Chapter Four #2
“Oh, uh, okay, sure.” His first day at Terroir, Bastian Aquino definitely hadn’t invited him out.
Or issued the invitation with quite that fiery glint in his eye either.
Ryan definitely looked like he was up to something.
Wyatt might still be unsure, but he didn’t think he had the willpower to turn this man down.
“I’ll take a quick shower, and then we’ll head out,” Ryan said. “Feel free to settle in.”
Settle in while Ryan was in the shower? Naked and dripping wet and only half a house away? Wyatt felt his temperature spike at the thought.
“I think I’m going to take a quick inventory in the kitchen,” Wyatt said, because that felt so much safer than fantasizing about joining Ryan in the shower.
Wyatt was headfirst in a cupboard, cataloging mixing bowls, when he felt a warm hand rest on his back.
“Find everything you needed?” Ryan asked when Wyatt straightened.
The athletic shorts had been swapped for a pair of jeans tight enough they made his heart thump harder.
He’d done something cute and swoopy to his hair, and he smelled delectable, like spicy vanilla.
Wyatt’s mouth watered, and he was suddenly, painfully aware of his own faded jeans and old t-shirt.
He hadn’t dressed to go out. Or to impress a cute guy, even though he’d known Ryan would probably be here.
He’d dressed to drive six hours on his bike, and hadn’t put anymore thought into it.
Maybe he should have, instead of spending the last twenty minutes digging through Ryan’s kitchen drawers and cupboards.
“You have the basics,” Wyatt said, trailing after Ryan as they headed towards the garage. “I’m probably going to have to pick up some stuff.”
Ryan seemed completely unconcerned by this, and Wyatt felt an awkward, embarrassed pulse at the acute financial gap between them. Ryan had enough money he didn’t have to keep track, while Wyatt scraped by, even now with the increased salary.
That feeling when Ryan opened the garage door, a light shining down on a Range Rover, a Bentley, and a Tesla. And a really sweet street bike that had clearly been modified for speed, and then painted a flat, sexy matte black. In a pair of leathers, Ryan would look like fucking Batman.
It made Wyatt’s serviceable bike look like garbage in comparison. And even though Ryan never seemed to compare, Wyatt couldn’t help doing it.
Ryan passed by the cars without a second glance and pulled a sleek black helmet from a cubby on the wall. He extended the helmet Wyatt’s direction. “You up for it?” he asked, that sly challenge back in his eyes.
It wasn’t a question of what Wyatt was up for, but if the night would end without Wyatt getting everything he was up for.
He grabbed the helmet, and slid it on, watching as Ryan picked up another one, and did the same.
Ryan was maybe only an inch shorter, with slightly narrower shoulders, but it felt just as good to climb on the bike behind him as it had to feel Ryan’s arms wrapped around him. It gave him hope that Ryan might echo his own versatile preferences.
Sliding his own hands around Ryan’s waist, he let one drift down and feel the flexing muscle of his thigh as he pulled the bike out of the garage. Ryan’s glance backwards was bright and challenging.
It shouldn’t have surprised Wyatt that Ryan liked to go fast; after all, he’d seen the collection of cars, even though he only had a vague idea of what they were capable of.
Wyatt knew more about motorcycles, and had definitely known this was custom and tuned for speed, but he still wasn’t expecting the way Ryan floored it when they pulled onto the freeway.
The acceleration pushed Ryan’s body more firmly into the cradle of Wyatt’s, and he knew there was no way Ryan was going to miss how hard he was, cock aching in his jeans. He wanted everything they’d had last time they’d been on a bike like this, and so much more.
But while Ryan seemed to be in a hurry to get somewhere—weaving in and out of the traffic on the freeway, expertly maneuvering the bike even with the extra weight on it—he didn’t seem to be in any hurry to go somewhere specific.
They hit Highway 1, and even the early evening traffic didn’t seem to phase Ryan.
The sun was setting, the sky ablaze with color as they headed further up the coast, and to his surprise, Ryan did finally pull off the road, but not towards an abandoned parking lot, but to a busy taqueria with a nearly full parking lot.
He stopped the bike with a spray of gravel, and pulled off his helmet, grinning like a loon. Wyatt reluctantly removed his hands from Ryan’s waist, and took off his own helmet.
“And I thought I drove fast,” Wyatt teased, pushing his hair back.
Ryan winced. “I might like speed a little too much.”
“The adrenaline can be addictive,” Wyatt acknowledged.
“Yeah,” Ryan admitted. “You been here before?” he asked, gesturing to the building behind them.
The last thing Wyatt had expected was for Ryan to take him to a restaurant. But here they were. Wyatt shook his head, wondering if he should ask Ryan what the hell he was thinking.
“I haven’t. I’m assuming I’m off the clock,” Wyatt said, because he couldn’t just let it go, not the way Ryan did. Probably because Ryan had all the advantages here, and almost certainly kept forgetting that Wyatt didn’t have any.
“Of course you are.” Ryan grinned recklessly. “Though maybe the apprentice has something to teach the master?”
“Master of what?” Wyatt scoffed. “You definitely know how to handle yourself on that bike.”
“Master of good food, duh,” Ryan said, slinging his helmet under his arm. “This place makes the best tacos in Southern California. Pretty good view, too.”
Wyatt didn’t even pretend to look out at Malibu, spread out underneath them. “Yeah, I really like it.”
Ryan flushed. “You wanted to ask me some questions. I figured it might be good to grab some food.”
“I’m not complaining. If you want to feed me, I’m not going to stop you,” he teased back. If Ryan was going to act like this was a date, then he wasn’t going to stop him from doing that either. In fact, he could definitely hold his own, if that’s what this was.
Not everything had to be so black and white—either professionally or personally. Weren’t the best things a gray-hued combination of both? Wyatt reminded himself of his good friend Miles and his boyfriend, Evan, who worked and loved and fought together, sometimes all at once.
If they could do it, then Wyatt could too, especially if it was Ryan he was doing it with.
There was a lengthy line at the little shack, and a lot of the picnic tables were already full of people enjoying their tacos. Wyatt half-expected someone to recognize Ryan, but everyone ignored them.
“I keep expecting everyone here to mow me down to get to you,” Wyatt half-joked. “Am I going to end up being part-chef, part-bodyguard?”
Ryan shot him an incredulous look as they settled in the back of the line. “Please, I’m definitely not that famous. If Eric ever tried to saddle me with a bodyguard, I’d laugh in his face. Or something worse, like question his manhood or his net worth.”
“You don’t ever get people who recognize you?
” Wyatt had known who Ryan was instantly, but then he’d been touched and undeniably impacted three years ago when Ryan had come out of the closet.
Also he’d definitely thought he was hot back then.
That feeling hadn’t changed three years later, when he’d found him at Temple and had spent too many hours staring at him.
“I’m a baseball player, not a celebrity.
” Ryan rolled his eyes. “Every once in a while, yeah, I get someone who wants a selfie or an autograph, but it doesn’t really happen all that often.
Eric probably wishes it happened more. He’s always wanting me to sign more deals to raise my public profile, but like I said, I’m a baseball player, not a fucking influencer, or whatever they call those assholes who take impossible Instagram pictures.
If I’m going to take pictures it’s going to be of all the sick places I visit. ”
“You like to travel?” Wyatt asked. He kept trying to ignore how much like a first date this felt like, but it kept cropping up. But the truth was, however it felt, he wanted to get to know Ryan.
“Confession,” Ryan said, leaning closer, and nudging his shoulder against Wyatt’s, “it’s one of my favorite parts of being a baseball player. We don’t get a lot of time in cities, sometimes, but every place just feels different, you know? And it’s an experience to be in every single one.”
Wyatt wished he did know, but he didn’t.
He’d worked his ass off getting through culinary school, had spent some time in Chicago, then Portland, and then had gotten the job at Terroir, and had jumped at the chance to come back to California.
But his truth was that he’d barely ever left California since he was born, and even though he felt a little wistful at the thought of exploring the world and all the culinary delights it had to offer, he’d never really felt the lack of travel.
“I haven’t really traveled much,” Wyatt confessed. “Not much opportunity.”
Ryan’s smile was bright and infectious. “Maybe we can change that.”
Wyatt didn’t really understand how he could do that; it wasn’t like Wyatt was going to go with Ryan on road trips as his personal chef.
And that was the whole issue, wasn’t it?
Ryan had never defined his job role, and Wyatt had a feeling that wouldn’t change.
Ryan wasn’t really a definer. He liked the adrenaline rush of making it up as he went.
“We’d better figure out our order,” Wyatt suggested, gesturing towards the menu. “What do you usually get?”
Ryan rattled off half a dozen types of tacos, and added, with a lopsided grin, “And definitely beer. I wasn’t supposed to drink during the season so I definitely want a beer with my tacos.”