by Beth Bolden
“Again?”
“I’m a chef, I like to be prepared,” Wyatt said.
“Okay, it’s gonna be great, I promise. When we get close to altitude, I’ll hook us together. You’ll be attached to my front.” Ryan paused, and Wyatt realized that he was waiting for him to make a sexual joke. “Okay, maybe not your favorite place to be after all,” he teased. “Anyway, when we reach altitude, we’ll inch our way to the door, and then I’ll push us off.”
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Wyatt said. The plane was flying higher and higher, and it was impossible not to look out the window and see the fields of Napa getting smaller and smaller beneath them.
“It’ll be about a minute of free fall,” Ryan continued, “and then I’ll pull the parachute.”
“And there’s a backup, right?”
“Of course there is,” Ryan retorted. “I told you not to worry. This is safe. I mean, not safe, because we are jumping out of a plane, but as safe as that gets. You remember the landing I told you about?”
“Yeah,” Wyatt said. They’d practiced it a few times on land. Speaking of land, he was really wishing he was back on it. He eyed the toy-sized trees with trepidation.
“We’re about to altitude,” the pilot said over the intercom. “We’ll open the door shortly.”
“Just take a breath,” Ryan counseled as he began to hook them together. “Maybe a few breaths. It’s gonna be great.”
“If you say that one more time,” Wyatt hissed.
The door opened, and Ryan didn’t have another chance to say it again, because suddenly they were at the edge of the plane, and then they weren’t in the plane at all.
The wind rushed past Wyatt’s ears as they free-fell in the deep-blue sky. He could feel Ryan’s excitement even though he couldn’t see his face. As for himself? It wasn’t . . . terrible he decided as they continued to fall, the ground rushing closer and closer.
It was even sort of a pleasant rush. Kind of like when Ryan had climbed on the back of his bike. When he climbed on the back of Ryan’s. A feeling of putting yourself in someone else’s hands with the hope that you’d be safe.
After today, Wyatt didn’t know for sure if he was still safe in Ryan’s hands. But he loved him enough that he couldn’t just pull away. His whole body jolted suddenly, and he realized that Ryan had pulled the parachute.
After a few minutes of coasting to the ground, they landed, legs getting a bit tangled, and they fell to a heap on the ground before Ryan could unclip them. Wyatt pulled his helmet off and took one deep breath, and then another. He didn’t think he’d get his breath back so quickly.
Ryan finally unclipped them, and Wyatt did the only thing he’d wanted since they’d jumped out of an airplane—he leaned down, yanked his helmet off, and kissed him. Ryan tasted like air and sky and fresh air, and his breath was coming in short, breathless pants as he pulled back.
“You loved it, didn’t you?” Ryan grinned, eyes glittering from the adrenaline rush. “I knew you would.”
I love you.
Wyatt shrugged, faking nonchalance, and Ryan stared at him for a moment, then tackled him to the ground, hovering above him for a split second before covering Wyatt’s mouth with his own.
Chapter Fourteen
“This is a really big deal,” Eric said, reaching out to smooth down the collar of Wyatt’s shirt.
Ryan had to stop himself from pushing Eric’s hands away, and doing it himself. He wasn’t sure if Wyatt’s eye roll was more to do with Eric stating the obvious or Eric invading his personal space.
“Believe me, I’m aware,” Wyatt retorted dryly, at the same time, shucking the hand off his collar with a shrug of his shoulder.
So, maybe both.
Ryan wished that Eric hadn’t decided that he needed to show up to give them a last-minute pep talk on their first public outing, because he had a few much more fun ideas to give everyone the indelible impression he and Wyatt were definitely together.
But apparently showing up with their hair and clothes messed up, looking like they’d just fucked on the car didn’t give the impression Eric was looking for.
Ryan maintained it still would’ve been a lot more fun than the lecture they were currently receiving.
“I don’t want you to spend the whole evening together,” Eric continued, even though Ryan knew he was barely paying any attention and Wyatt had clearly tuned him out altogether. “Constantly hanging on each other gives the idea that you’re insecure in your relationship.
“The car will be here any minute. I just spoke to the event concierge at Temple, she’s going to make sure you guys have a great time, and will let you know when there’s something you need to participate in.” He paused, and Ryan thought for one miraculous second that Eric was done talking, but then he kept going. “It goes without saying that you need to both be on your best behavior tonight. Have a few drinks, but don’t get drunk. No crazy antics. No semi-public sexual exploits.”
“Awwww, there goes everything I wanted to do,” Ryan teased and to his disappointment, Wyatt’s expression didn’t change. Instead of the melting smile that he’d grown to expect, Wyatt looked stiff and nervous. Withdrawn, almost, which had been the norm since they got back from Napa a week ago. There’d been a few times when Ryan had really been able to get him to relax, and laugh with him like he had at the beginning—usually after a few beers or a really intense workout—and he still approached sex with a fierce intensity that Ryan definitely enjoyed.
More than once, he’d considered asking Wyatt what was wrong, but in his head, that conversation fell exclusively into the “relationship” category, and since he couldn’t go there, he avoided it.
Eric shook his head, amused despite his own lecture, and went to go see if the car had arrived yet, finally leaving them alone. Maybe Ryan couldn’t ask Wyatt what was wrong, but he could make sure this was still something he wanted to do. It was hard to doubt that Ryan was still something he wanted, because the sex was so raw and consuming, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt to ask.
“Is this still okay?” Ryan asked, turning towards the other man. Wyatt looked up, surprise in his expression.
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
Ryan might be a baseball player, but he wasn’t dumb. Even he knew that answering a question with a question was a great way to deflect.
“You just seem quiet, that’s all,” Ryan observed. It occurred to him suddenly that he’d made this exact same comment before they’d gone skydiving.
Ryan didn’t think he was getting bored; the very nature of their relationship was designed so he wouldn’t, so he couldn’t get bored, but maybe Ryan had miscalculated?
Maybe even though they weren’t technically in a relationship, they were doing too many relationship-like things—like going to Napa, spending time with Flor and Wyatt’s nana and his brother, going to brunch, now this couples outing to Temple.
Boredom was something that wasn’t allowed to happen. Ryan couldn’t let him pull away, and not only because of the fake relationship that Wyatt had committed to, but because the more Wyatt retreated, the more attached Ryan realized he’d become.
He needed to fix this, because whatever this was, because it definitely had morphed into something more than Ryan had ever anticipated or expected.
“It’s gonna be great,” Ryan said, feeling stupid because he kept saying that and he wasn’t sure that Wyatt believed him anymore.
But Wyatt smiled this time, and pulled him close, and brushed a brief kiss across his lips. “It will,” Wyatt agreed, “I’m just disappointed we couldn’t take the bike. Re-enact the night we met.”
“Maybe tomorrow,” Ryan said, hating the hope that bloomed through his system. All he wanted was to get back to how good they were together. The fantastic sex they were having should have been enough—it had always been enough before—but now he wasn’t sure. They were missing something else; Wyatt was holding it back, and even though Ryan didn’t know what it was,
he craved it anyway.
“The car’s here,” Eric announced in the foyer.
Ryan slipped his hand into Wyatt’s, and gave him a bright smile. “Let’s do this,” he said.
* * *
The concierge, Anne-Marie, met them at the private back entrance of the club. Eric had decided, in his fake-relationship wisdom, that it would be better for the photographers to get them on the way out of the club, instead of heading in.
Ryan didn’t know why this was, but he’d learned to save his energy to argue with Eric on the major points, not the minor ones.
“Around midnight, we’ll bring you up to the stage, as you’re our VIP hosts for the evening,” Anne-Marie said, as they walked into the back of the dim club.
“What are we supposed to do?” Wyatt asked.
“On stage?” Anne-Marie questioned as she tucked a strand of bright-red hair behind her ear. “Whatever you like. Dance. Kiss. Each other? The dancers?” She waved a hand. “You two are so cute, I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”
Wyatt raised an eyebrow, like this wasn’t something they heard all the damn time. Like it wasn’t something they had planned.
“I mean, your Insta pictures are so gorgeous, like some sort of fairy tale,” Anne-Marie said. “And obviously, yeah, you set them up to look that way, but there’s a truth in them that you don’t see very often. I can tell you’re both very fond of each other.”
She turned to them. “I’ll escort you to the VIP booth now, if that’s okay?”
Ryan was officially pathetic. He wanted to beg her to tell him more about how they cared about each other, even while he argued with himself that caring about each other had never been the point of this. They were only supposed to seem authentic, while having great sex, but something had gotten crossed along the way.
“Sure, yeah, that’ll be great,” Ryan said when Wyatt stayed quiet.
The VIP area was the exact same one that Ryan had occupied the night he’d gone looking for a fake boyfriend and had found his personal chef instead.
He wanted to ask Anne-Marie if that was something Eric had arranged, but decided against it because it exposed too much of his nostalgia and stupid feelings in front of Wyatt.
“I’ll see that the waiter brings over your bottle service,” Anne-Marie said, as they settled on the plush velvet couch. Wyatt looked way more comfortable than Ryan felt, but he tried to copy the other man’s relaxed posture. The reason, Ryan realized as Anne-Marie left, was because he’d never been here with another man before. Definitely not with one that he was pretending he was in a relationship with.
Definitely not one that he apparently had stronger feelings for.
When you fell in love with someone, Ryan reasoned as the waiter approached, you were supposed to feel excited and happy, not greet the discovery with dread. Except that was all he could feel, as he envisioned Wyatt growing bored, just as his ex had described, and then having zero choice but to seek excitement somewhere else. In someone else’s bed.
“Welcome to Temple,” the waiter said, and for the first time Ryan looked up at the man. He was dressed in a pair of tight black leather pants, riding low on his hips, his rippling obliques exposed, and a pair of black feathery wings. His light-blue eyes were rimmed with black, making them pop even more. He looked like a just-debauched fallen angel, which was just the sort of fantasy theater that Temple liked to indulge in.
There was no excuse except that the guy was objectively hot, there was undeniably interest in his baby blue eyes, and Ryan was both miserable and desperate.
“I feel like I must have died and gone to heaven,” he teased the waiter.
The waiter perched a hip on the edge of the couch, leaning in closer, and Ryan didn’t have to be looking at Wyatt to imagine his expression. “I’ll tell you a secret,” the angel murmured low, so Ryan had to scoot even closer to hear, “I got kicked out of heaven.”
Ryan heard Wyatt’s incredulous scoffing noise behind him, and yes, it was silly and ridiculous and over-the-top dramatic, but the guy was gorgeous and no doubt this was a very common fantasy.
“Were you very, very bad?” Wyatt asked from over Ryan’s shoulder, in a faux-serious voice. “I bet you were super naughty.”
The angel rolled his eyes, but his voice kept that faux-conspiratorial tone that had pulled Ryan into the fantasy from the first moment. “I discovered being bad is a lot more fun than being good.”
Ryan sympathized; he’d discovered this same thing himself, at sixteen. And at eighteen. And at twenty-one. And again, at twenty-five, when he’d been unable to stay away from Wyatt Blake.
It was a lesson he kept re-learning. Maybe it was a lesson he could re-learn tonight.
“That’s definitely a lesson we don’t need to be taught.” Wyatt sounded amused and vaguely interested and Ryan leaned back, tucking himself against Wyatt’s side. It wasn’t a shock when Wyatt’s arm curled around him. Protectively, Ryan told himself. Wyatt was jealous. Normally, Ryan hated dealing with jealous guys, but he’d take jealousy over boredom, especially if it was Wyatt.
“I’ll stay close,” the waiter said. “Just in case you need anything. Or need a refresher course.”
“We’ll take a few beers, too,” Ryan said, because he remembered Eric’s warning, and he might as well try to keep to one of his admonitions.
To Ryan’s surprise though, Wyatt bypassed the beers, and went to the bottles of liquor, pouring a few fingers of vodka into a glass, splashing in a little juice and nothing else.
“I thought he was flirting with you, at first,” Wyatt said, mouth drifting towards Ryan’s ear so he could hear him over the music, which was increasing in volume by the minute, “but actually I think he was flirting with both of us.”
Wyatt again proved how observant he was.
“I think so too,” Ryan said, sneaking in a little ear nibble as he turned to talk in Wyatt’s ear.
Wyatt shrugged. “He’s cute but the whole act is too much for me.”
Wyatt was always so damn straight forward, it wasn’t a surprise that the act was too theatrical for him. Ryan didn’t even like it all that much, but he intended to use it.
“I don’t know, cute goes a long way,” Ryan said, smiling up at him. “Let’s go dance.”
Wyatt threw the rest of his vodka back, and Ryan set his beer down. Wyatt caught up Ryan’s hand and they walked down the set of stairs to where the rest of the club was partying. Ryan intended to keep to the edges—after all, they needed to be seen, and not just because they were the VIP guests for the evening—but Wyatt took them deeper into the crowd. Ryan should have protested but he just followed.
“You didn’t dance last time you were here,” Wyatt observed, lips right against his as his hips ground into Ryan’s.
“You weren’t dancing,” Ryan retorted, hands gripping his shoulders firmly, and Wyatt just smirked back.
Wyatt had a natural rhythm that Ryan had already observed from their surfing sessions, and he was a decent dancer, though frankly most of what they were doing was pseudo-dry humping anyway. The crowd and the feeling of Wyatt’s hips grinding into his, hands a possessive brand on his back, creeping down towards his ass, raised his temperature quick, and after only a few songs, he felt damp all over. There was sweat slicked at Wyatt’s temple, and Ryan wanted to lick it up.
As one song changed to another, Ryan tugged Wyatt towards their VIP area, and he followed easily.
It was a little easier to talk when they were away from the pounding bass emanating from the speakers. Wyatt leaned down. “I think we should tell the angel that you’ve been very bad indeed.” Ryan could tell from their close proximity that Wyatt was hard in his jeans. He wanted to tell him, screw this, and let’s go home and screw me, but the voice in the back of his head whispered that he couldn’t let this go. He couldn’t let Wyatt become complacent and bored and end up in someone like the angel’s bed, only without Ryan.
Wyatt threw back another shot of vodka, this tim
e with no juice, and Ryan opened the bottle of tequila with a quick wrench of his fingers. He’d just taken a shot and was sucking on a slice of lime when the angel waiter approached again.
“Need anything?” he asked. “Maybe some help with your shots?”
Wyatt’s eyes were blank as Ryan looked at the waiter.
“Sure, sounds like fun,” Ryan said carelessly. He couldn’t look at Wyatt as the guy reclined on the table, like a tempting buffet, and poured a shot of vodka right into his abs.
There was no backing out now, he could hear the whoops from the crowd, which meant they’d been spotted, and he couldn’t push him away.
Besides, he told himself as he leaned down, slurping the tequila off the guy’s skin, it was the least boring thing he’d done in ages.
The slice of lime was waiting for him in the angel’s mouth and he took it with his own, lingering for a long second. Ryan knew it was all part of the act and the fantasy the club provided, but there was undeniable interest flashing in his light-blue eyes. He wanted Ryan, and he’d probably even take Wyatt too, if that’s what it took.
“Can I get you anything else?” the angel asked huskily, partially sitting up. The tequila left his bare chest shiny and Ryan could see exactly where his tongue had been in the flashing lights.
And that was the real question. How far was Ryan willing to take this? How far was Wyatt willing to take this?
Anne-Marie chose this particular moment to return. Ryan was pretty sure it wasn’t even midnight on the nose, but certainly she’d been observing the activities with everyone else, and had decided the best time to drag them to the main stage was when the entire club was already watching.
“Time to go,” she said.
Ryan decided that she must have seen a lot of shit in her tenure because she barely batted an eyelash at what they’d been up to.
Before they went, Ryan turned back to the waiter. “Your name,” he asked. “And a dance when we get back.”
He could feel Wyatt tense next to him. “With both of us,” Ryan clarified, making sure that his intentions were clear.
