Chapter Twelve
THE SHARP KNOCK STARTLED RYLAN, and he glanced at his watch, surprised to see it was dinnertime. He slid his chair back from his desk and padded to open the door, smiling when he saw Scott standing there holding what looked like takeout bags.
“Hey,” Rylan said, stepping back to let him in. “Brought me food?”
“Beef yakisoba from Squid Ink. That okay?”
“Oh, yeah.”
Scott set the bags on the kitchen counter before pulling him into his arms. “Hi, baby.”
Rylan lifted his face for a kiss. “Hi,” he murmured against Scott’s lips. “I missed you. How was Vegas?”
“Not bad. The club was pretty nice.” With a last nuzzle against Rylan’s cheek, Scott let him go and took the food to the table while Rylan busied himself getting plates and bottles of beer.
“So a week in Vegas and the only description I get is ‘not bad’?” Rylan teased. “The pictures I saw on Instagram were hot. The fuchsia swimsuit—” He made a show of fanning himself.
Scott smirked. “That pool party was a legit blast.”
“Rooftop pool parties, hosting the grand opening of the new club…wow. How does it feel to be an official Hawt Boy at last?”
“I had a good time, Ry.” Scott cut into his grilled salmon. “Anything new here?”
“Nope. Same old. Worked at the club, edited pictures, hung out with Minh and Chris.”
“How are they doing?”
“Inseparable. We’ve been back from Sedona, what, a month now? I don’t think I’ve seen one without the other since.”
“Good for them.”
A short silence fell until Scott said, his tone carefully offhand, “So you saw the pictures of the pool party?”
Rylan washed down his bite of beef yakisoba with a sip of beer. “I did. Whoever the photographer was, he did a great job.”
And then some, he thought ruefully, considering how many loving close-ups of Scott’s abs and bulge there were. “It’s what I expected to see, Scott. The whole point of those appearances is for you to act like every man’s wet dream come to life.” He chuckled. “Make it seem like wearing MC₂ is the ticket to good times and hot sex.”
The relief in Scott’s eyes was palpable. “Exactly. I knew you understood that, but hearing you say it helps.”
They finished their meal in silence, and Rylan carried their empty plates to the sink and busied himself rinsing them off. He gave a little squeak of surprise when he felt strong arms wrap around his waist from behind.
“We talked about this when I signed the contract with MC₂,” Scott said in his ear, “but every time I go to one of these events, I worry about—”
Rylan shut the water off and leaned back against him, smiling when Scott pulled him closer. “I know the score. It’s okay.”
“I’m the luckiest guy in the world. I don’t—”
Rylan reached around behind him and gave Scott’s muscular ass a pinch. “Don’t you dare say the D word,” he scolded with mock severity, and Scott kissed his cheek.
“I don’t deserve you,” he said anyway, ignoring Rylan’s groan of annoyance.
“Hey.” Rylan tilted his head back to look up at him, noticing that old white line of distress around Scott’s lips. It had been a while since that had made an appearance, and seeing it now caused a pang. “Don’t worry about me. We did talk about this, and you know my hard limit—”
“—no gay porn,” they finished in unison, and Rylan turned in his arms and smoothed his thumbs over the corners of Scott’s mouth, relieved to see a faint smile replace the pinched look.
“Watching you fuck some Lance Stone wannabe on camera is a big nope, although I do admit to an increasing desire to watch you and Chris go at it—”
Rylan broke off with a yelp when Scott grabbed him and tickled him mercilessly, which soon turned into outright groping and kissing. They broke apart, breathing hard, and Rylan slid his hand between Scott’s legs to squeeze his erection. “So is this for me, or for Chris?” he asked wickedly, gasping when Scott gave his ass a sharp smack.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Scott’s face was relaxed, his eyes full of heat with a tinge of playfulness. “If we didn’t have to meet Beej in half an hour, I’d bend you over this counter and give you a hint.”
Rylan huffed. “Well, I hope I’d get more than a ‘hint,’ since I usually demand all eight inches—”
Scott thrust against Rylan’s palm with a smirk. “It’s all for you, baby. All for you.” He lowered his head and gave him an achingly gentle kiss. “God, I really missed you.”
“Mmm.” Rylan stroked his tongue over Scott’s lips, deepening the kiss. “Missed you.”
They clung together for another minute, until Scott pulled away. “I want you to move back to my place, Rylan.”
Rylan patted Scott’s cheek and resumed rinsing the dishes. “But what about the dating clause?”
Scott rested a hip against the counter next to him. “It’s not a clause. It was a—polite request.”
“And one that’s easy enough to honor.” Rylan hung the dishrag over the faucet to drain and dried his hands on a nearby towel. “They’d prefer you not date anyone openly since that pretty much negates the party boy, casual sex image. I get it. I don’t need to stake my claim or be around you twenty-four seven to feel like we’re dating. It’s okay.”
Rylan didn’t even know how many times he’d said that phrase over the past month…it’s okay.
“Rylan, I—you know I haven’t been in a relationship before. Not like this. It’s just—God, I don’t want to fuck it up.”
Rylan smiled at him, stepping closer to cup his cheek. “Keep talking to me like this and being open with your feelings, and I guarantee you won’t fuck anything up. How can you if we’re communicating?”
Scott took a deep breath. “Start as you mean to go on.”
“Exactly.”
They left the apartment, walking down the concrete stairs toward the parking lot.
“You doing okay with rent and all that?” Scott asked. “That old landlady off your back?”
“Mrs. Popovic? Oh, yeah, no worries. Corey’s keeping me super busy at the club, and I actually picked up a freelance wedding client last weekend.”
“Really?”
“I didn’t tell you? This couple got engaged during one of Minh’s shows, and I took pictures of it and posted them on the club’s Instagram. They liked them so much they hired me to do their actual wedding.”
“That’s great, Ry,” Scott exclaimed. “Paying customers?”
Scott clicked his convertible open, and they pulled open their doors, the hot air trapped inside rolling out in an almost suffocating wave. Scott hurriedly turned the car on to get the AC going, and Rylan grabbed for his seat belt, squeaking as his fingers grazed the hot metal of the buckle.
“Yep, paying customers.” Rylan adjusted one of the air vents so it was blowing directly on him. “They said they’re delighted to give their business to a gay photographer rather than trying to find someone in the phone book who would ‘tolerate’ doing a same-sex wedding. Kind of like that wedding cake bullshit, you know? I don’t think there’s anyone specializing in LGBT weddings here in town yet, so—”
“So you have a chance to corner the market.” Scott’s voice was enthusiastic as he backed out of the space and headed for the exit to the complex. “Mahoney Photography.”
“I like the sound of that. Actually, what I should do is go into business with Minh, right?” He was joking, but Scott reached over and gripped Rylan’s leg.
“You should,” he exclaimed. “It’s perfect.”
“Maybe.” Rylan fiddled with the AC vent, but the air wasn’t cold enough yet to make much of a difference. “Fuck me, it’s so hot.”
Scott snorted. “July in Arizona, Ry? Welcome to hell.”
“Seriously.”
The sun was setting, but the asphalt outside still shimmered with heat waves. Rylan gazed out the window as they left his shabby neighborhood and headed south into the heart of the city. Gleaming skyscrapers towered over them, covered in tinted glass that bounced sunlight off them and into brilliant arcs that stabbed into the eyeballs. Commuters crammed into the meager shade of light-rail and bus-stop shelters, the oppressive desert heat almost tangible in the air.
They soon left the business district behind, and Rylan could see old houses with straggly, unkempt yards popping up here and there. Some had signs out front boasting of a law office or tarot reader or accountant. It was a strange mix of residential and commercial, with railroad tracks crisscrossing it all. Eventually Scott pulled to the curb in front of a squat building made of sun-faded brick and parked.
Rylan got out of the car. The glitzy sports arenas and trendy bars were just a few blocks away, but here the sidewalks were cracked and uneven, with scraggly weeds sprouting up everywhere. Dusty, vacant lots were covered in more weeds, and next to the dirty brick, some people were slumped in the worthless shade, their dented shopping carts next to them and filled with bits and pieces of other people’s lives scavenged from the trash.
Scott walked right up to the building and went inside. Rylan followed, noticing the neatly printed homemade sign taped to the door: Searchlight Ministries. When he entered, Scott was talking to a woman sitting behind a sort of reception counter. An old air conditioner mounted in the window labored away, but the room still felt sticky and smelled stale.
“Sister’s working at 2nd and 3rd Streets between Jefferson and Washington today,” the lady rumbled in a heavy smoker’s voice. “And hey, if you be headed that way, take more water witchu, baby.” Turning her head, she noticed Rylan hovering near the doorway and smiled. “May I help you?”
Scott answered before Rylan could. “He’s with me, Betty.”
She gave Rylan a cheery wave, and Scott bent down to kiss her cheek, making her blush, before walking over to a corner of the room where a small red wagon was. He loaded it up with a couple of small flats of water bottles.
Rylan lifted his hand in good-bye at Betty and followed Scott back out to the street, where the heat slammed into them again like a fist, almost stealing Rylan’s breath. Without hesitation, Scott started off down the sidewalk, the wagon clattering along behind him. They walked in silence for a few blocks until they came to a depressed little park with tired-looking trees and broken-down benches. Several people sprawled about in the shade, men and women, some with shopping carts or backpacks, some without.
“Hey, it’s Scotty A!”
Suddenly they were surrounded, and Scott spent time shaking hands, clapping backs and even giving some hugs. He handed out water bottles, and after a few minutes, casually said, “This is my friend Rylan, and he’s gonna take a few pictures around here, if that’s okay. If you say no, he won’t. Right, Rylan?”
Every head swiveled in Rylan’s direction. There wasn’t hostility so much on the faces staring at him right then, but more of a wariness, the look of people who had been tossed aside by society and knew they weren’t wanted.
Mutters went around the circle, “Yeah, fine, whatever,” and most of them turned back to Scott. One woman with matted brown hair and a face streaked with dirt and sweat said to Rylan, almost flirtatiously, “You be sure to get my good side, sugar. You hear? Imma want that modeling contract from Vogue.”
She struck a cheeky pose, and Rylan lifted his Nikon and took several shots, circling around her like a fashion photographer, much like he’d done with Teena that first night. He pulled the pictures up on the camera screen to show her afterward, and although the faded evening light wasn’t the best, she still seemed delighted with them, even more so when Rylan let her hold the camera and scroll through the shots herself. She finally handed it back to him, handling the camera as carefully as if it was a newborn baby.
“Wow, I do need a bath,” she said self-consciously, patting her hair, grimacing as she combed her fingers futilely through the mats in it.
“I can get you a ride over to the women’s shelter right now,” Scott broke in. “A shower, a meal, a cool night’s sleep.”
She spat on the ground. “Gotta listen to a fuckin’ sermon first, though.”
Scott shrugged in acknowledgment. “I know. But listening to a few Bible verses in exchange for what you get? Can you get through it just for tonight?”
The woman gave him a crafty look. “If’n I do, and I put up with the Jesus bullshit, I want him to come take better pictures of me.” She pointed to Rylan, who immediately agreed.
“I promise,” he said, putting his hand over his heart. She narrowed her eyes at him and slowly nodded.
“Great!” Scott said. “I’ll get the van over as soon as I can, okay?”
“Ain’t goin’ anywhere, baby. I be here.”
Rylan trailed after Scott as he handed out bottles of water and cheap packs of baby wipes. He took photos the whole time, and to his satisfaction, he’d soon faded into the background as far as the people around him were concerned. The shots he got were candid, open, the sort of pictures that made his heart pound with excitement.
By the time Scott’s wagon was empty, it was full dark, and Rylan could barely breathe because of the heat. All he wanted was a shower, a cold beer, and to lie naked under his ceiling fan. Then he instantly felt ashamed. He’d been outside, what, all of an hour?
“How did you do it?” he burst out. “How did you live like this?”
Scott glanced at him. “Little tricks I learned. Panhandling and then buying an all-day pass for the light-rail. For four dollars, I could sit in icy-cold AC and ride all over the city. Looking back, I had it easy compared to most, Ry.”
The wagon rattled over the cracks in the sidewalk, and the dust and exhaust in the air, combined with the oppressive heat radiating off the concrete, made Rylan feel ill. “Easy?” he croaked.
“Yeah. I could ride all day, and I didn’t get run off or harassed. If I approached someone with a sob story about losing my wallet—‘Oh, can I have a few bucks to get back to my dorm room at ASU?’—most didn’t hesitate to hand it over.” His lips twisted. “Hot white guys can’t possibly be dangerous, right? And nobody ever screamed at me or told me to get off my lazy ass and get a fuckin’ job. Yeah, I’m goddamn lucky. For the first time in my life, I was grateful to have this face, so thanks, Dad, for your dominant genes.”
They rounded a corner, and Rylan heard the distinctive sound of a generator rumbling right before an old RV parked at the curb came into view. It was rather decrepit-looking, rusted out, with a sagging awning that jutted over the sidewalk. There was a long folding table set up underneath the awning, and a group of people gathered around it.
Scott strode over without hesitation, dropping the wagon handle as a petite, gray-haired woman wearing cargo pants and a white T-shirt detached from the crowd and launched herself into his arms. “Scotty!” she exclaimed in a rich, husky voice, hugging him tightly.
“Hey, Beej.” Scott gave the woman a squeeze before setting her gently back on her feet.
“What’ve you been up to, boy? Ain’t seen you around here in ages.”
Scott gave her a wink. “Oh, you know, this and that. Beej, this is Rylan.”
She stuck her hand out for Rylan to shake, and as he took it, he murmured, “Nice to meet you, Sister.” The only indication of her profession and faith was a thin gold necklace with a tiny cross hanging from it, and while he hadn’t exactly been expecting her to be wearing a habit complete with wimple, her casual dress did surprise him a little.
Beej scanned him in turn, taking in the camera around his neck, and his heart sank when the initial friendliness faded from her eyes, replaced by an almost weary resignation.
“Lemme guess. Graduate student?” she asked Scott.
He quirked his lips. “Nope, not even close. My boyfriend.”
Beej raised her eyebrows. “Well, then. This should be interesting. Gimme a minute to get these guys settled and then we’ll talk.” She turned and headed back toward the folding table and the women milling around it.
“Yo, Sister Beej, where the fuckin’ condoms at?” one of them called to her. “I got a ’ppointment.”
Beej held up her hands in a ‘wait a minute’ gesture. “Anyone working the stroll at 7th and Roosevelt, there’s been an addition to the bad-date list, okay? Skinny white guy, short brown hair, no visible tattoos, has a goatee. Drives a big silver pickup with a kid’s car seat in the back.”
“What he do?”
“I think I seen him before.”
Beej waited until the muttering died down. “He refuses to wear a condom, and he smacked Sylvie around when she tried to sneak one on him.”
“Fuck, I remember that dude.” A woman spat into the gutter. “He absolutely will not wear no rubber, and he knows all the tricks for sneaking one on. Watches for it.”
Beej leaned into the open RV door and grabbed a box from inside, hefting it over to the table. “Just be aware, okay? Use your best harm-reduction techniques if you accept a date with this guy, or avoid him completely.” She reached inside the box and tossed several handfuls of condoms down.
The women snatched up the packets, stuffing them into pockets and purses before wandering off in different directions. “I have sealed, clean needles for anyone using tonight,” Beej called after them. “You know there’s no judgment here. I just want you all to be safe.”
Rylan watched in bemusement as she and Scott proceeded to set up an elaborate display on the folding table, complete with baskets full of condoms and lube and the aforementioned syringes. There were baby wipes, small tubes of hemorrhoidal cream, travel-size bottles of mouthwash, and various other hygiene items. Small laundry baskets contained neatly folded stacks of what looked to be clean, used clothes, including new packages of plain cotton underwear.
“Where do you get all this, Sister?” Rylan asked. “Donations?”
“Yes. It’s a ministry my diocese runs, and we partner with other entities like Searchlight. We have a clothing and shoe drop box at church, and any monetary donations go for the personal items.” She waved her hand at the RV. “We bring the mobile unit out once a week to provide showers, and as often as I can on weekends, I get friends of mine—doctors, dentists, hair stylists—to donate their time for exams and haircuts.”
“That’s amazing,” Rylan said sincerely. “It looks like you’re doing fantastic work.”
A boy in his late teens wandered up and stuffed his pockets with some syringes, along with a few condoms. Scott greeted him, and before long, they were involved in a deep discussion off to the side, their voices low and intense.
“Being an ally to sex workers isn’t about rescue,” Beej remarked, watching them. “It’s about support. Respect. Dignity.”
“I agree. That’s why I want to work on erasing the stigma—”
“By taking pictures of them?” Beej interrupted, nodding at Rylan’s camera. “I assume that’s why you’re here.”
Rylan fingered the camera self-consciously, and then, deciding he had nothing to lose, told her all about his project. When he was finished, instead of seeming enthusiastic, Beej frowned, saying, “But that sort of project isn’t about helping sex workers, or trans women, it’s about helping yourself.”
Rylan blinked. “What? No, I—”
“Sure, it is.” Beej put her hands on her hips. “It’s about selling magazines, newspapers, whatever. Making a name for yourself. Publishing yet another article about sex workers isn’t ‘helping’ them.”
“I’m prodecriminalization, Sister,” Rylan said in an earnest tone. “Publishing an article on the day-to-day lives of marginalized women will help bring awareness, promote understanding. It’ll show that this is work, a job, not something that should be criminalized.”
Beej’s face softened. “I can tell you’re passionate about this—Rylan, is it?” When he nodded, she went on. “Rylan, I field probably half a dozen requests each month for interviews, observations, ride-alongs, you name it, and every journalist or student writing a thesis thinks their piece is going to revolutionize the sex industry as we know it. But the truth is, if a study needs to be done or an article written or some pictures taken, there’s a sex worker who can, will, or has done it at least as well in their own voice.”
Rylan didn’t know what to say, and his cheeks burned. “I—”
“The publication you want to contribute to, does it have paywalls? Will the article be accessible by sex worker organizations and those wishing to educate themselves? Or is it that only paid subscribers can read it, those who’ll be titillated by some ‘poverty porn,’ forgotten as soon as something else catches their eye?”
Scott finished his conversation with the boy and walked over to stand at Rylan’s shoulder.
“These are the questions you need to ask yourself when deciding whether the work you’re doing will directly and materially benefit the people you’re studying. Or is it all take and no give, essentially a tourist visit into their lives?”
Beej then turned to Scott. “Is Javier all right?”
“No. He was raped in the jail holding tank after being picked up on a failure to appear warrant a few days ago.”
Beej closed her eyes for a moment. “Will he stick around long enough for me to get a social worker out to talk to him?”
“I’m not sure. He’s looking to trade for drugs, says he just wants to tweak to forget, but I tried to stall him by convincing him to take a shower, have something to eat. He’s inside the RV.”
Beej patted Rylan’s shoulder, and her tone wasn’t unkind as she said, “Lots to think about, huh? I’m not against what you’re doing, I just want to be sure you’re looking at it from all angles.”
Rylan cleared his throat. “Thanks, Sister.”
She strode off, and Scott looked at Rylan with narrowed eyes. “Everything okay, Ry?”
Rylan pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled. “Just, uh—I don’t know.” He gestured toward the empty wagon. “You need to take that back?”
Scott shook his head. “No, Beej can drop it back off at the Ministries for me. You want to head out, go to my place? I have a VIP gig tonight, but I should be done by one a.m., and it’d be nice to come home to you waiting for me.” He slipped his arm around Rylan’s waist.
At that moment, all Rylan wanted to do was be alone…alone to process the fact his career-making project had just blown up in his face, leaving him rudderless, without direction. He pushed Scott’s arm away and stuffed his camera into his backpack before slinging it over his shoulder.
“Nah, I’m gonna walk around for a while. Do some thinking.”
“Walk around by yourself? To think about what?” Scott’s tone was anxious, and Rylan flapped his hand at him.
“Just—stuff, okay?” he said impatiently. “I’ll see you later.”
“Rylan—”
“I’ll be fine, Scott. I have my phone.” He hurried away before Scott could say anything else, grateful when he didn’t follow him.
Rylan wandered the dark streets aimlessly, his thoughts churning, until the heat drove him inside a nearby coffee shop, where he bought an icy, frothy concoction of something or other. He sat in a window seat with it and brooded until his phone buzzed with a text from Scott: Worried about u.
Rylan sighed, typing: Didn’t mean to worry you, I’m sorry.
Wanna talk about it?
Rylan had to be honest: Not right now, no. Later, ok?
No answer, and Rylan stuck the phone in his pocket, only to have it vibrate again almost immediately. He huffed in annoyance and pulled it back out, surprised this time to see a text from Garrett, his younger stepbrother.
FYI, never heard from Scott. U give him our numbers?
Shit. Rylan put his head in his hands, overwhelmed. He’d totally forgotten about that, as distracted as he’d been with their impulsive trip to Sedona and the busy month that followed.
His thumbs flew over the keyboard as he replied: Garrett, hey. Totally my bad, but I never told him :( Don’t be mad at him, ok? I’ll do it next time I see him, promise.
A pause, then: No worries. Thought he blew us off tbh. Let me know.
Will do. Really sorry, man.
Rylan put his phone away again before resting his head on his crossed arms, thinking of his younger stepbrothers in Florida waiting patiently for a text that never came. Pain shot through him at what they must have felt, wondering if Scott didn’t have time to get in touch with them, or worse, didn’t care. Damn it, he was such an asshole for forgetting.
“Thought that was you.”
Rylan jumped a mile at the sound of the husky voice at his shoulder, and he whirled around on his stool to see a woman smirking at him. She was dressed in a black pencil skirt and a silky cream-colored blouse, a handbag with a gold chain for a strap hanging over her shoulder.
“Maya!” Rylan stood and held out his hand for her to shake. “Wow, you look great!”
“Mmm. Don’t sound so surprised. Clean up that well, eh?” She released his hand and perched on the chair next to him, laying her purse on the table.
Rylan decided not to dig himself a deeper hole, so he just smiled and asked her a simple “Buy you a coffee?”
“Yeah. Please.”
He got up and was soon back with a cup of black coffee, which she took with a wink of thanks. “So what’s goin’ on, cutie pie?”
Rylan avoided her eyes. “Oh, nothing. Just the usual.”
Maya shot him a narrow glance. “Right. Which is why you seemed so down and out just now.” She shrugged. “Whatever, man.”
Rylan’s phone buzzed again, but he ignored it. “Why don’t you tell me what you’ve been up to instead? I haven’t seen you around.”
Maya leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, smoothing her skirt. “That’s ’cause I haven’t been around. Picked up another regular, and count ’em, that makes three, honey. He wants to pay part of my tuition and books for the fall semester, too.” She flipped her hair facetiously, her long, varnished nails glittering in the overhead light.
Rylan raised his coffee in a silent toast. “What are you taking in college?”
“Right now, web design. Been workin’ on refinin’ my business plan, and the next step is to have my website up and runnin’ by spring. I wanna be totally indoor-based this time next summer, no more workin’ a stroll. The heat like to kill a bitch, ya know?”
Rylan gave a snort. “Believe me, I know. I was just out in it, and it didn’t help I also got roasted over an open fire by a very opinionated nun.”
“Must be good ol’ Sister Beej.” Maya’s tone was full of fond humor. “I saw the RV a couple blocks over.”
“Yep.”
“What’d she roast you for, sweetie? Sorry, I forgot your name.”
“Rylan.” He told her everything about his encounter with Beej, finishing off by saying, “It was hard to hear, Maya, but true. My project is all about me.”
“Hmmm.” Maya pulled a compact out of her purse and opened it to check her reflection. “This girl came up to me one time and said she was writin’ a paper for school, could she ask me some questions about what prostitution is like.” Her mouth twisted. “I said okay and talked about bein’ trans because, you know, it’s my story. Dude, you should’ve seen her eyes pop.”
Maya put her compact away, and her tone was flat as she went on. “She asked how I have sex. Did I get a ‘sex change’? If I didn’t, what I do with my ‘junk’ when I’m ‘cross-dressing.’ She kept lookin’ at my lap, and I think she actually wanted me to lift my skirt and show her.”
“Jesus.”
“She gawked at me like an animal in a zoo.” Maya put her hand on Rylan’s arm. “That night I met you, you showed me nothin’ but dignity and respect, treated me like a human being.” She smirked. “For a white boy, you’s okay. I was gonna help you with your project. Still will, if’n you want.”
Rylan smiled sadly. “I think that ship has sailed, but tell you what. You need some promo pics for your website, I’m your man. Professionally edited, on the house.” He pulled out his wallet and extracted one of his cards. “Email and cell are on there. When you’re ready, let me know, okay?”
“Wow.” She stared at the card for a moment before tucking it carefully in her purse. “That would be—amazin’. I priced boudoir shots recently, and good ones, from a pro, would cost me like eight hundred bucks. Thanks, Rylan.”
“You’re welcome.”
Maya sipped her coffee, pursing her lips. “So tell me all about yourself. I really wanna know.”
Rylan snorted. “Pretty boring, actually.”
She shot him a withering look. “Yeah, uh-huh. Why don’t you just start at the beginning, sweetheart, and lemme be the judge of that.”
Before he knew it, Rylan was telling her everything: about his mom, his dad’s marriage to Heather…and Scott. There was something about Maya’s steady eye contact, her sincere interest, that made him open up to her like he hadn’t done to anyone in a long time.
“You’re a good listener,” he said at last, feeling a little sheepish for dominating the conversation. They were walking down a dark street in the still-sweltering heat, the cool AC of the coffee shop a distant memory. Maya had her strappy sandals off and dangling by one finger, her flirty red toenail polish winking in the occasional streetlight as she padded barefoot next to him.
“That’s my specialty, love. Sex and therapy. At least that’s what one of my regulars calls it.” Her husky tone was filled with humor. “He’s a straight married guy, and we order room service and eat it while we lay on the bed. That dude loves to put his head in my lap and have me stroke his hair while I listen to him talk about his week, his opinion on politics, all sorts of stuff. Then I blow him, and he leaves.”
“Simple yet effective,” Rylan said, amused, and also rather touched by the unknown man’s obvious loneliness. “I think sometimes we get so busy, we forget to stay connected to the people closest to us.” He nudged her shoulder with his. “You’re good at what you do.”
“Oh, yeah, baby. I got that business plan, and I’m gonna build my brand. The professional website is the first step.”
Rylan smiled at her enthusiasm, but then she sobered, saying, “I’m luckier than most, ’cause you know why? I’m an American citizen. I was born right here. My roommates? They undocumented, honey. Can’t get a mainstream job, or go to school, without no Social Security number.” Her face darkened. “Already got two Latina trans sisters in ICE custody, and yeah, they bein’ housed with men, gettin’ assaulted. Won’t let ’em have their hormones, or even a fuckin’ bra if they ask it.”
Rylan stared at her. “That’s awful!”
“One day, after I make a name for myself, I’m gonna turn into the biggest fuckin’ activist you ever seen for sex worker rights and deportation relief. LGBT people bein’ killed down in Mexico, Rylan. That’s one of the reasons they came here to begin with, and now you wanna send ’em back?”
Her voice was low and fierce. Rylan didn’t know what to say, so he stopped walking and pulled out his wallet, extracting a twenty-dollar bill. He held it out to Maya. “Here. It’s pretty much all I have in the world, other than my camera, but this is me investing in your website.”
Maya looked at the money, slowly reaching out to take it. “You—” She cleared her throat. “Really? You all right, man.”
She slipped the money into her bra, and Rylan touched her arm. “And when you’re ready to launch, besides taking the pictures, I will promo the fuck out of your business at the club where I work. My boyfriend has a huge social media outreach. We’ll get the word out about you.”
Maya gripped his hand. “You should reconsider doin’ your project, honey, ’cause I can see you truly wanna help.”
Rylan smiled. “Oh, I’m definitely going to look into what I, as a journalist, can do to bring awareness to trans and sex worker rights.” He squeezed her fingers. “But one thing I learned tonight, from Beej and now from you, is that someone speaking in their own voice is going to draw attention to these issues way more effectively than I could ever hope to.”
Maya gave him a quick hug before she covered her mouth in a huge yawn. “Well, I think I’m gonna trot my happy ass on home. Been a long day, and I got an early-afternoon date tomorrow. Need my beauty sleep.”
Rylan glanced at his watch, surprised to see it was not quite one a.m. When he pulled out his phone, the notification screen held at least half a dozen missed texts from Scott, the tone of them increasingly agitated, especially the last one.
Where the fuck r u? Ignoring me is shitty. If we’re done, say we’re done. Don’t blow me off like this.
Done? Rylan bit his lip in annoyance. He started to text back before remembering Scott would be in the middle of his VIP gig. Fuck it. Rylan was tired and going home to bed. They’d just have to talk it out in the morning.
He said good-bye to Maya and ambled toward the nearest light-rail stop, settling into the ice-cold train car with a sigh, feeling dirty, sticky, and heartsore. Self-pity rolled over him in a suffocating wave, and he fought a losing battle against it, giving up after a moment and letting it swamp him.
What the fuck was he going to do now? His project was dead in the water, and all he had to look forward to was endless nights at Spectrum, taking pictures of yet another party, another Fantasy Friday, Scott in yet another pair of underwear.
You could go to Africa.
Rylan shook his head to quell the little voice. No. His relationship with Scott was still too new, too fragile, to risk its survival on a separation that would last several months, especially since Scott seemed to equate “I need some time alone” to “We’re done.” He’d just wanted to take a fucking walk by himself. Going out of the country with a man Scott still half considered a rival? Out of the question. Rylan wouldn’t do that to him.
He was so lost in thought he almost missed his stop, dashing from the car just before the doors started to close. Rylan trudged toward his apartment, his thoughts turning to a cool, refreshing shower. By the time he let himself in, got that shower, and slipped between the sheets, he was almost cross-eyed with fatigue.
I’m home. Talk tomorrow, ok?
Rylan tossed his phone down to the bed, and was asleep before the glow even faded from the screen.
* * *
When he awoke, it was late morning. No reply from Scott, so Rylan figured he was probably still asleep. He made himself some coffee, sat at his kitchen table with his laptop, and got busy. A couple of hours flew by as he culled through and edited the pictures he felt represented his best work. He put them in a zip file, along with his most updated resume, and emailed the whole thing to the photo desks of the local newspaper, the Associated Press, and Reuters, offering his services as a stringer for the Phoenix area.
After that he trudged back and forth to the apartment complex laundry room with two or three loads, stopping once to chat with Val and Katey, who were lying by the pool under a couple of large umbrellas.
His chores done, Rylan took a shower and then checked his phone. Still nothing from Scott, but there was a voicemail from the photo editor of the AP Phoenix office, asking if he’d be available to cover the reaction to a jury verdict expected to come down late that afternoon. Rylan called her back to accept and quickly dressed in some khaki slacks and a denim button-up shirt. A check of his backpack to make sure he had memory cards, fresh batteries, and his lens case, and soon he was on the light-rail again headed downtown.
His phone buzzed just as the courthouse station approached, and this time it was a text from Scott.
U around?
Rylan’s thumbs flew over the phone as he hurriedly replied, Sorry, isn’t a good time. Have to call u back.
He disembarked from the train, heading for the sprawling courthouse complex. There were TV news vans parked at the curb and cameras set up on the sidewalk, so Rylan joined the rest of the media herd, getting an earful about the lurid trial of a woman accused of shooting and stabbing her ex-boyfriend to death after stalking him.
By the time the guilty verdict came down just before dinnertime, Rylan was light-headed from the heat, exhausted, and soaked with sweat. The pictures he got were good—uninspiring, not challenging at all—but the AP editor seemed pleased enough when Rylan emailed the unedited versions to her. The standard sum would be transferred into his PayPal account as soon as he edited and sent them back. Rylan boarded the train for home, thinking, I can do this.
He was looking forward to the bowl of cold cereal he intended to have for dinner, and as he headed up the walkway toward his apartment, he was surprised to see Scott perched on the steps, waiting for him. Rylan noted sourly that despite the heat, he looked cool and unruffled, his mirrored sunglasses reflecting back Rylan’s own red-faced, bedraggled appearance, and his tone came out sounding a little more unenthusiastic than he intended when he mumbled, “Hey.”
Scott’s lips tightened. “Am I bothering you?” He stood as if to leave.
Rylan suppressed a sigh. “No, you’re not bothering me. It’s just, I look like hammered dog shit, and here you sit, all Mr. GQ.” He was instantly ashamed of how petty that sounded and softened his voice. “I’m really, really happy to see you. I’m just hot and tired, okay?”
“Where’ve you been?”
“Working.” Rylan started up the stairs, keys in hand.
“Really? Are you working with Beej, then?”
“No. She didn’t want to help me.”
“Seriously?” Scott asked incredulously. “I can have a talk with her. I know she’s very protective of the—”
“No!” Rylan was horrified. “I don’t need you to talk to her! She was very clear on her reasons for not helping, and this isn’t something I need you to charm her into, Scott. No way. That would fucking mortify me.”
Scott looked up at him from the bottom of the stairs. “Excuse me for just wanting to help, Rylan,” he said, his voice terse. “Last night you took off without a word, and then you refused to answer my texts. How am I supposed to know what’s going on?”
“I didn’t refuse to answer your texts, I was busy!” Rylan gestured impatiently. “Look, I’ve had a shitty couple of days.”
Scott opened his mouth to reply, and Rylan interrupted before he could. “Just come in already. We don’t need to stand here yelling up and down the stairs at each other like white trash.”
He unlocked the door, exclaiming in relief at the dark coolness before flipping on some lights and pulling the memory card out of his camera. Scott came in and closed the door behind him, leaning back against it with his arms crossed.
“Sorry to embarrass you,” he said quietly. “White trash is my middle name.”
Rylan closed his eyes and prayed for patience. “You know I didn’t literally mean you’re white trash. I said we were both acting like—fuck it, never mind. I didn’t mean it like that.” He inserted the memory stick into his laptop and started downloading the pictures, aware of Scott moving behind him to look over his shoulder.
“You were covering the Jodi Arias verdict today?”
Rylan nodded. “Yep. I’m now a stringer for the Associated Press, and this was my first assignment. You know the case?”
“Sure. It’s been huge local and national news. Why wouldn’t I know it?” There was a faint note of testiness in Scott’s voice, and Rylan gave a shrug.
“No reason. Just didn’t seem like something you’d concern yourself with, that’s all.”
“What, current events in my city? I shouldn’t worry my pretty little head over it, just concentrate on shaking my ass in my thong?” Now his tone was one of cold fury.
Rylan whirled around in his chair to face him. “Would you stop putting words in my mouth? That fucking pisses me off.” He held his hand up and started ticking points off on his fingers. “No, we’re not done. No, I don’t think you’re white trash. No, I don’t think you’re a brainless idiot. Okay? What I think is that I’ve got a lot on my mind, and reassuring you isn’t my top priority right now. News flash, it’s not all about you!”
Scott’s face flushed, and he turned and strode from the apartment without another word, the door swinging shut behind him. Rylan buried his face in his hands and then went after him, but by the time he got his shoes on and found his keys again, Scott was long gone.
Back in his apartment, he grabbed his phone and texted him. I’m sorry.
No answer. Rylan’s looming deadline meant he had no choice but to sit down and edit his photos, and once he’d emailed them to the editor, he tried calling Scott. It went to voicemail.
“Hey,” he said. “I’m sorry for being a prick. I didn’t mean to take everything out on you. Please call me.”
Rylan thought about going over to the club to try to find him, but a text from the AP office came through just then, asking him to cover what was supposed to be the clandestine arrival at the airport of a pro football player, here in town to turn himself in on DUI charges. Having to take the light-rail all the way there meant Rylan would have to leave now.
He slammed his fist down on the counter. “Dammit! I need to buy a fucking car.”
After sending one more Please call me text to Scott, Rylan grabbed his gear and headed out the door.
The next two days were busy as fuck as the AP kept him running all over the city, photographing a high-profile funeral, a protest, a scaffolding collapse. He spent hours on the train, on buses, exhausted yet getting a quiet thrill at seeing his work going out over the AP wire.
Still no word from Scott, but Rylan told himself a little space for them both to cool off was a good thing. Even so, he decided to turn down the next assignment if it got in the way of Rylan tracking him down.
Climbing onto the light-rail again, he dropped wearily into a seat right as his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen to see it was Minh calling.
“What’s up with you and Scott?” Minh demanded without any preliminaries, and Rylan snorted.
“Hey to you, too.”
“Sweetheart, he’s like a wounded bear or somethin’, was even rude to a fan last night. In all these years, I’ve never seen him bein’ rude to any of his fans. Ever. Then I remembered I haven’t seen you around for a while and put two and two together.”
Rylan told Minh everything, his intense disappointment over the death of his project, his need for a walk by himself to think, and how things had escalated from there.
When he was finished, Minh gave a disgusted huff. “Sounds like y’all need to learn how to fight.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. When you’re in a relationship with someone, you have to learn how to fight with them. Like, what’s the other person’s trigger? Whatever it is, that’s a hundred percent off-limits when you fight.”
Rylan’s face burned as sudden guilt and shame swamped him. Scott’s triggers, from the time they were kids, had always come from him not feeling wanted or good enough. Ignoring his texts had not only been shitty, it had also been damaging.
“Make sure he knows your triggers, too. Then when you fight, it doesn’t turn into somethin’ ugly there’s no comin’ back from.”
“You know where he is tonight?”
“Yeah. He’s at home. Corey told him to keep his ass away from the club till he could treat his fans with respect. It’s a little like gettin’ suspended from school, man. Wasn’t pretty.”
“I’ll head over there right now,” Rylan said quietly. He paused. “Thanks, Minh.”
“He needs you, honey.” Minh hung up.
Rylan got off at the next station and switched trains, texting Scott to say he was on his way over. Of course his phone stayed silent, and when he trudged through the lobby of Scott’s building toward the elevator, he had a horrible thought, his insides going cold. George waved him on through with a mild “Nice to see you, Mr. Mahoney,” and Rylan’s knees went weak with relief. Scott hadn’t revoked his visitors’ privileges.
The elevator was swift and silent, and a few moments later, Rylan knocked softly on the condo door. It swung open to reveal Scott, looking tired and grim. They stared at each other, Rylan’s heart aching when he saw the hated white line around Scott’s lips.
Stepping inside and dropping his backpack to the floor, Rylan reached up to cup Scott’s cheek with gentle fingers. “I’m sorry.”
Scott closed his eyes briefly before wrapping his arms around Rylan’s waist to pull him close. They swayed together for long minutes, until Scott took his hand and led him to the living room, where they sank down onto the soft leather couch. The silence was deafening.
“I guess one thing you should know about me,” Rylan said at last, “is that I don’t handle my own personal disappointment well. When I want things to be a certain way, and they’re not, sometimes I can’t cope.”
Scott didn’t reply, just stared down at their clasped hands, his lips pursed.
“You had no idea what was going on. If I’d taken ten fucking seconds to explain things, instead of expecting you to read my mind, we could have avoided this. It’s my fault.”
Scott shook his head at that. “No way. You should be able to deal with your shit the way you need to, Rylan, without always worrying about my feelings first.”
Rylan rubbed his thumb over Scott’s wrist. “Of course I should worry about your feelings. It was thoughtless of me, and selfish, to ignore you just so I could wallow in self-pity. A real dick move.”
“When you wouldn’t answer my texts,” Scott admitted, “I couldn’t help but think maybe you were disgusted by the thought of me being like those people in the park. It’s not rational, yeah, but if you leave me to guess what’s going on, I will always—always—guess the worst.”
Rylan let go of him and knelt at his feet, putting his hands on Scott’s knees. “I know. That’s what I’m beating myself up for the most. I know that. And yet I still put you through it. God, I’m so fucking sorry.”
Scott reached out and stroked Rylan’s cheek. “And I’m sorry for making this all about me. The last thing I want to be is another emotional burden on you. Like your mom, or even your dad.” He sighed. “You shouldn’t have to be the strong one all the time.”
Rylan turned his face to nuzzle Scott’s palm. “You are stronger than I’ll ever be,” he whispered fiercely. “Even if you don’t believe it, you are. But let me say this. No matter what the future holds, I will never break up with you by ignoring you until you go away. That’s not my style.”
Scott leaned forward to give Rylan a gentle kiss. “Baby, if there’s one thing I should know about you, it’s that.” He sat back, his lips quirking in a rueful smile. “I’m not sure when I turned into such a needy little bitch. It really pisses me off.”
Pushing to his feet, Rylan gave a squeak of surprise when Scott grabbed his hand and yanked him into his lap. He draped his arms around Scott’s neck, pressing their foreheads together. “You’re not needy. This is what working on a relationship looks like, that’s all, learning to mesh our insecurities and hang-ups together into something that works for both of us.”
Scott snorted under his breath. “You insecure? That’s bullshit, Rylan. Name one thing you’re insecure about when it comes to us.”
Rylan felt his face flush, and he couldn’t hold Scott’s gaze. “Nah, it sounds stupid,” he muttered. “So fucking high school.”
Scott tilted his chin up with gentle fingers. “No, tell me. Please.”
Rylan shrugged, doing his best to sound offhand as he said, “Oh, well, it’s just sometimes—sometimes I worry about not being enough for you. I’m not gorgeous, athletic, or exciting, and you’re surrounded by those types of people every day. It’s—”
Scott gave a muffled exclamation and took Rylan by the shoulders, giving him a rough shake. “Oh my God. Are you kidding me with that?”
“I told you it was stupid,” Rylan mumbled. “You’re just so—so—you. And I’m nothing special.”
Scott cupped the back of Rylan’s head and kissed him. “Not special? Ry, I need you more than you’ll ever know. You fill those empty spaces inside me I thought could never be filled. I—”
Suddenly Scott gave a loud groan, dropping his head to rest against the back of the couch. “Jesus Christ, did I really just say, ‘You complete me’? I’m sorry, Mahoney, you gotta go. That’s too much.”
Rylan couldn’t help but burst into laughter at that, relieved as the last bit of tension between them completely dissipated, and Scott grinned, his green eyes warm.
“Don’t tell anyone, okay? My image will never recover.”
Threading his fingers through Scott’s hair, Rylan brushed their lips together. “Well, then, I guess you should take me to bed or lose me forever.”
Scott’s mouth dropped open. “Are you quoting Top Gun at me?”
“Yep. You big stud.”
Rylan leapt off Scott’s lap and ran, yelping with delight when Scott exploded from the couch and chased him. He took cover behind the kitchen island, feinting left and right before making a break for it and gasping as Scott hooked him around the waist with a growl of triumph.
They grappled for a moment, and before he knew it, he was flat on his back in Scott’s bed, naked. Rylan half expected to be ravished, but instead, Scott cradled him close, his kisses slow and gentle, his hands almost worshipful. He lingered at Rylan’s nipples and then dragged his parted lips down his belly, finally taking him inside his hot, wet mouth.
After Rylan climaxed with a soft cry, Scott kissed his way back up his body and nestled against him, pulling the sheet over them both. He was hard against Rylan’s thigh, but Scott ignored it, brushing Rylan’s hands away, murmuring, “All I want to do is hold you, Ry.”
Rylan tucked his head under Scott’s chin with a sigh, burrowing his nose into the hollow of his throat. “I love you. I love you so much.”
And even though Scott didn’t say the words back, Rylan felt his love in the lips that grazed his forehead, the fingers that combed with aching tenderness through his hair, the hoarse whisper in his ear. “Sleep, baby. Just sleep.”