by Beth Bolden
“I believe,” Ryan said, reaching for his boxer briefs, even though moving seemed very overrated, “that you owe me a beer. And there’s some in the fridge, with our name on them.”
Wyatt didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands without being able to shove them in his pants pockets. Ryan wasn’t surprised to see him reach for his jeans, like he needed the comfort they provided. “I could go for a beer.”
Maybe a beer would give Ryan the liquid courage he’d need tell Wyatt that he wanted him to be his fake boyfriend, with all the real benefits they’d just enjoyed.
But he knew, as he slipped down the hall towards the kitchen, shirtless with jeans hanging at his hips, that he wouldn’t ask tonight. Maybe he’d find his courage tomorrow. Because he suddenly wasn’t sure that Wyatt was going to settle for a fake relationship, even with the real benefits.
Chapter Five
Wyatt woke up the first day on the job in a bed that wasn’t his.
Naked.
With his boss.
It was either the best first day or the worst; it was too early to say for sure.
The one thing he definitely knew was that he was hungry. His stomach was growling so loudly it was miraculous that Ryan hadn’t woken up from its insistent grumbling. But, as he slipped out of the bed, Wyatt thought that it was probably better that they didn’t do the whole “waking up together” thing.
It was probably going to be awkward enough, because they’d had fantastic, mind-blowing sex, had a few beers out by Ryan’s fire pit in the backyard, and then had headed back inside for round number two.
Wyatt didn’t exactly remember passing out in Ryan’s bed, but he was pretty sure that Ryan hadn’t exactly invited him. Of course, he was sure that Ryan was slurring with pleasure at that point, so it wasn’t like Wyatt had fooled him.
Still, this would be better, Wyatt thought as he grabbed his clothes and headed towards his part of the house. Less awkwardness. Less questions. He’d have breakfast ready—he’d already checked, there were rudimentary supplies already in the fridge—and then he’d disappear after, and do some actual work by spending Ryan’s money on groceries and more equipment.
No matter how relaxed Ryan was with him, Wyatt had no intention of shirking any of his duties. He might be doing a whole lot more than he’d been hired to do, but he was at least going to fulfill the rest of his responsibilities.
He grabbed a quick shower, appreciating the much-improved water pressure over the semi-shitty house he’d shared with Xander and Kian.
By the time he was back in the main house, letting himself in the back door, the house was still completely silent.
As far as Wyatt was concerned, that was fine by him. Ryan could sleep in if he wanted to, after all he was the boss and the professional athlete.
Wyatt raided the veggie drawer of the fridge, chopping up kale and spinach, red onion and mushrooms for a quick egg white frittata. It would have been better with a little goat cheese, but Wyatt thought, digging into his own portion, it wasn’t half-bad. It was the first meal that Wyatt was preparing for Ryan, and even though he was having all sorts of un-professional feelings, he still wanted Ryan to think hiring him had been the right decision.
Breakfast finished, the dishes washed up, Wyatt went back to his cottage and grabbed his pad. Started meal plans for the week. Made an equipment list. Drank three glasses of water. Peed. And glanced at his phone, because Ryan couldn’t still be sleeping, could he?
He’d only had two beers to Wyatt’s three, and he certainly hadn’t seemed drunk. A tiny bit tipsy maybe, but he’d been so adorable and then so unbearably sexy that Wyatt hadn’t really worried.
He was worried now. It was past ten, and that seemed like an excessive amount of sleep even for a professional athlete during the off-season. Despite his brain screaming at him that this was a bad idea, Wyatt crept back down the hallway towards the master bedroom. He’d told himself firmly as he’d exited it this morning that he would not be taking advantage or invading Ryan’s private spaces unless he was invited.
There had to be some sort of line, and Wyatt would maintain it because he was still a professional, god damnit.
Wyatt stopped short in the doorway, which was wide open. The bed, with its fluffy navy and white comforter, was empty.
“Ryan?” Wyatt called out. “I made breakfast, if you’re hungry?” He was probably just in the shower or the bathroom. But the entire suite was dead quiet. Too quiet.
A growing uncertainty mounting in his stomach, Wyatt crossed the living room again and went to the garage. Flipping on the light, the bottom dropped right out of it.
The Tesla, which Ryan had told him last night he usually took in the city, was gone.
Ryan had left while Wyatt had been in the shower. And Wyatt remembered distinctly Ryan telling him last night that he hadn’t had any plans for the next day. Had even hinted that he wanted to go shopping with Wyatt. But now, he wasn’t even here. He’d left, without saying goodbye. Without a single god damn word.
Wyatt walked back to the kitchen in a daze, and stared at the covered plate he’d made for Ryan. His first gut reaction was to shove it all in the trash bin, but he’d seen too many documentaries and read too many articles about food waste to do so, even if he was fucking pissed. So he dug out a Tupperware container and shoved it in the fridge instead.
He couldn’t explain what had happened between last night, which had been very clearly enjoyable on both their sides, and this morning. Had Ryan been pissed that he’d left the bed? Should he have left a note? Wyatt didn’t know. He liked Ryan so much, but this was already messy as hell, and it had just started. How were they going to make it through with their professional and personal relationships intact?
Fuck, he didn’t even know if they had either one, anymore. And it was the first god damned day.
Wyatt slammed the back door even though nobody was in the house to hear it. Grabbed the keys he’d just found and his worn leather jacket, and took off. If Ryan wanted to remind him to do his job, he’d fucking do it. If he stayed and stewed, he’d end up saying something he’d regret.
Like what a total jerk Ryan Flores had ended up being.
* * *
“I cannot believe you just left.” Tabitha stared at him, eyes wide and disbelieving, arms crossed over a ratty UCLA sweatshirt, her mouth a thin, angry line.
Ryan really couldn’t believe he’d just left either. Though, if he was getting technical about it, he hadn’t left first. Of course, if he was getting technical, Wyatt hadn’t really left. He couldn’t leave. He lived at Ryan’s house now, basically.
And Ryan had even known what Wyatt was doing. Probably some noble, professional thing—getting out of a nice warm bed to cook his bed partner, and technically his boss, breakfast. Ryan could even imagine that thought going through Wyatt’s head. Wanting to stay, but feeling obligated to do what he’d been hired for.
It was why Ryan put extra time in the batting cages, why he still ran drills during the off-season. Why he’d even agreed to all of this in the first place. Because playing baseball was important, and being a professional was important. But understanding it, and facing it were apparently two different things, because Ryan had not faced it very well this morning.
Frankly, he’d not faced it at all. He’d lain awake, listening to the back door shut, and had known, deep down, that he couldn’t lie to Wyatt anymore about the job. Not after last night.
Feeling raw, discombobulated, and more than a little scared, he’d run to the one place he’d never be turned away. Even when he acted like a total ass.
“Didn’t I tell you that we were having breakfast this morning, darling?” he asked Tabitha, pasting on a sweet, rather saccharine smile that wasn’t fooling anyone—Tabitha or her boyfriend.
Cal made a grumpy sound as he shoveled in toast smeared with mango jelly. He was elbow-deep in his iPad, looking at plans for his next remodel.
“Ryan,” Tabitha said, her patience cle
arly at an end. “It is time for you to be honest with him. Completely, one hundred percent honest.”
Cal said something that suspiciously might have been, “and not in our house.” Which was sort of fair. It was early on a weekday and just because they both worked from home didn’t mean that Ryan could just dump his problems at their doorstep.
“He is not going to say yes, if I ask him.” Tabitha’s expression softened, and Ryan had a feeling it was because of the raw fear in his eyes. He didn’t know when it had become imperative that Wyatt not just be his personal chef, but that line had been crossed and there was no going back.
“I should really just call up Eric and tell him to forget the whole thing,” Ryan said. Even though that sounded like both the best and the worst thing to do. Of course, not getting into a fake relationship with someone because you were scared was bad enough. How terrible was not getting into a real relationship because of good old-fashioned fear?
“And what, you’re going to tell Wyatt you want to give a real relationship a shot, instead of a fake one?” Tabitha demanded.
That was exactly the problem. Ryan already knew he wasn’t cut out for a “real” relationship. The fake version was probably the best he had to offer Wyatt, no matter how much he wanted to give more.
“I thought that you’d love the idea of me canning the whole fake-relationship bit,” Ryan said. “You’ve hated it from the beginning. Of course I was never certain if you hated it because it was Eric’s idea or if you just hated it.”
“I hate the dishonesty of it,” Tabitha said bluntly. She turned back towards the stove, babysitting the eggs in the pan. It was weird seeing Tabitha in her kitchen; it was even weirder seeing her attempt to cook.
“I’m learning,” she’d said defensively when he’d nearly fallen over in shock to see her wielding a spatula and a frying pan earlier.
“You made your living being dishonest,” Ryan pointed out.
Tabitha’s eyes flashed, and for a single, heart-stopping moment he was sure she was going to dump the runny eggs in his lap and whack him on the head with the frying pan.
“Which is exactly why I don’t want you to be dishonest. If you’re going to do this—and even I can admit to the benefits—you should be honest about it. Go back to your house and tell Wyatt everything.” Tabitha took a deep breath. “I lied all the time, for good reasons and for bad ones, and that’s why I’m telling you that you don’t want to go down that road.”
“What if I'm sure he'll say no?” Ryan asked, and he hated how agonized he sounded.
“What if he says no?” Tabitha asked with an arched eyebrow. “Frankly I think more people should say no to you.”
The long and short of it was that by the time Ryan slunk back to his house late morning, he was in a shitty mood. Tabitha thought he should experience people saying no to him? Well, she was going to get her wish today.
Ryan wasn’t even surprised to find his house empty of Wyatt, and was even less surprised when he knocked on the addition and was met with silence and a locked door.
He knew he deserved the silence, whether Wyatt was in there or not. Ignoring him or not.
Ryan returned to the house and took a shower, taking a long time with the hot water, wishing that it could wash all his guilt away—and his feelings too, if he was being completely honest. He didn’t want to like Wyatt. It had seemed so convenient at first, being so attracted to him, and genuinely wanting to know him better. But now that was backfiring because he wanted him around, he wanted more, and the casualty of being honest probably meant that Ryan was going to miss out on all that.
He walked back into the kitchen, half-considering another beer or maybe even something stronger, even though it was barely one in the afternoon, and nearly shrieked with surprise to see Wyatt there, unpacking a whole bunch of bags on the island.
Wyatt glanced up, eyes a stormy blue, a crease between his brows, and Ryan nearly ran back to the safety of his bedroom.
“I see you’re back,” Wyatt said frostily. And yeah, if Ryan thought he was going to dance around the topic, he’d been wrong. Wyatt was uncomfortably direct.
And honest.
“Yeah,” Ryan admitted.
Wyatt was still staring directly at him, and Ryan shifted uncomfortably. “I see you went shopping.”
“Yeah, I found the credit card and the keys on the counter.” Wyatt didn’t ask if it had been okay to use them; he’d just done it. “I took the Range Rover. I figured it would be better for errands.”
“You can take whatever car you want, just not . . .”
Wyatt didn’t even let him finish the sentence. “Just not the Tesla. Yeah, I figured that out real quick.”
“You’re angry,” Ryan stated. Tabitha was whispering in his ear. His conscience was magnifying her whisper until it was as loud as a scream. Be honest, she kept repeating. “I guess it wasn’t very nice of me to sneak out.”
Wyatt looked away, finally breaking eye contact just when Ryan actually wanted it. “It’s your house. I certainly don’t have any right to be angry about what you do in it or where you go when you’re not in it.”
His conscience's shriek magnified to a cascading cacophony. “I don’t do this very often, to be honest. And I’m not very good at it.”
“Hiring a personal chef or hooking up?” Wyatt asked wryly. “Because I’m not sure which we’re arguing about here.” He still wasn’t looking at him. He was taking those little annoying tags off the bottom of a bunch of kitchen equipment that Ryan didn’t recognize. Pots and pans and some kind of whisk.
“No, I know how to hook up,” Ryan said with a humorless chuckle. “The morning after. And I knew you’d be here, I definitely knew that before I started anything with you. I just didn’t expect . . .”
“For it to be so awkward?” Wyatt’s voice had thawed a fraction.
“Yeah, I guess you could say that.”
“Well, it wasn’t exactly non-awkward for me either,” Wyatt said. “You’re technically my boss.”
“Not really,” Ryan reminded him. “We talked about this. Personal and professional staying separate.”
“Does it feel separate now?” Wyatt demanded. “I was handling it, I really was. And then I came to get you for breakfast and you were fucking gone, and you hadn’t even done me the professional courtesy of telling me you didn’t want me to cook for you this morning.”
He glanced up now, and his eyes were blazing, a hot brilliant blue that made Ryan’s chest ache. Wyatt was going to say no. He was going to say no, and Ryan couldn’t do a thing to stop it. But the longer he went on without asking, the worse the ache got.
“I haven’t been entirely honest with you,” Ryan finally admitted.
Wyatt’s expression didn’t change an iota. “Imagine that,” he said bitterly.
When Ryan stared at him in surprise—he’d never imagined that Wyatt would figure it out so quickly—Wyatt continued. “Yeah, I know you don’t need a private chef. You don’t even know what to do with me. So what am I really here for, some kind of stud escort service? You don’t get enough dick on Grindr anymore? Want someone a little more dependable, with the added benefit that I can whip up some food when you get hungry for something other than cock?”
Tabitha had been right; he should have been honest from the beginning. If Wyatt said no, it was going to be because he’d lied to him from the first moment they’d met. Apparently dishonesty was a terrible foundation for a relationship, even a fake one.
“Not exactly, but you’re sort of on the right track,” Ryan said and watched as Wyatt’s expression hardened. “Not just the sex stuff. I need . . . help with getting my contract renewed.”
“How the fuck am I supposed to help you with that?” Wyatt interrupted.
“Please,” Ryan asked, far too aware that he was pleading with him. “Please, let me get this out, and if you want to hate me, if you want to say no, then you can. You can keep the job being my chef. We’ll figure out how to make it w
ork. I’ll be professional, we’ll work out a job description and everything. I swear.”
Wyatt didn’t say a word, just stared defiantly at the kitchen supplies spread across the kitchen island. Ryan took a deep breath and continued. “The new general manager of the Dodgers, he’s the one responsible for basically deciding whether to extend my contract or let me try the open market someplace else. I really don’t want to leave LA. My family is here. I like it here. I want to keep playing for the Dodgers, but if the status quo doesn’t change, the GM probably won’t choose to extend me. He’s not . . . precisely homophobic, but he has some fucking wrong ways of thinking. Like he thinks I’m some sort of flighty gay party boy. He wants someone who’s serious, who takes baseball seriously, who isn’t going to party and fuck every cute boy who crosses his path.”
“How on earth am I going to help you reverse that impression?”
Wyatt’s incredulity wasn’t exactly misplaced. After all, they’d met at Temple. Ryan had undeniably picked him up, and then they’d hooked up. Twice.
“I need to have a steady, normal relationship. He needs to feel like I’ve settled down.”
Wyatt’s incredulity bubble exploded. “You were shopping for a boyfriend.”
“A fake one, yeah. But even if the sappy feelings part isn’t legit, I don’t want some stranger. I want someone I would actually like. That I could like. And I like you.”
A dark look passed across Wyatt’s face. Ryan pressed on because he couldn’t stop now. “The sex was great. Fantastic, even. We could have fun.”
“So, we’d just pretend to be together, and keep having sex. Like . . . an added benefit?” Wyatt’s apparent disbelief echoed Tabitha’s when he’d first suggested the idea, and Ryan didn’t like his deep, subterranean worry that they’d both been right. This was stupid.
Would it have been better to just hope that his relationship with Wyatt had turned out? That he could hold down a real boyfriend without becoming bored or boring him? But then if it didn’t work out, Ryan would be right back to square one.
