by Beth Bolden
Ryan wasn’t going to beg in front of that little snot Matt, so he did the next best thing. He walked towards the doorway, stopped right in front of Wyatt, and waited for him to give in.
“Fine,” Wyatt said, breaking after half a minute of tense silence. He backed up and Ryan followed him out to his little cottage. Wyatt had left the door open behind him, but Ryan shut it decisively. He didn’t even care if Matt decided to help himself to whatever in the house. If Matt robbed him blind, it still wouldn’t matter.
“I’m sorry about that,” Ryan said.
But Wyatt only shrugged. “You said you were going to do it. You had to find someone else. I didn’t really expect to come home and find him in the kitchen, but it’s your house.”
Ryan opened his mouth to say that it was his house, but that it didn’t matter because in the end, Matt wasn’t going to be his fake boyfriend. Not now, not in a day or a week or in a hundred years. Except Wyatt kept talking.
“The thing is,” he continued, beginning to pace back in forth in the tiny living room, “I realized something in Napa this weekend. And I came home because I wanted to tell you that I’d changed my mind. So seeing him in there threw me. I didn’t like it.”
Ryan gaped. “You didn’t like it?”
“I fucking hated it, okay?” Wyatt turned and there was something fierce and hot in his blue eyes. They latched right onto Ryan’s face and he felt like he was burning under the heat of that gaze. “If you need a fake boyfriend, I want it to be me.”
He stalked right up to where Ryan was standing mute and disbelieving. “Tell me it can be me.”
Ryan did the only thing that made any sense in this fucked-up situation: he placed his hands on Wyatt’s chest, and kissed him.
He didn’t react, just stayed frozen in place. Ryan pulled back a fraction. “Please,” Wyatt begged, voice cracking, “please tell me that this means yes.”
Ryan laughed, and it felt like the weight of the decision lifted with each exhale. “Yes. Yes. Yes.”
“Oh thank god,” Wyatt breathed out, and his hands reached out, grasping Ryan’s waist. “Because I missed this too much.”
I missed you too. The thought was instant, but Ryan was prevented from saying it because Wyatt pulled him even closer, until they were flush against each other, and kissed him.
It was everything like their first kiss—the sudden burst of heat and electricity that had flared between them from the first moment—but even though the intensity was just as fierce, it felt calmer, mellower. Much more certain. As if Wyatt had finally realized that this wouldn’t be their last kiss, but the first in a long chain of them.
“Fuck it,” Ryan breathed into Wyatt’s mouth, every nerve ending in his body lighting the way they never could for Matt. He dropped his hand to the growing bulge in Wyatt’s jeans, because now that he was allowed, that he was allowing himself, he didn’t want to waste another second doing something other than touching Wyatt every way he’d dreamt about.
“Right now?” Wyatt murmured wryly. “But there’s that guy in your kitchen.” It wasn’t like Matt was stopping Wyatt either, because his hands were already at the waist of Ryan’s shorts, hooking into the elastic and pulling them down.
“You want to wait any longer?” Ryan asked, breathless because Wyatt’s big capable hands were already curling around his dick, and he hadn’t been completely hard before, but he definitely was now.
It was like Wyatt knew he needed it a little rough, because his callouses were sliding along his length and his thumb was curling around the head of his cock and it felt so good, he could only pant into Wyatt’s neck.
“I’m done waiting,” Wyatt said, sounding so final that Ryan quivered at the implications. This was supposed to be them agreeing to be fake boyfriends. But it felt real, like it was so much more than just playacting in front of a camera.
But then, there wasn’t a camera here now, was there? And they were both so into each other that nothing, including Matt stealing all his worldly possessions, would have torn him away from Wyatt.
Wyatt twisted especially hard, and Ryan groaned. “I said,” Wyatt repeated with a grin, “that I was done waiting.”
“Oh. Right.” Ryan scrambled for the button and the fly on Wyatt’s jeans, and tugged them down, along with his boxer briefs. Wyatt’s cock was just as perfect as Ryan had remembered (and fantasized about). He’d been wanting this for weeks now, and now that he was finally going to get it again, he wasn’t going to half-ass it.
Ryan matched Wyatt’s pumping rhythm, slow and a little rough, because he’d figured out that was how Wyatt must like it. And sure enough, his head lolled back, eyes glazing over, as Ryan worked his hand over his dick.
“Tonight,” Wyatt panted, “we’re going to do this again. Slower. Better.”
Ryan definitely remembered how it had been last time. Not exactly slow, but a steady, inexorable burn of pleasure that had left him hazy for hours after. And if that happened again, Ryan definitely wasn’t going to complain. But that wasn’t what he was in the mood for.
“Oh, yeah, it’s gonna be better,” Ryan promised. “Slow. Definitely.” Gasped as Wyatt’s hand tugged him just right. He was going to lose it, because it had been too long without those hands on him. “But it’s gonna be you at my mercy.”
Wyatt’s sly expression, agreeing to all that and more was what did it for Ryan, and he came with a low cry, orgasming over Wyatt’s hand.
“Shit,” Wyatt groaned, and followed right after Ryan.
Laughing, Ryan steered them over to the kitchenette and with a free hand grabbed some paper towels. They cleaned up, but he couldn’t quite meet Wyatt’s eyes. This was just supposed to be about them hooking up, but because of how much they’d wanted each other it had somehow felt like more.
Ryan wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
He did know he had to go see what Matt was doing in his kitchen, though.
“Are you just going to kick that guy out?” Wyatt asked as he zipped his jeans up.
Ryan raised an eyebrow. “Well he’s definitely not staying.”
“He doesn’t seem like a bad guy.”
Only Wyatt would find his rival nice.
“You talked to him for about thirty seconds and said less than ten words,” Ryan pointed out.
“But you talked to him longer. He couldn’t be all that bad,” Wyatt said.
“Except,” Ryan said, opening the door to head back to the house, “I only have one opening for a fake boyfriend, and that is currently filled.”
To Ryan’s surprise, Matt was still sitting in the kitchen, sipping on a beer, scrolling through his phone.
When they walked in, he looked up. “Ah, must have been a pretty good conversation,” Matt said.
“It was okay,” Ryan said nonchalantly.
Next to him, Wyatt tried—and failed—to stifle his laughter.
“I guess this means I didn’t get the job,” Matt observed, and Ryan felt a pulse of guilt at how bummed he sounded.
But before Ryan could tell him that he was sorry and that Eric would be in touch for the payment for this evening’s “work,” Wyatt was leaning over on the counter by him. “I know, it probably sounded really cushy,” he said sympathetically. He glanced back at Ryan, but now he was smirking, and Ryan knew that expression promised bad things. “Hanging out with a cute guy, holding hands, going to free dinners and events and sitting in the wives’ section at the Dodgers’ stadium. But trust me, you dodged a bullet here.”
“What?” Ryan squeaked out in surprise.
Matt’s eyes had gone sly and calculating. “How so?”
Wyatt gestured to where Ryan was standing, but didn’t take his eyes off Matt. “He’s a spoiled brat of epic proportions. Expects you to wait on him, hand and foot. Expects you to tell him all the time how gorgeous he is, like the mirror isn’t telling him the truth. And in bed? All taking and no giving. Trust me. You really ended up with the better part of this bargain.”
&nbs
p; Matt’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know all this?”
“Duh. I’m his real boyfriend,” Wyatt said. “Or maybe his sex slave. We haven’t really put a label on it yet.”
“I’m not really big on labels, honey,” Ryan said, coming over, and slinging an arm roughly around Wyatt’s shoulders. “Isn’t that true?”
Wyatt barely lost a beat. “And he won’t actually define your role, which means that he can decide it’s whatever the fuck he needs right now.”
Matt took another gulp of his beer. “If you’re trying to make me feel better, it’s not working.”
Wyatt looked very surprised, and Ryan was very amused. He clearly had no idea what a terrible liar he was. “Why?”
“Because you’re a really shitty liar, so I’d guess that whatever you’re telling me is exactly the opposite of how he really is.” Matt paused. “Plus, he hasn’t exactly kicked you out of the house for saying all that, and he looks like he wants to drag you back to wherever you just went for round two. So I call bullshit.”
Wyatt shrugged. “It was worth a try.”
“I can do better than that,” Ryan offered. “I’ll find you another job. It won’t be free dinners or holding hands or wearing my jersey in the wives’ section, but I can see what I can do.”
“Really?”
Ryan sighed at Matt’s disbelieving tone. “Like I said, this was all me. Nothing to do with you. I’m sure you would have been a fantastic fake boyfriend, but there’s someone a little more my style.”
Matt raised an eyebrow. “I’m really not stupid, guys.”
“What do you mean?” Wyatt asked.
“I mean, there is no fake-boyfriend position. You’re clearly Ryan’s real boyfriend,” Matt said, slipping off the barstool. “Thanks for the entertainment and the spank bank material for later, but my Uber is here.”
Ryan and Wyatt stood there, more than a little shocked, as Matt went out the back door with a single jaunty hand wave that just as easily could have been a middle finger.
“I don’t think he likes us very much,” was what Wyatt said after a silent moment.
Ryan was relieved that Wyatt was pointedly ignoring Matt’s final comment about how they looked like they were really together. Wyatt had just agreed to play Ryan’s boyfriend. He didn’t need to have issues already with either of them believing it was more real than it actually was.
“He wasn’t so bad,” Ryan teased, turning in Wyatt’s embrace. “Now maybe I should drag you back where we came from and do what Matt suggested and have round two.”
Ryan swore he saw something flicker in Wyatt’s eyes. Was it unease? Fear? Something else? But then Wyatt leaned down and kissed him, quick and fierce, and Ryan decided it was nothing. Nothing worth worrying over, anyway. Not when Wyatt’s mouth was on his and his hands were all over his body. Everything that had been so close but so far these last few weeks.
He wasn’t the type to deprive himself when he found something he really wanted, and he wasn’t about to start now.
Chapter Eleven
Before he even opened his eyes, Wyatt knew the bed he’d been sleeping in wasn’t his.
He knew this bed, though. Knew the mattress, the sheets, the particular natural scent of its regular occupant. Knew the occupant, intimately.
It was hard to forget the last time he’d woken up in this bed. He’d gone to make breakfast and had only figured out too late that Ryan had bailed. Escaped. Disappeared.
Wyatt reached out hesitantly, brushing the skin of Ryan’s arm. His rhythmic breathing didn’t change. Lying there, close enough to touch Ryan, he figured he had two choices.
One, get up and go start breakfast, like he’d done the last time. Hope that things would go differently and that Ryan wouldn’t leave.
Two, wake Ryan up himself, and guarantee that he wouldn’t leave because he didn’t want to.
It wasn’t even a choice. Door number one never had a chance. And maybe, Wyatt thought, pushing the sheet down his naked body, that wasn’t fair, but he’d been trying to play fair up until now, and that hadn’t gotten him anywhere.
Maybe it was time to play unfair.
Ryan’s breathing barely changed as Wyatt rolled over, and then nestled himself in the blankets kicked to Ryan’s feet.
His dick was still soft, but as Wyatt ran a tentative finger up the underside of his balls, he had a feeling that wouldn’t last long.
Wyatt had just wrapped his tongue around the head, and started sucking when he felt Ryan tense.
“I thought you were a dream,” Ryan said, voice soft and rough, as he reached down to cradle Wyatt’s head with his palm, running his fingers through his hair.
Wyatt traced a pattern on Ryan’s hardening cock with his tongue. “A good dream, I hope.”
He shouldn’t have worried, but some things were hard to shake, and Ryan literally running away after their first—or second, but who was counting?—night together was one of those. Maybe it would have been easier if they were something more than employee and employer, or convenience with added benefits.
But Ryan had made his feelings very clear, and Wyatt, having just gotten at least part of what he wanted, wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Speaking of gift horses and mouths, he lapped at the head of his, sucking off a little bit of pre-come.
“It had real potential,” Ryan observed sleepily.
Wyatt took that as a request to continue, so he did, trying to lose himself in Ryan’s taste and scent and the feel of his hardness against his tongue, in his mouth. And he did, swallowing his come with the glow of satisfaction on a job well done.
Almost.
Even when Ryan wrapped his big calloused hand around Wyatt’s dick, pumping him until he felt woozy from pleasure, he couldn’t quite forget that this was all supposed to mean nothing.
He’d never been good with hookups, he reasoned as he wandered back to his place for a quick shower before making breakfast. He just had to adjust to this new normal. Having Ryan was definitely better than not having him at all. That much was true.
“You’re quiet this morning,” Ryan said, pushing his toast around his plate, trying to sop up the rest of his over easy eggs. He looked up, grinning. “I figured earlier it was because you had my dick in your mouth but now you don’t have any excuses.”
“Maybe I’m tired,” Wyatt said, trying to match Ryan’s sly, teasing tone. “Someone kept me up most of the night.”
It had been so good it was hardly anything to complain about. But last night Wyatt had felt lost to the pleasure of finally getting what he’d craved so badly, and this morning he felt like he couldn’t drown out the voice in the back of his head that kept whispering, what’s next?
“And maybe,” he added, Ryan looking up, surprised at his serious tone, “I’m curious what happens next.”
“What happens next? Now that we’re faux-happily-ever-after poster children?”
Wyatt nodded and told himself firmly that the word shouldn’t sting. It was just a word. It didn’t mean anything, and Ryan didn’t mean anything cruel by it. It was the truth, plain and simple. He had agreed to be Ryan’s fake boyfriend, not his real one. Ryan couldn’t be held responsible for the feelings Wyatt couldn’t seem to help.
“Oh, I guess I should call Eric. I’m sure he’s been blowing my phone up with a bazillion messages after Matt left here last night.”
“Is there some sort of plan?” Wyatt didn’t even care what it was. But maybe if he knew, if he prepared himself in advance, it would be easier to deal with.
“Lots of plans, to be honest,” Ryan said. “Dozens, probably. Eric likes contingency plans. I think the last one he had involving you, and not someone else, was hosting a dinner party here. Something super couple-y, with lots of social media posts from the people invited. Way to generate some news buzz before we confirmed it.”
Wyatt cleared his throat. “We should do a barbecue instead of a dinner party. Something a little more casual.”<
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Ryan brightened at the idea. “That’s a good idea, actually. I knew you’d be great at this.”
Great at being a fake boyfriend. Wyatt internally raised his hand in a mini, half-hearted fist pump of triumph.
“Let me call Eric, and I’ll run the idea by him. Maybe in a day or two? How long do you need to plan something like that?”
“Plan it?”
Ryan laughed. “Like the food, silly. I’ll take care of the rest. Or Eric will. Or actually Eric’s assistant.”
“The food’s the easiest part,” Wyatt said with an eye roll as punctuation. “Promise, I can handle it. How many people?”
“Maybe ten? Fifteen? Tabitha and her boyfriend. Flor. Her kids. A few teammates if they’re in town. Eric, of course.”
“You’re going to invite Eric?” Wyatt was still on the fence about Ryan’s agent. He wasn’t sure which side he was on, or if he even acknowledged there were sides. Or if he just played everyone, maneuvering everyone exactly where he wanted them, like pieces on a chess board.
“Of course. He’s got to orchestrate this whole thing, right?” Ryan laughed, and the carefree edge to it hurt. Unintentionally of course.
You need to get yourself together.
This was what he had agreed to. This was the new normal. It was time to get his head and his heart on the same page, onto the same plan.
“Right, duh,” Wyatt said.
“But you liked Tabitha, right? And Flor?” Ryan sounded a little concerned, as if Wyatt might not like his friends or his family, which was ridiculous. Because what fake boyfriend required their approval?
“Of course I did,” Wyatt teased. “They’re hella intimidating, but strangely, unexpectedly, nice.”
Ryan beamed. “I think they’d take that as a high form of praise.”
“Well, I meant it.” Wyatt shoved his hands in his pockets. “So barbecue for fifteen. I can do that in my sleep.”
“That’s because you’re brilliant.” Ryan hopped off the barstool, slid his empty plate into the sink, and kissed Wyatt’s cheek. “I’m gonna go call Eric.”
