Chapter Six
Only the thought that he was a god damn professional got Wyatt out of bed at four, where he’d spent the afternoon wallowing in self-imposed and Ryan-imposed misery.
Wyatt didn’t exactly blame Ryan for the truth, and it wasn’t his fault Wyatt was miserable, but so many of the reasons still originated with him.
He wanted to date Ryan for real, not as a front to convince his general manager that he was a reliable person. Not because Eric had decided Ryan should date someone. Not because Ryan figured they were at least sexually compatible so fake dating for the foreseeable future wouldn’t be so terrible.
Though that reason had at least made some fucking sense.
It had brought Wyatt so high that Ryan had picked him and then brought him lower than he’d ever been to have to turn him down.
Frankly, he didn’t give a shit what his brothers thought of him; if they needed a year or two or ten to cool off, whatever.
But his grandmother . . . she had always made him pause.
Especially now, because the last thing he wanted was to lose whatever time he had left with her.
Wouldn’t it be better to just keep his mouth shut and have her drift away from reality with her nice, innocuous, pleasant, loving memories of Wyatt?
He looked in the mirror in the bathroom and wished his eyes didn’t look red still. Curse of having blue eyes; if you cried, there was no way to hide it. He wet a washcloth with cold water and tried anyway.
After a minute of dabbing and trying to take away the remaining puffiness under his eyes, he felt a little more normal. He normally couldn't give a shit, but he didn’t want Ryan to know he’d spent the afternoon crying.
It would be so easy to walk back into Ryan’s house and tell him that he’d changed his mind. And so hard, Wyatt reminded his reflection. If he told the truth, then his nana might have a different view of him for the last bit of her coherent life, but at least she would have the right view.
Tossing the washcloth into the sink, Wyatt wiped his face, gave a quick damp swipe to his hair, and hoped that nobody would be in the kitchen. He wanted to prep dinner in silence.
Before he even opened the door to the house, Wyatt knew he wouldn’t get any silence. Music echoed through a few open windows and grew much louder as he stepped inside.
A beautiful blonde woman was sitting on a barstool, sipping a glass filled with clear liquid and a lime slice. Her blue eyes latched onto him instantly, and Wyatt froze.
“Hello, you must be Wyatt,” she said. Her tone was brisk and straightforward. She extended a hand and he walked closer to shake it.
“I’m Tabitha. Ryan’s best friend,” she continued, and even though he’d known forever he was gay, he couldn’t help but be struck a little dumb by how crazy gorgeous she was.
Flawless features, bright hair curling around her face, and those eyes.
Never mind the excessive confidence she exuded. She’d belong wherever she chose to be.
“I’m not sure where he got to,” Tabitha said because Wyatt still hadn’t found his voice. “We spent the last few hours figuring out where to put everything. I’m sure you’ll want to re-arrange but it gave him something to do, and it kept him out of your hair, which . . . you’re welcome.”
Wyatt stiffened. Had Ryan told this woman all his secrets? The reason why he’d turned Ryan’s proposal down?
“Don’t worry,” she said. “He didn’t tell me why. Just that it was a really good reason, and I had to keep him occupied so he wouldn’t get selfish and try to convince you anyway.”
Wyatt shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and fervently wished he didn’t feel obligated to be a professional so he could escape back to his quiet little cottage.
He didn’t want to be interrogated by this woman, no matter how beautiful she was.
Because that’s exactly what this was—a very friendly, commiserating interrogation.
“Ryan doesn’t have a selfish bone in his body,” he said.
Tabitha laughed. Not the Disney Princess bell laugh he’d expected, but something a little darker, a little edgier. It sounded real, and it made him like her more, even if he didn’t want to.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Tabitha said speculatively, and Wyatt wasn’t surprised at all. This woman, as friendly as her expression was, could pry secrets out of James Bond.
“I’m sure you have,” Wyatt said wryly, turning towards the fridge. If he had to give up his quiet time, at least he could do what he’d been hired for.
“Oh, are you going to cook something?” Tabitha asked when he opened the fridge and started pulling out ingredients without even looking at them.
“My sister is a really fantastic chef, but that’s not the only way we’re different.
And Ryan isn’t hopeless, he just doesn’t bother.
I’m glad you’re going to bother for him. ”
Wyatt was afraid too many emotions were too close to the surface, but he turned back anyway. “I’d do a lot more than bother.”
Tabitha sighed and tapped a nail, blood red and dangerous, against the side of her glass. He was beginning to suspect it contained more than just water. “I figured as much. We’re going to have to figure out what to do about that, that’s for sure.”
“I bother because I’m paid to,” Wyatt tried to claim, but they both knew the truth and her eyes turned sympathetic.
He half-expected her to call his bluff, but she didn’t. Merely took another drink from her glass. It made him like her more.
Of course Ryan would have a brilliant, yet terrifying friend like Tabitha.
“How did you meet?” Wyatt asked because it got her off his case, and also because he genuinely wanted to know.
“I wrote his coming out story,” Tabitha said breezily. “Among other things. We met three years ago when he was just a snarky kid from Stanford.”
“What about you?” Wyatt asked.
“What about me?”
Wyatt took the corn over to the sink to begin shucking and cleaning the cobs. “You said Ryan was a snarky kid from Stanford. What about you?” He glanced back, and was a little surprised to see her soft expression.
“When we met, I didn’t have friends. Not like Ryan. He was my first.” She hesitated. “I know you don’t want me to pry, it’s written all over your face, but I have to say I understand why he likes you so much. You’ve got this calm, zen thing that would be very appealing for him.”
“Zen thing?” Wyatt asked with a low chuckle.
When he’d come into this kitchen ten minutes ago, he hadn’t felt less like laughing.
He’d wanted nothing more than to turn around and go back to where he’d came from when he’d spotted Tabitha.
But there was something about her blunt honesty coupled with the empathy in her eyes that helped.
It was very clear why the snarky kid from Stanford had wanted to be her friend. Wyatt found himself feeling the exact same way.
“All centered and shit.” Tabitha waved her hand in the air. “Don’t tell me you do yoga.”
“I’m actually more of a surfer, to be honest,” he admitted.
Tabitha groaned. “Of course you are.”
“Is that a problem?” Wyatt asked over his shoulder as he continued to clean the corn from its husks with a soft brush.
He was thinking a fresh corn salsa with the fresh-caught shrimp he’d picked up this morning.
Maybe even add some polenta. He had the time.
It was nice to be able to cook in this relaxed environment, chatting with Tabitha, and not worrying about being screamed at or pleasing a never-ending parade of particular diners paying a fortune for their dinner.
“No, you’re just disgustingly perfect.” He could hear the roll of her eyes in her voice.
“Hardly,” Wyatt retorted. “I could give you a load of reasons why I’m not perfect.”
“Oh, I’m glad I got back for this,” Ryan said. Wyatt’s head whipped around, and yeah, he was definitely there, standing in the doorway. Wyatt felt a little like he’d gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar, but he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
Tabitha had just happened to be here, and he was making normal, friendly conversation with her, like anyone might.
“I got fresh supplies,” Ryan said, pulling out a bottle of Grey Goose from the paper bag he was holding.
“Should have gotten tequila,” Wyatt said, forcing his voice to stay even and normal. “I’m making barbecued shrimp. Great with a margarita.”
“I probably have some somewhere,” Ryan said. “But Tabby was determined to drink all my vodka.”
“I was trying to make you feel better,” Tabitha said with dignity. “And I've been telling you for years not to call me that.”
“Someday,” Ryan said, slinging an arm around his friend, “you’re going to realize that every time you say that, it makes me more determined than ever to call you that.” His affectionate gaze was completely platonic, but Wyatt couldn’t help it; he burned with jealousy anyway.
Even if they couldn’t be a thing—fake or real or anything else in between—he still wanted to be Ryan’s friend. Not just his employee. And Wyatt was terrified that turning down his proposal had left him his job, but had demolished everything else.
He couldn’t imagine how much it would burn when Ryan moved on and found someone new to pretend to date, and fuck for real.
No matter how much he needed this job or how much he didn’t want to leave, Wyatt wasn’t sure he could stick around and watch that.
“You are an asshole,” Tabitha said. “Even though you went and bought me more vodka.”
“Yeah, I’m still trying to figure out how you coming over and drinking all my booze was supposed to make me feel better.” Ryan was smiling, but Wyatt thought he could see the bad mood lurking behind his dark eyes. Present, but concealed. Just like his own.