Ryan realized as he finished typing that it wasn’t only his dick that felt that way. He wanted to get to know Wyatt; he wanted to talk to him again. He wanted to convince him to take a chance on Ryan’s wild plan most of all, because that meant he wouldn’t have to do it with a stranger he didn’t even like.
He wanted it to be Wyatt. He just needed Wyatt to want it too.
* * *
Wyatt looked at his phone and slipped it back in his pocket. Two texts unanswered now.
“You realize we threw this party for you, right?” Xander said, his voice cutting right through the grind of the guitars in the music that someone—not someone with taste, but someone—had put on the playlist.
Wyatt looked up at the crowded rental he was moving out of in the morning, and realized he couldn’t identify more than a handful of guys he’d worked with in the Terroir kitchen.
“I don’t even know half these people,” Wyatt half-yelled. He knew he didn’t have a voice like Xander’s, that could cut through so much ambient noise, and he was usually glad about that fact.
&
nbsp; Xander scanned over the crowd with a critical eye. “I think a lot of these are Nate’s friends.”
They weren’t Nate’s friends. If they’d been Nate’s friends, Wyatt would have known them. He considered pointing this out, but Xander was in a mood—frankly had been in a mood since Miles had moved to LA—and so he didn’t. Certainly Wyatt leaving and having Nate take over his part of the lease weren’t helping.
If Xander wanted to throw a stupid house party, buy too much booze, and invite too many people none of them knew, then Wyatt certainly wasn’t going to tell him he wasn’t going to regret it in the morning.
“I haven’t seen Kian yet,” Wyatt said, because changing the subject was a far safer approach.
Xander’s lips compressed. “I’m sure the Bastard had some sort of ridiculous project for him that kept him late again.”
“While I’m in LA, I’m going to look for a different job for him,” Wyatt said, even though he’d already told Xander what his plans were. Still, they both knew it was going to be in vain. There was no way Kian would leave Aquino.
Wyatt didn’t want to say it was love because he’d always believed that love needed generosity and respect and admiration to grow and flourish, but maybe he was wrong.
Not about Bastian suddenly becoming generous, respectful or admiring, but about any of those being required for Kian to fall in love with him.
It was a depressing thought, and Wyatt forced his mind back to the party, because even though he was saying goodbye, this was supposed to be a somewhat happy occasion. A celebration of the potential of the future.
The truth was all Wyatt wanted to do was pull his phone back up, despite Xander’s face-melting glare, and text with Ryan. He was clever and cute and just a little aggressive. Aggressive wasn’t something Wyatt thought he’d want after Nate, but on Ryan it felt more natural, more an extension of a well-meaning personality than a way to go about domineering everyone and everything.
And Nate had absolutely, definitely done that.
Of course Nate also hadn’t lied about his intentions either, which was something Wyatt was still confused and a little upset about. Why not tell him? Why keep it a secret?
That mystery was all caught up in his own conflicted feelings towards Ryan. He still felt everything he had the first night they’d met. He’d never stopped. He was pretty sure that stopping was totally out of the cards now that he was going to be working for Ryan and literally living in his backyard. Cooking his meals. Taking care of him. All actions that Wyatt knew would develop his feelings even if he tried to hold them back.
But Ryan seemed interested too, despite the mysterious intentions, and that was something Wyatt was increasingly having to come to terms with. Would he let him? Would Ryan be the guy? Wyatt had always known, in the corners of his mind, that there would be a guy that would make him want to come out to Nana. That there would be a guy that he’d be dying to introduce to her, and not just as a “good friend.”
It seemed insane that Ryan could be the guy. It also seemed insane that Ryan was interested, but that was an undeniable fact. Wyatt felt the sharp edges of his phone through his pocket, and finally pulled it back out.
Xander had decamped to the doorway, where he was interrogating Kian. Wyatt glanced down at his screen and before he could change his mind—or chicken out—typed a response to Ryan.
I’m leaving my friends and my job and the city I’ve lived in for years. The only definite thing I know about the future is that I’m going to see you tomorrow.
Chapter Four
“Hi.” Wyatt shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other and tried not to feel like he’d fucked up already by knocking on the front door instead of doing something silly like going to the back of the house.
But mostly he tried the hardest not to stare, because he had definitely not anticipated Ryan opening the door only wearing a pair of low-slung athletic shorts and a thin sheen of sweat on his bare, muscled torso.
“Hi back,” Ryan said, smiling so brightly it dismissed all of Wyatt’s concerns. “Is that all you came with?” he asked, glancing at the duffel bag at Wyatt’s feet.
“I have a few more boxes that are shipping down here next week,” Wyatt admitted. “Other than that, yeah. I like to travel light.”
“Live light too,” Ryan said, and there was definitely an approving light in his dark eyes. “So do I. Come see the house.”
Wyatt wasn’t sure if he and Ryan had different definitions of “living light,” because Ryan definitely had more than a duffel bag and a handful of boxes to his name. The house wasn’t as big as it looked from the street and the gate that protected the driveway from the main road. But everything was clean and simple—lots of modern lines tempered by a worn-in homey quality that Wyatt appreciated.
“Living room,” Ryan said, as Wyatt trailed behind him, trying really hard not to admire the firm roundness of his ass in those clingy shorts. “Dining room, you probably sort of care about that,” he said absently. “And here’s the one room you definitely care about.” Ryan made some cute flourish with his hands and they stepped into the kitchen.
It wasn’t a huge space but it had been well-designed, with a big island for prep, and good, professional-grade appliances. But if he was being honest, if there was one thing that could distract him from high quality appliances, it was a cute boy leaning against them. “Is there a pantry?” Wyatt asked, when he realized he’d been staring—and not even at the kitchen.
He felt the exact same magnetic pull to Ryan that he had that night. He hadn’t really expected it to diminish but he also hadn’t expected it to be blazing stronger than ever. Especially when they still hadn’t addressed any of the growing baggage between them. Attraction didn’t magically make any of that shit disappear, but it sure made it easier to ignore.
“Oh, yeah, of course,” Ryan said. He walked past Wyatt, and Wyatt got one whiff of him. No cologne, but something earthy, like sunshine and dirt and grass. Wyatt wanted to know what his sweat tasted like on his tongue, what it felt like against his palms. But he kept his hands and his tongue to himself. Whatever was going to happen with them, there was no point in rushing in before they’d even talked about it.
There was a big pantry, with lots of empty shelves that Wyatt would enjoy filling. “This looks really great, actually.”
Ryan shot him a lopsided, very charming smile. He probably even knew how charming it was, and it still didn’t diminish the sheer wattage of it. “Are you just saying that? You can be honest with me, you know. Like I said last night, I promise no thrown dishes or hissy fits when my meat isn’t precisely the right temperature.”
Wyatt leaned back against the counter and shoved his hands in his pockets. Better to keep them where they needed to be, and not against Ryan’s damp skin. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”
Ryan flushed, and looked ashamed. That had been Wyatt’s original intention—to remind him that out of the two of them, Ryan had been the only one who’d lied. Despite that, Wyatt couldn’t help but feel embarrassed that he’d brought it up first.
“I’m sorry, I should have told you,” Ryan said. “About the interview, that is. I kept meaning to that night, and then I thought if I did, you’d really just take me home. Would you have?”
Wyatt was pretty sure Ryan already knew the answer to that question. So he deliberately skirted around it. “I don’t want to be a joke or a toy to play with. Especially now that you’re my boss.”
“It’s not like that, I promise.” Ryan sounded and looked very earnest. Trustworthy, even. But Wyatt still wasn’t sure that wasn’t his attraction to him annoyingly surfacing and interfering again.
“Look,” Ryan continued, “it’ll stay separate. The professional stuff, the you’re my boss stuff, and the personal stuff. And for the record, I don’t really consider myself your boss.”
“You pay my salary?” Wyatt pointed out, a little incredulously.
“Well,” Ryan smiled, “technically that’s Eric. And y
eah, he’s my agent, but it gives some separation, right?”
Wyatt wasn’t sure he entirely agreed, but the attraction was still flaring up, brightly and almost painfully. He’d come here, hadn’t he? He’d given up his job at Terroir, and packed his bags, and drove here, intending to work for Ryan Flores. And, if he was being really honest with himself, a good part of that was because he’d wanted more. More money and more time with Ryan. Was it so wrong that he might get both in the same position?
“Okay,” Wyatt said, hoping that he wouldn’t regret his agreement later. Hoping that even if he did regret it, that there would be some spectacular memories to make it worth it in the end.
“I guess that means I should show you the ADU,” Ryan said.
“ADU?” Wyatt asked as he followed Ryan out of the kitchen, through the back door, and out to the lawn. There was a cute little cottage set a ways back from the main house, surrounded by flowering bushes and a palm tree.
“Attached dwelling unit,” Ryan said, opening the door and leading Wyatt inside. “Eric said I should have it built when I remodeled the house, in case I wanted someone to stay with me but wanted to make sure we each had our privacy.”
Wyatt was briefly tempted to tell Ryan that he wasn’t sure he needed the privacy. He’d much rather be right in Ryan’s pocket. He’d never considered his first instinct reckless before, but he knew he was acting reckless now.
“Eric seems like a good agent, that way,” Wyatt said instead. Even though he’d done a very good impression of a human being encasing a blood-thirsty piranha the only time they’d ever met.
“Oh, he’s an asshole,” Ryan chuckled. “But he’s my asshole. So it works out. Anyway, this is all yours. No kitchen, other than this little sink, mini fridge and microwave, but feel free to come use the one in the house at any time. I really mean that.”
There was a tiny living room with a flat screen TV and a comfy-looking couch. A separate bedroom with a queen bed and dresser—even a miniature walk-in closet. A bathroom, with a clever closet enclosing a small washer and dryer unit, finished out the cottage.
