Chapter Nine
When Ryan heard the engine of Wyatt’s motorcycle revving to take off, and the gate closing behind him, he sighed in relief and leaned against the dresser in his room.
He was supposed to be getting ready for his meeting with Eric this morning, but he’d been fighting the compulsion to exit the house, walk across the yard, and knock on Wyatt’s door. Tell him not to go. Tell him to bring Ryan with him.
Beg him to change his mind, even though that was the very last thing Ryan should ever ask him to do.
He should feel relief that he was on his own again—he’d always felt like he was the best version of himself free and unencumbered—but the house already felt empty because he knew if he walked into the kitchen, there wouldn’t be a familiar pair of blue eyes or that smile.
Ryan took the bike, hoping the speed and adrenaline would dispel the frustration bubbling away inside of him. By the time he made it to the café, he felt a little better but still edgy.
“You look like someone shot your dog,” Eric said when Ryan sat down at the table.
“What the hell, man,” Ryan said, now even more annoyed. “Why would you even say that?” He could usually handle Eric’s usual lack of tact and incredibly blunt delivery. He could even appreciate it at points.
He was not appreciating it now.
“Because you look pissed off,” Eric said.
Ryan sighed and leaned back in the chair, stretching out his legs from the ride in, crossing his feet at the ankles. “You’re an asshole.”
“I’m an asshole because I said it looks like someone shot your dog or I’m an asshole because I’m forcing you to give up on Dream Chef and find someone else to be your fake boyfriend?”
“Both.” Ryan scowled.
“But mostly the latter,” Eric deduced. He wouldn’t be as good of an agent if he wasn’t brilliant at reading people.
Or probably as much of an asshole. The realization was a cold comfort, and Ryan realized that for the first time, the possibility of being traded or waived by the Dodgers didn’t fill him with the worst dread.
It was Wyatt getting on his bike and going back to Napa, never to be seen again.
Ryan pushed the thought away, rationalizing that the only reason that he felt this way was because Wyatt had left this morning. But he’s coming back, he told himself firmly.
“Fine. Whatever. Yes.”
“Dream Chef is no doubt very dreamy,” Eric said dryly. “I heard you took him surfing. I also heard you took him to Flor’s house.”
“You heard?” Ryan raised an eyebrow, feeling dangerously on the edge of getting very pissed. “I thought we talked about this. I don’t like being followed.”
Eric usually backed down when he heard that tone of voice, but this time he didn’t. “You should be happy it was me and not some random photographer.”
“I’m not important enough for the paparazzi to stake out,” Ryan argued.
“As soon as they scent the possibility that you’ve found someone, they’re going to want to know who it is. And those pictures will be very valuable.”
“I thought we were going to organize that so I didn’t have to worry about being stalked by the paps?” Ryan said.
“We are. But you have to have a significant other to take that romantic walk on the beach at Malibu. Or however we decide to do it. You have to have someone.”
Ryan’s stomach cramped at the idea that it wasn’t going to be Wyatt. He put it down to low blood sugar. Being hangry always made him crabby as hell.
“Can we order? I’m starving.”
“Sure, whatever, yes.” Eric raised his hand and the waitress came rushing over. She was blonde and pretty, and Ryan wondered vaguely if she was his latest affair.
They ordered. Ryan ordered too much food, everything on the menu that wasn’t something Wyatt had made him already.
He didn’t want a direct comparison; he honestly wasn’t sure he could handle it.
It was already fucking difficult to push the thought of Wyatt away just so he could keep it together.
He didn’t need Eric watching him cry into his cereal bowl.
“I found a great guy for you,” Eric said as soon as the waitress left. “You’re gonna love him.”
Ryan knew he was pouting. He knew it was unattractive. He didn’t give a shit. “I don’t wanna love him. That’s not the point.”
“Okay, he’ll be easy to tolerate.” Eric pulled a picture out of his briefcase and slid it over. The guy was very cute, just as advertised. Blond twink material; bright green eyes and an infectious smile. Ryan tried to dredge up even a fraction of interest and failed.
“What’s his name?” Ryan said, because he needed to say something. Eric was clearly eager and they needed to get this done.
“Matt.”
Ryan tried to imagine dating, fake or otherwise, Matt. He failed. “He’s an actor?”
“He’ll do whatever. He’s very flexible.”
Ryan shot Eric a dirty, dark look.
“I meant for the role,” Eric clarified, but the look on his face told Ryan the whole story.
He’d meant exactly what Ryan had thought he had.
And maybe a few months ago, he might have wanted to hook up with Matt.
The point of finding someone Ryan liked was to pave the way for that possibility, that eventuality.
But Ryan didn’t want to hook up with Matt, no matter how flexible he was.
“I’ve got nudes too,” Eric said, patting his briefcase. “Just in case you want to see.”
“Jesus,” Ryan exhaled. “You’re a fucking menace.”
“He offered them. He really wants the job.”
Ryan was disgusted and did nothing to hide it. “He needs the job, you mean.” He’d lived in LA almost his entire life, he knew exactly how many desperate, out-of-work actors there were, and what a lot of them would do for the money to stay, or even for a good word in the ear of the right people.
It wasn’t surprising to Ryan that Eric would use that particular disadvantage to his advantage. Which had been one of the reasons Ryan hadn’t wanted to use an actor for this.
Eric waved a hand. “They all do. It’s not really a surprise.”
Wyatt had needed a job, no matter what story his pride had told, and Ryan had given him one. He wanted to give Matt one for similar but very different reasons. Except even Ryan knew he couldn’t employ the whole world.
“Just meet him,” Eric cajoled. “One date.”
Ryan didn’t say a word. Just glared.
“Okay not a date. A meeting. A business meeting. Very straightforward, to the point.”
“And we’ll pay him for his time,” Ryan said with a sharp nod. “Generously.” It wasn’t much, but it was what Ryan could do.
Eric frowned. “Two days. Saturday night, I’ll send him to your house.”
Ryan didn’t really want Matt in his house. He was a stranger. Of course Wyatt had been a stranger too, though that had only felt true for a few short minutes. Maybe Ryan just needed to give Matt a chance.
“Fine.”
“You know,” Eric said, leaning back in his chair, looking smugly self-satisfied that he’d convinced Ryan to give Matt a chance, “you could always just fuck Wyatt on the down low if you want him so bad. Fake date Matt, and fuck Wyatt. It would work out okay.”
Ryan was disgusted but even more disgusted with himself because that thought had definitely crossed his mind more than once.
Except that he didn’t want to only fuck Wyatt.
They were friends. There were other undercurrents that Ryan couldn’t quite explain.
But while he definitely wanted to fuck him, that wasn’t it.
“Thank you for the personal advice,” Ryan said stiffly. “I’ll take it under advisement.”
The food came then, which Ryan was infinitely grateful for. He could eat and ignore Eric for the rest of the meeting.
Eric droned on as Ryan shoveled eggs and sausage into his mouth. “What about Adidas?” was the only question he inserted.
“Adidas?” Eric questioned, having the nerve to look peeved that his soliloquy was interrupted.
“Yeah, what about their direction? Did you convince them to keep the focus more LGBT-friendly?”
Eric pulled out his phone and scrolled until he found what he was looking for, and slid it across the table.
It was a mockup, with another random person standing in for Ryan.
He was staring right through the screen, eyes piercing, and he was naked except for a pair of low-slung black athletic shorts and a pair of black Adidas shoes with the details picked out in a rainbow of colors.
The baseball bat he was holding was the only movement in an otherwise static ad, holding it diagonally across his body, like it was just about to spring into action.
It was eye-catching and arresting and Ryan loved it.
“I don’t know what you told them, but this is dynamite,” Ryan enthused, something other than annoyed for the first time since he’d sat down.
“It looks good,” Eric admitted. “They didn’t have the bat at first, and it lacked something. Even they liked the idea of adding it.”
“What about Sports Illustrated?” Ryan asked.
Eric chortled. “When they get a look at the preview for this ad, they’re going to be falling all over themselves to do a cover shoot for Opening Day. Trust me. You’re going to be the new Colin O’Connor.”
It was a comparison that Ryan had experienced from the moment he’d very publicly come out of the closet right before the draft.
It was one he respected and appreciated, but frankly, he was done being the next version of O’Connor.
He was ready to differentiate himself and be the best version of Ryan Flores.
This Adidas ad might be the first step in that direction.
“We talked about this,” Ryan warned.
“I know, I know. We did. But this,” Eric said, voice growing harsher around the edges as he pushed Matt’s picture back in front of Ryan’s plate, “is how we get you to the place you want to be.”
“I already told you I’d meet with him,” Ryan said, leaning back and crossing his arms across his chest. “You don’t have to convince me.”
“To meet with him? No. I don’t. But to give up your fantasy of Dream Chef, yes, I do.”