CHAPTER THREE

“Do you think he figured it out?” Ryan’s best friend in the whole world sipped her chai latte and eyed him with a keen blue stare that could sniff out a lie no matter how good it was.

Ryan was a terrible liar, and after being friends for three years, he’d learned it was always better to tell Tabitha King the truth.

“Do I think he figured out that it was weird I happened to pick him up the night before the interview? Yeah, he’s not an idiot. He figured out something was up. I guess I should have told him it wasn’t planned. I recognized him from the photo they’d sent with his resume, and well,” Ryan shrugged, “he was so cute in person and suddenly it made sense. Two birds, one stone. A chef and a boyfriend.”

Ryan pleated the empty sugar packet next to his coffee cup and wished that he’d texted Tabitha like he’d planned and canceled their coffee date. He was feeling weirdly guilty over his hookup with Wyatt, even though it had been unexpectedly spectacular, and he didn’t want to rehash all his ugly emotions with her.

The first problem was that he’d chickened out at the last moment and went anyway, and the second problem was Tabitha was the universal expert at rehashing ugly emotions.

“You like him,” Tabitha stated, looking very delighted at this turn of events. Ryan was not delighted at all. He was regretting the whole damn thing, even while acknowledging that it was the right thing to do under the circumstances. And all that conflict was making him feel queasy. The three sugars he’d thoughtlessly poured into his coffee weren’t helping. He pushed the cup aside, wishing he could get something else to wash away the overly sweet taste lingering on his tongue. But Tabitha already knew something was up, and also that he really didn't want to talk about it.

“I thought that was the point,” he pointed wryly.

“I still think you should have picked one of those randos you like hooking up with.”

Ryan was glad he’d stopped drinking his coffee because he might have choked. He’d known Tabitha for three years now; he should long be used to her frank way of speaking, but she still managed to surprise the hell out of him once in awhile.

“First off, they’re not randos, and second,” Ryan paused with exaggerated faux affront, “I don’t like hooking up with them.”

“You don’t like it?” Tabitha raised a flawlessly groomed blonde eyebrow. “That must be rather odd. I had this notion that sex was generally an enjoyable act.”

“It is.” Ryan ground his teeth together. “You know what I mean. I don’t enjoy it because they’re random guys, but a relationship just isn’t for me.”

Tabitha rolled her eyes. “Just because one relationship turned sour doesn’t mean that every relationship will.”

“It didn’t turn sour. It became too damn boring,” Ryan said.

“And yet, a relationship is exactly what you are hoping to achieve,” Tabitha said, setting her latte down with a pointed click on the marble tabletop. “How do you propose to stay un-bored with Wyatt?”

“It’s not going to be a real relationship,” Ryan said. “You know that.”

“It’s real enough that you like him. It’s real enough that you hired him to cook you egg white omelets every morning and grill your chicken every night. He’s going to practically live in your backyard. That seems pretty damn real to me.”

“I’m attracted to him. The sex was fantastic. If it’s not serious and it’s not real, I can’t imagine why the sex wouldn’t stay fantastic. And once in awhile, he’ll come with me and we’ll hold hands and get papped We’ll host dinner parties and post sappy Instagram pics. And that’ll fix all my problems.”

“Sappy Instagram posts and holding hands in public once in awhile aren’t going to solve everything,” Tabitha said, sounding faintly exasperated. “You know that,” she echoed him. Her eyes flitted to the coffee cup he’d bought and hadn’t drank.

His stomach was still churning with all the sugar he didn’t usually drink, but he still picked up his cup and took a healthy gulp, meeting Tabitha’s eyes with a challenging glance of his own. “It’ll fix enough,” Ryan said. “The rest, I can fix on my own.”

Tabitha let out an exasperated sigh. “I can’t believe Eric fucking Talbot convinced you that you had to do this.”

“You just don’t like him,” Ryan said. Which was true. Tabitha had hated his agent since day one—before Ryan and Tabitha had even met the first time, she’d hated Eric Talbot. But Ryan couldn’t deny that the guy had done a very good, very aggressive job as his agent. He’d known that was what he needed, considering that even before the draft, Ryan had planned on coming out of the closet.

To his credit, Eric had not flinched once when told this, and had proceeded to make deals and eke every dollar out of Ryan’s promo deals, despite that he was going to be the first professional baseball player to be out.

So when Eric said that Ryan had a problem with the new general manager of the Dodgers, and that he might choose not to sign Ryan to a new contract, Ryan couldn’t help but believe him. No matter what Tabitha said.

“I hate him,” Tabitha said, draining the final drops of her latte and setting the cup decisively on the table. “So when are you going to tell Mr. Blake that you’ve hired him as more than your personal chef?”

“I don’t know,” Ryan confessed. Eric had wanted to offer both jobs at the same time, and let Wyatt take his pick, but Ryan had vetoed that because after their hookup the night before, he wanted Wyatt. And Ryan knew Wyatt wouldn’t agree right away.

But if Ryan could work a little charm on him? Convince him it was necessary? Seduce him with another few rounds of really good sex? Ryan’s chances looked better.

“You’re not going to tell him right away.” Tabitha crossed her arms across her chest and looked even more pissed than when Ryan had brought up Eric Talbot.

“How can I and get him to say yes?”

Tabitha stood abruptly, and Ryan scrambled after her, as she gathered her purse and headed to the door of the café.

“Where are you going?” Ryan asked, even though he already knew.

“To go yell at your tiny-dick agent,” Tabitha said between clenched teeth, turning in the direction of her car, heels clicking determinedly on the sidewalk. “If you don’t think I don’t see his ugly fingers all over this, then I’m a lot blinder than you were counting on. You’re better than this, Ryan.”

Despite already convincing Wyatt to take the chef job—or maybe because of it—Ryan’s day was already shitty. He did not want to spend the next two hours separating his best friend and his agent in order to prevent them from kicking the shit out of each other.

Tabitha had never explicitly told him all the unsavory things she’d had to do in her career as a sports journalist, but he’d heard enough to know she’d crawled through mud and shit and blood. And not all metaphorically either. Men she hadn’t liked had touched her and they’d believed they deserved that privilege.

There was an underside to professional athletics that was dark and seedy as hell. Ryan had always prided himself on avoiding it, but he knew he was sinking into the mud with this fake relationship.

But the same panic that he felt every time he thought about being traded or his contract expiring streaked through him. Shouldn’t he do everything he could to prevent either possibility?

“I’m not saying don’t do it,” Tabitha said softer, empathy in her eyes as she reached out to squeeze his arm. “I’m saying how you go about it is the difference between sliding into the shit and rising above it. You’re a riser.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow and they both burst out laughing. “I’m going to text Cal and tell him you told me I was a riser,” he said and Tabitha made a face, but she was still smiling.

“Like my boyfriend would actually believe I saw your dick,” Tabitha retorted, rolling her eyes.

“I’m telling him anyway.”

Tabitha sighed. “I’m telling you—be honest. Lay it all out on the line. Give him the option to stay your chef. I wouldn’t complain if there was something edible in your fridge.”

“I’ll tell him in a few days. Give him time to settle in.” Ryan shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. If he said more, if he said he was also panicking at the thought of Wyatt turning him down, Tabitha would know he really liked him. And she was suspicious enough as it was. He didn’t need to give her any more reasons to deploy her well-meaning interference.

“Just . . . soon.” Tabitha’s eyes had softened, but they sharpened abruptly back into knife points. “And don’t let that fucktard convince you to do anything else.”

———

The fucktard was waiting in the driveway, having an intense conversation in his car over his Bluetooth.

It wasn’t like Ryan denied Eric was a fucktard, but he was Ryan’s fucktard, with Ryan’s leash tied really tightly around his neck. Ryan reminded himself firmly of this fact as he got out of his own car, and walked over to where Eric had parked.

Eric hung up with a barked order and Ryan braced himself for an argument, because basically everything with Eric ended up an argument. Sometimes Ryan thought Eric argued because he didn’t even know how to do anything else.

“I got a text from your new guy,” Eric said. “As expected, Aquino threw him out when he gave his notice, so he’ll be here sometime tomorrow. Probably afternoon-ish. Do you want me to be here, to go over the rest of the expectations?”

Rest of the expectations. What a nice, polite way of saying Ryan would expect him to pretend to be his boyfriend and definitely not pretend to fuck him on a regular basis. And how unlike Eric to shy away from putting it bluntly.

“Don’t bother. I’ll tell him myself.”

“You’re not changing your mind, are you?” Eric demanded.

“No. But I want to give him an out, if he’s not okay with it.”

“You said you two hooked up, and it was good. Why wouldn’t he want to?”

“Why wouldn’t he want to play my boyfriend? I don’t know, maybe he just doesn’t want to. Not everyone is incredibly mercenary like you,” Ryan said with an eye roll as punctuation. “Anyway, if he doesn’t want to, he can stay on like he planned, as my personal chef, and we’ll find someone else for the boyfriend.”

“Who else?” Eric said impatiently, drumming his hands on the fire engine red hood of his Maserati. “Do you even have someone in mind?”

“Not at this time.”

“I have things lined up . . .” Eric started in, voice growing more intense by the second, and Ryan didn’t want to hear it, because he already knew it and also because Eric really was a fucktard.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Ryan interrupted with a harsh edge to his voice. “If Wyatt says no.”

“So when are you going to ask him?” Eric snapped.

“Soon,” Ryan said. Reminded himself again that Eric worked for him, and whatever he wanted to do, however he wanted to proceed, everything was ultimately up to him. Eric couldn’t make decisions for Ryan, he could only advise.

Eric digested this, and even though he clearly wanted to demand a specific date, probably even a specific time, if Ryan knew Eric at all, he didn’t. Definitely a good thing because Eric would have gone postal if he’d discovered Ryan intended to wait a few days. At least until Wyatt got settled in, and wasn’t a total stranger.

Ryan didn’t expect Wyatt to trust him so quickly, but he at least needed to show Wyatt that he wasn’t a manipulative jerk. Tabitha had been right about that; like she was right about so many things.

“I also have the details of the new Adidas shoot,” Eric said, following Ryan as he keyed in the garage code and ducked through the opening door.

“You could have emailed it over,” Ryan said, annoyed that Eric hadn’t taken a hint and left. He walked into the kitchen, and grabbed a water bottle from the fridge. He didn’t offer Eric one and pointedly drank deeply as Eric leaned over the island counter and went over the main points of the new Adidas commercial shoot Ryan was doing soon.

“I asked them to try to downplay some of the more LGBT-friendly symbols,” Eric said. “It’s a contract year. I want them to emphasize that you’re an athlete. A pro athlete.”

Ryan made a face. “I wish you hadn’t told them that. We can emphasize I’m an athlete some other way. You can get me another one of those Men’s Health covers or something. I love that Adidas is ready and willing to embrace that I’m gay. That was why we signed with them instead of Nike.”

“You can definitely do better than Men’s Health,” Eric scoffed, clearly changing the subject, which annoyed Ryan even more. “I think we can get Sports Illustrated, maybe even for their Opening Day special issue.”

“You really think you can convince Sports Illustrated to pick me, instead of any of the other dozens of high-profile baseball players?” Ryan was not convinced. He had had a good year last year, and he’d made his mark in the playoffs the year before that. He’d already been a household name because he’d come out before the draft, but he was definitely beginning to be recognized for his baseball skills. As far as he was concerned, it had taken too long, though Eric kept telling him he was doing even better than the ten-year plan.

Eric was a fucktard, but he also had a ten-year plan for Ryan, which made hating him difficult. The ten-year plan also made deliberately circumventing Eric’s ideas pretty stupid. Ryan usually tried to follow them, but this was a subject he was definitely willing to draw a line about.

“It’s not decided yet, of course,” Eric said, “but I feel good about your chances.”

“I don’t care. Call Adidas back,” Ryan said with clipped tones.

Ryan saw Eric hold himself back for a second time in the last fifteen minutes, and that was basically a record, so it was probably better to end this conversation now, before Eric lost his temper and so did Ryan. They’d been working together for over three years now, and he’d learned that everything was just smoother if he could bring Eric around to his way of thinking without having to yell at him.

“You’re sure?” Eric asked skeptically.

“Was I sure three years ago when I sat in your office for the first time and said I wanted to come out before the draft?” Ryan demanded. His temper was definitely fraying at the edges. He squished the plastic bottle in his hands and it made a satisfyingly loud crackling noise.

To his credit, Eric looked him straight in the eye. “You told me you had balls enough for both of us. I’d never had a client who questioned my balls before.”

“There you go,” Ryan said, tossing the bottle in the recycling bin. “Find them and call Adidas back.”

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.

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.