Chapter Three #2
“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.