CHAPTER TEN

“I can’t believe Tony is gay,” Xander said, setting his glass down on the old picnic table they’d scrounged up and set up outside on the cracked concrete patio two summers ago.

It was a balmy fall evening in Napa, and even though it was late when Xander and Kian had gotten off work, they’d obviously sensed Wyatt was troubled, and had brought out a six-pack to join him. Or to prevent him from brooding further.

“Maybe you should hook up with him,” Kian inserted slyly, and something in his tone made Wyatt sad. Melancholy and missing the old, too-innocent boy who never would have suggested that. Or teased Xander with the knowledge that he didn’t hook up with anyone. Clearly Nate living here was not good for him.

“With Wyatt’s older, bad-boy brother? No, thanks. I don’t have that much of a masochistic streak,” Xander said after taking a long gulp of beer. “What about you?” he suggested, turning the tables back on Kian. “You’re about the age where making a bad romantic decision feels right.”

Except they both knew that Kian was already making a bad romantic decision, and instead of it being open and then closed, it was ongoing. Never-ending, until it finally, irrevocably ended.

“Yeah, no, thanks. Gross.” Kian shuddered. “No offense, Wyatt.”

“None taken,” Wyatt said wryly, glad he was here, and glad that his friends could distract him from brooding over this afternoon’s reveal.

“Are you going to tell her then?” Xander asked. He was a huge advocate for bluntness, in just ripping the Band-Aid right off. In his mind, it might hurt, but then you knew exactly where you stood. He’d been telling Wyatt to tell his nana for years now. Wyatt was not entirely pleased that Xander had turned out to be one hundred percent right.

He also fully expected Xander to exploit that, but he hadn’t so far. Maybe he was waiting until it smarted less.

“I think so, yeah.” Wyatt thought about telling them about Ryan, and about Ryan’s offer that he could now accept without fear.

Would Ryan still want him? Was Wyatt okay accepting his offer when he really wanted so much more?

Before, not being Ryan’s fake boyfriend had seemed like the worst thing that could happen, and now that possibilities were opening up, it seemed even more devastating that he might be able to go through the motions, but could never have what he really wanted for real.

“You could have done it years ago. I told you that she wasn’t going to reject you,” Xander said. So much for waiting until it stung a little less.

Wyatt tipped his beer bottle at his friend. “Thank you, friend, for always being brutally honest and for never wasting an opportunity to say I told you so.”

“Those are Xander’s four favorite words in the English language,” Kian said. He sounded edgy and resentful. Wyatt could only imagine what kind of shit Xander was giving him over Bastian. Or what kind of shit Aquino was giving him.

“All I’m saying is that it’s not going to end well for you,” Xander said tiredly. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“You don’t know that,” Kian said stubbornly. Wyatt felt like he’d just been dropped into the hundredth iteration of this particular argument. Maybe the thousandth.

“He’s not a good guy. He’s an asshole,” Xander argued. “You know this.” And suddenly, understandably, they were talking about the Bastard.

“You’re an asshole too, and I don’t want you to be alone. Just because people are tough doesn’t mean they don’t deserve love, and doesn’t mean they’re incapable of returning it.”

Kian, Wyatt realized, was wading in even deeper. He was going to try to “rescue” Bastian Aquino from his lonely, miserable, angry existence.

Yeah, that was going to end really well.

Maybe it was selfish, but Wyatt was sort of relieved that they’d at least forgotten about his own problems, and were back to focusing on their own.

“I can’t talk to you about this,” Xander said in mounting frustration. He got up from the table, beer bottle empty. “I worked fourteen hours today. Will probably work sixteen tomorrow. I’m going to bed. It was good to see you, Wy, don’t be a stranger. And for god’s sake, go tell your nana you’re gay.”

The door to the house slammed behind him as punctuation.

“He’s gotten so grumpy,” Kian said, picking at the label on his bottle.

“I think he’s worried about you,” Wyatt said, and it wasn’t even a lie.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kian said.

“You’re in love with Aquino, and he’s right. If he ever returns those feelings, he’s still going to eat you whole, chew you up, and then spit you out. And coming from someone who’s had a fraction of that happen to them before, it’s not fun. It’s not something to look forward to.”

Kian’s voice was quiet. “What if you believed that no matter how much it hurt, it would still be worth it?”

He knew, Wyatt realized. He knew that it was going to end, and he was never going to get a happy ending with Bastian Aquino, and he didn’t even care. He loved him that much. So much for this being some sort of puppy-love crush that Kian would eventually get over.

And, Wyatt realized, as Kian patted him on the shoulder on his way inside, it even made some kind of twisted sense.

It would absolutely hurt like hell whenever the professional relationship between him and Ryan ended. It would hurt if it ended and nothing ever happened between them again. It wouldn’t hurt worse if he got another taste of something more personal. At least if it ended then, he would have gotten something good out of it.

He would have been able to love Ryan for the time he was able, up close and personal, instead of staring in the window, wishing for something he couldn’t have.

———

“Hi,” Wyatt said, placing his drivers license on the front desk corner with a decisive click, “I’m here to visit Bea Blake. And I don’t know if he’s available, but I’d like to talk to the doctor in charge of her case.”

“Dr. Martinez? I’m not sure if he’s in today,” the front desk attendant said sympathetically. “But you can speak to the nurse on call?”

“That would be fine,” Wyatt said with a certainty he didn’t feel. He’d spent most of the night sitting outside at the rickety old picnic table, downing beer after beer, trying to drown out the fear that kept insisting he was making a mistake.

Finding out Tony had told Nana and she hadn’t thrown him out, or told him he was going to hell, or that he wasn’t lovable anymore—even though he was Tony—should have swept all Wyatt’s insecurities clean. But it turned out that it wasn’t as easy as deciding to do it and doing it.

Fear still held him back, still whispered things in his ear. It didn’t matter if his head knew they weren’t true, his heart still felt the echo of them.

“I’ll go get the nurse,” the young lady said with a smile. “Do you want to wait in the lobby?”

Wyatt wiped his damp palms on his jeans. He’d hoped for a quick, five-minute conversation, and then he could go find Nana and finally tell her the truth. But he’d also promised himself he’d talk to someone on her case about her memory loss patches recently. He needed to know what to expect. Online research was only getting him so far.

“Sure.”

“There’s coffee if you’d like some,” she said, gesturing to the carafe set up in the lobby. “Help yourself.”

The last thing he needed was more coffee, and he’d had the coffee here before and knew it was awful. He wished he’d asked to talk to the doctor on the way out, and then he wouldn’t be spending more time waiting. Waiting until visiting hours today started had been hard enough.

The dark evil sludge that came out of the coffee carafe was the same as he’d remembered it, but optimistically he thought that at least it must be strong. He stirred in a sugar packet, looked askance at the fake cups of creamer, and grimaced when he took his first sip.

Still, it had wasted at least two minutes. Two minutes was good.

Two minutes he didn’t have to think about what Nana might look like when he finally told her the truth.

He’d wanted to text Ryan since last night, since he’d made up his mind, and it might have been easier to focus on the good things that would probably happen after he took this step. But he hadn’t known what to say to him. After all, he’d already unequivocally told him no, with no hope that he might change his mind.

Ryan had probably already moved on to someone else. And considering how fixated he was on a fake boyfriend, how could Wyatt possibly hope to win him as a real one?

“Mr. Blake?” He turned, and a woman, mid-thirties, with blonde hair and kind eyes was standing at the entrance to the lobby. “They said you wanted to talk about your grandmother’s case?”

“Yes, I did,” he said, thankful that he hadn’t had to wait long.

“She’s in her art class now,” she said. “I’ll walk you down there and we can talk. I’m Gretchen, by the way.”

He shook the hand she offered. Noticed it was trembling a little. Hoped that she’d put it down to the caffeine in the noxious liquid they passed for coffee.

“I’ve recently moved away for work,” he said. “I can’t get here as much as I’d like to. I know consistency and routine are really important for her mental state. But I can only get here maybe once a week. I’m still calling regularly though. And last week, she didn’t recognize my voice or my name right away.” His voice broke on the last few words, and he gritted his teeth, knowing that couldn’t be explained by the terrible coffee and hoping that he wouldn’t actually burst into tears in the middle of the lobby.

She took his elbow and steered him down one of the wide hallways. “I’ve consulted extensively with Dr. Martinez about your grandmother’s case,” she said. “I’m sorry to say, that’s not a huge surprise. She’s going to have lapses.”

“I didn’t think they’d come so quickly.”

“Alzheimer’s is a disease we still don’t know very much about. There’s going to be accelerated periods and then periods when her condition stabilizes. Moving here and uprooting her from her home probably sent her in a bit of an accelerated period, but it should stabilize. I’m assuming she does eventually recognize you.”

“It’s usually only a minute or so. She recognized my brother Tony right away.”

“That’s good,” she said, even though it wasn’t.

He wanted to tell her how unfair it was that Tony would be the one she’d remember. That he’d quit his prestigious job so he could earn more money to take care of her. That she was the only person in his life that he knew he couldn’t lose; which meant, of course, that she was the one he was bound to lose.

“It’s not good. None of this is good,” he practically growled. It was instantly embarrassing, and that wasn’t just because her face fell.

“Of course it’s not good,” she hastily corrected. “I don’t mean that. I’m sorry for sounding callous or insensitive.”

“You’re not . . . I’m just . . . on edge,” he said. Which was the best way to phrase it. He took another gulp of the devil coffee, even though there was no way it could help.

“I’ve spent some time with Mrs. Blake,” she said, “and I promise you, she’s who she was before. The disease hasn’t progressed enough to erode the foundation of who she is. You have a lot of time before that happens. The best advice I can give you is to take advantage before that happens. Too many people I see wish that they’d spent more time, or called more, or made more happy times with their loved ones.”

“That won’t be a mistake I’ll be making,” Wyatt vowed. He’d figure out a regular visit schedule and call every day. It didn’t even matter if there wasn’t anything to say. Just hearing her voice would be enough.

But most of all, he was going to begin this new routine by telling her the truth.

They stopped in front of a classroom with the door open. Wyatt could smell paint and thinner wafting out. “She’s right in there,” Gretchen said with a smile. “You want to get her?”

———

“Wyatt, not that I’m not glad to see you, but that was my painting class.” Bea Blake didn’t look very happy as he took her arm and led her out one of the big double doors to the garden. The same garden she was always looking at.

Maybe it wasn’t enough to stare at the grounds out the window.

Also maybe he wouldn’t cry if he told her in a semi-public place.

“I’m going back down to LA right after this,” he said, leading them to a secluded corner of the garden, and sitting down on the bench there. “But I wanted to see you before I left.”

Her face softened. “I can catch up later,” she promised. “I’m glad you came by.”

Good, because he already had enough guilt saved up to last a long while. He didn’t need to add delaying her completing her painting onto his already heavy conscience.

“I wanted to tell you something, actually.” He took a deep breath. For a second, he thought about bringing up Tony, but reconsidered. This needed to be just about him.

Bea reached out and took his hand in hers. “You know you could tell me anything, darling boy, and I’d love you regardless.”

It wasn’t as if she had ever said anything different. She’d been variations on the same theme for his entire life, but between losing both his parents, and never being close to his brothers, he’d always been too afraid to believe that she wouldn’t just abandon him too. No matter what she said.

But for the very first time, he found the echo of truth ringing in her words. She meant it, and she trusted him to trust her.

“Nana, I’m gay.” He’d thought of so many lead-ins. So many excuses. So many ways to word it over the years. He’d tasted the words on his tongue more times than he could even count. So when it came down to it, maybe it was better to keep it simple. Straightforward. The bare bones of truth.

Bea’s face didn’t change, her smile just softened another degree. “Oh darling, I know. It’s okay. I love you no matter what.”

“What? You knew? Who told you?” Wyatt shouldn’t be panicking because he’d actually managed to tell her the truth, and nothing had changed. But he was. How had she known? And how long had she known?

He’d been torturing himself for how many years for no good fucking reason.

“Nobody had to tell me. I have eyes,” she retorted tartly. “I know you. I love you. Also, you’ve never had a girlfriend. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together.”

“Oh.” The wind out of his sails, he crumpled against her, like he was still that eight-year-old kid, whose dad had just left, abandoning his mom and his two brothers. Like he was thirteen and his mom had just passed.

“It’s alright,” she soothed, her hand combing his hair back from his forehead. “Everything is alright.”

And for the first time in a very long time, Wyatt believed her.

———

“Thanks for coming over,” Ryan said tightly, awkward as he sat across from Matt on the uncomfortable living room couch he never sat on. Why was he sitting on it now?

Because he couldn’t imagine welcoming Matt into the kitchen. That was Wyatt’s domain now, and Ryan wasn’t going to betray him like that. He didn’t want him in any part of the house he’d shared with Wyatt, and that had only left the living room.

Not that he had any intentions of hooking up with Matt. He was definitely as cute as his pictures had promised—bright, hopeful green eyes and short spiky blond hair. There had been more than one moment when Ryan had caught him checking him out.

It should have made Ryan want to lead him right back to the bedroom. Or the couch. Or any convenient horizontal surface. But instead they’d ended up in the uncomfortable, stuffy living room that he never used—for good reason.

“Are you okay?” Matt asked. “You don’t seem all that happy I’m here.”

“It’s not you,” Ryan insisted, feeling guilt swamp him. He was being an asshole, and for what? Because Matt’s green eyes weren’t blue, and he didn’t like to surf?

It wasn’t Matt’s fault that he wasn’t Wyatt.

“Seriously,” he continued. “I’m sorry. I . . . I don’t really want to do this. But I need to.”

Matt’s expression was sympathetic. “I get it.”

Besides, if he couldn’t have Wyatt, why did it matter who played his fake boyfriend?

“Let’s get out of here,” Ryan said with a grimace at their surroundings. Coming in here had been a bad idea. “Grab a beer and go outside to the fire pit. Try to get to know each other. We’re going to be spending some time together and we can’t keep acting like strangers.”

Matt raised an eyebrow, getting to his feet. “Are you sure?”

He wasn’t sure at all. But he had to move past this, because something kept tugging him back and Ryan didn’t like anything holding him in, or holding him back. “Yeah, I am.”

“Well, I’ll be honest I need this job, so I’m going to stop being a selfless good guy and asking you if you’re okay with it.”

Ryan barked out a laugh and led him into the kitchen. “I guess being an actor in LA isn’t all that easy.”

Matt nodded vehemently, leaning against the island and launching into a long, over-dramatic story about some audition he’d just been on. Ryan tried to ignore the voice in the back of his head that said this was like every bad first date he’d been on, and listen to Matt’s story.

Frankly, this was one of the reasons he’d stopped going on first dates.

Ryan pulled a pair of beers from the fridge and ignored the other voice that reminded him this was Wyatt’s favorite brand.

Matt paused when Ryan handed him the bottle. “Are you even listening to me?” he demanded.

Ryan froze. “I’m sorry?”

Matt set the bottle on the counter with a decisive click. “You said you wanted to get to know me. You said you were doing this. And hey, I’m an actor. I can work with almost nothing. But you can’t get far enough away from me and you’re barely paying attention to anything I say. Honestly, usually I don’t have to work this hard to make a guy interested in me.”

“I’m sorry,” Ryan repeated, and he was, but not that sorry. “It’s not you, it’s me.” He imagined how much Eric was going to drive him crazy over this. How painful his grating, obnoxious whining would be. He imagined Wyatt coming back and Ryan dropping to his knees and begging him to reconsider. He imagined leaving Flor and LA and everything he loved. He imagined terrible winters in Ohio or Wisconsin or the death trap of the Trop.

But nothing seemed quite as terrible as doing this.

“Seriously?” Matt demanded, and the worst thing was that Ryan even sympathized with him. “What is with you? It’s not like we’re going to declare our eternal love or register at Macy’s or adopt a kid. We’re going to hold hands and I’m going to go to your games and wear your jersey and be cute in the wives’ section. We don’t even have to hook up if you don’t want to, though I wouldn’t exactly mind.”

Alarm bells were clanging in his head. It wasn’t like he wanted to do any of those things. Not even with Wyatt—though it was scary as fuck that doing them with him didn’t sound all that bad—but he didn’t want to hook up with this cute guy.

He couldn’t have gotten it up right now if he was being paid or he was being jacked full of Viagra.

Of course that was the moment the back door to the kitchen opened and a pair of blue eyes narrowed, taking in the scene in front of him.

Ryan. And a young, cute guy. Beers in front of them. Wyatt’s favorite brand, even.

“You’re back,” Ryan said, fifty percent excited, fifty percent panicked.

Matt’s sympathetic look at Ryan was galling, and definitely deserved. He was totally fucked over this guy, and if even Matt could tell with about ten seconds of evidence, then it was probably extremely obvious.

“I’m back,” Wyatt said slowly. His hand was still on the doorknob, and he hadn’t taken a single step into the kitchen.

“This is Matt,” Ryan said, because Flor had drilled good manners into him. “This is my private chef. And friend. Wyatt.”

“I’m going to be Ryan’s fake boyfriend,” Matt said, piping up, and fucking him over big-time. Even though Ryan had literally been about to tell him that no, he wasn’t about to be his fake boyfriend. Ryan had been about to say that if he couldn’t have Wyatt, he didn’t want anyone, no matter how insane that sounded.

It was insane; Wyatt would never believe it. And from the doubting, incredulous expression on his face now, Ryan wondered if he could even keep him in his life after this clusterfuck.

“No, you’re not,” Ryan insisted desperately.

Matt crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows.

Wyatt wasn’t reacting at all, though. He still had that deadened expression on his face, completely shut down, like this was his worst nightmare and he couldn’t quite process it.

Ryan totally understood that mind frame; he was smack in the middle of it right now.

“I need to talk to you,” Ryan said, directing his desperation in the right direction this time.

Wyatt crossed his arms over his chest, mimicking Matt. He didn’t really have a right to be upset. Jealous, maybe, but Ryan found he didn’t give a shit right now what was deserved and what wasn’t.

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.”

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.