Chapter Seven #2
Bringing Eric up was the thing that hardened the look in Wyatt’s eyes. Ryan told himself he shouldn’t be shocked, because Eric Talbot was undoubtedly a garbage dumpster, but he also didn’t think Eric had done anything to Wyatt to deserve that sort of reaction.
“And he also thinks you need to make yourself into some paragon of stability to keep your job?” Wyatt questioned.
Ah, that was it. Like Tabitha, Wyatt had obviously decided that the fake-boyfriend idea was total shit.
And frankly, Ryan himself had thought this same thing on and off over the last few months, so it wasn’t like he blamed Wyatt.
“Sort of. And I’d get signed by someone else, probably for more money, if I wanted. So it’s not exactly about keeping my job. It’s about keeping LA my home base.”
“For your family.”
“Partly, yeah. And because I like it here. I like leaving it, but I also like coming back. If I was in Minnesota or Illinois or somewhere else, I might not feel that way.”
“Minnesota would suck for sure, especially if you like surfing,” Wyatt said, the corner of his lips quirking into a grin. “But you’d like Chicago.”
“Not in the middle of winter,” Ryan pointed out.
“Point. I was only there from March to September.”
“You lived in Chicago?” Ryan asked.
“For a few months. Restaurant folded right after I got an interview at a great restaurant in Portland, so the timing was good.”
“Shame you never got to experience one of those fabled Chicago winters,” Ryan said.
Wyatt mock-shuddered. “I’ll take California, thank you very much.”
And he was the epitome of the California boy, Ryan thought as he watched Wyatt carrying his board towards the sand. Blond hair bright under the sun, the tall lanky build, all that tanned skin rippling with muscle.
Ryan hadn’t thought there was a place he could look better than naked in his bed, but he was surprised to discover that he’d been wrong.
There was something in the quicksilver of Wyatt’s smile as he turned to make sure Ryan was still following him. It made Ryan want more from him than just the admittedly mind-blowing sex they had had, which was something he’d thought he’d left behind years ago.
He thought about texting Tabitha and telling her she might be right, but she was already insufferable enough. Besides, if he didn’t tell her, he didn’t put it into words and the truth, while eye-opening, was also fucking terrifying.
“You coming?” Wyatt turned back fully this time, gracing Ryan not only with a quick glimpse of his bright smile, but his entire self. He looked worried, and Ryan wondered how long he’d been spacing out. Not something he usually did—and he’d already spent the morning doing it.
“Sorry,” Ryan apologized. “I was distracted by such a fantastic view.”
“I’ve always loved Huntington Beach,” Wyatt replied.
Ryan snorted. “Not the view I was talking about.”
Wyatt didn’t say anything but the look on his face was enough for Ryan to know that comment wouldn’t always go un-remarked upon.
Eventually they would have to address the sexual tension simmering away between them.
Eventually they would have to do something about it.
And that day was one Ryan eagerly awaited and dreaded in equal parts.
“We gonna surf?” Wyatt asked as they set up their little camp over by one of the piers.
Ryan had tossed the wax over to Wyatt a few minutes before, and had been fidgeting with his tow strap since. He’d wanted to come out here and let the sun and the sand and the waves exorcise his bad mood, but now he wasn’t sure he even wanted to go in the water.
He wanted to sit on the sand and look at the sunlight on Wyatt’s hair, and ask him to tell him more about culinary school and Chicago and Terroir. Even about that nutjob Aquino.
Ryan was not used to wanting to pick social interaction over the adrenaline rush. It was weird, and he wasn’t sure he liked it.
“We’re here, aren’t we?” Ryan asked, shooting Wyatt a disbelieving look, even though all the hesitation had been on his end. He wasn’t ready to admit to anyone—never mind Wyatt—that he’d been contemplating something so out of character. “Last in the water buys burgers on the way home.”
Wyatt shouldn’t have been surprised but Ryan was an exceptional surfer. Great technique, perfect form, textbook pop-up, the sort of rock-steady balance that he’d always craved.
It was hard not to watch him and to focus on the upcoming waves, bobbing in the surf, waiting for the one that he might not embarrass himself on too badly.
There weren’t a lot of surfers here today—it was later in the day than the hardcore bunch liked—but there was a good variety of skill on display.
Still, it had been a long time since Wyatt had been on a board, and it was fucking hard not to feel a little pressed when Ryan was putting on a show rare for an amateur.
Ryan finished his run, coasting into the beach with the finesse of a seal sliding through the water, and immediately glanced back, like he wanted to make sure Wyatt was okay. Or maybe check him out again, it was hard to say.
That speculative, hot look of Ryan’s took the decision right out of Wyatt’s hands.
It was going to have to be the next wave.
If he waited here for the perfect wave, he’d be waiting all day.
One of his old friends from high school had once told him, “if you wait for the perfect wave to ride, you’ll never ride any. ”
He hopped on his board, fingers gripping the fiberglass and got ready. It wasn’t exactly like riding a bicycle, but his instincts, long unused, still took over. His pop-up was a little shaky but Wyatt swore under his breath, dug his toes into the board and willed himself to stay upright.
He did a quick cut against the wave, gaining speed, and managed not to wipe out as he moved towards the beach.
When he popped out of the water, Ryan was waiting for him, smirk on his face.
“Not too shabby,” he said as Wyatt shook the water out of his hair.
“Yeah,” Wyatt scoffed. “Compared to Mr. Amateur Pro.”
He was pretty sure Ryan blushed, though it was impossible to tell under the heat of the sun. “I’m not good enough to be a pro.”
Wyatt gave him a grin. “Not quite.”
“I get out a lot,” Ryan admitted as Wyatt adjusted his tow strap, and they prepared to go out again. “It helps clear my head. I’m technically not supposed to be out here during the season—they’re always afraid I’ll get hurt or be too tired or strain something—but it helps. So I keep coming.”
No, he wasn’t quite good enough to go pro, Wyatt thought, watching Ryan.
He tried too many risky things; nearly falling off his board despite his iron balance and his great technique.
He craved the challenge, Wyatt realized, as he watched him try the same trick three or four times despite no successful attempts.
He craved the rush he’d get the first time he got it right.
And when he did get it right, his smile was brilliant enough that even through the spray of the salt, it was unmistakable.
When Wyatt came back in after that run, Ryan had retreated to the camp they’d set up, and was toweling his head off.
“That was pretty sick,” Wyatt said and collapsed on the sand.
Surfing for an hour after a lengthy jog probably hadn’t been his best idea ever, and he was definitely going to be feeling it tomorrow, but this afternoon had been worth it.
Both the chance to get back into the ocean, and the chance to spend more time with Ryan—even if it ended up hurting more.
“I’ve been trying to land that right for ages,” Ryan said, smile still sparkling. On anyone else, the look might have edged towards smug, but on Ryan it just looked like pure joy at finally accomplishing something he’d been working on for a long time. “Maybe you’re my lucky charm.”
Wyatt doubted that. “The waves were just with you today.”
“Naw,” Ryan said, leaning in just enough to nudge his elbow gently into Wyatt’s rib cage.
If he came any closer, they’d be embracing.
And Wyatt wanted it, he wanted it badly, but he also froze, because even though he typically didn’t worry while out in public, Ryan was famous.
People watched him. People looked at him.
People wrote about him. And while he certainly didn’t expect his nana to be reading Ryan Flores fan sites, you never knew.
Ryan must have caught the panic on his face because he eased back. He must be confused, because hadn’t Wyatt made out with him in a public parking lot? And he had. Wyatt hadn’t been thinking though. He’d only been feeling, and it had been so sweet after so long being so careful.
Look where that had gotten him.
Their burgers were sitting between them on the console, perfuming the air with grease and cheese, and Ryan was sucking away happily on his chocolate shake, when Wyatt glanced at his phone and realized the time.
“Oh crap, I didn’t realize how late it was,” Wyatt said. “Would you mind if I called my nana? She goes to dinner early and I don’t want to miss her.”
Wyatt thought he saw Ryan tense out of the corner of his eye. But that was silly, why would calling his nana upset Ryan?
He was already dialing when the answer hit him abruptly. His nana was obstinately the reason why he couldn’t be with Ryan the way they both wanted; even if it wasn’t her fault, he could still blame her.
“Hello?” Bea Blake’s voice was tiny and faraway even though Wyatt knew the connection at the memory care facility was excellent. It was one reason why he’d chosen the carrier he had.
“Nana!” he said, trying to push away all the concern he was feeling over having the conversation in front of Ryan.
“Nana?” Her voice was questioning everything, even though she’d only said two words.
“You’re Nana,” Wyatt said fondly.
But instead of her bright, clear laugh, there was a puzzled, drawn-out silence.
“Who is Nana?” she repeated, clearly confused, and Wyatt’s stomach tumbled to his flip-flops.