Chapter Eleven
Before he even opened his eyes, Wyatt knew the bed he’d been sleeping in wasn’t his.
He knew this bed, though. Knew the mattress, the sheets, the particular natural scent of its regular occupant. Knew the occupant, intimately.
It was hard to forget the last time he’d woken up in this bed. He’d gone to make breakfast and had only figured out too late that Ryan had bailed. Escaped. Disappeared.
Wyatt reached out hesitantly, brushing the skin of Ryan’s arm. His rhythmic breathing didn’t change. Lying there, close enough to touch Ryan, he figured he had two choices.
One, get up and go start breakfast, like he’d done the last time. Hope that things would go differently and that Ryan wouldn’t leave.
Two, wake Ryan up himself, and guarantee that he wouldn’t leave because he didn’t want to.
It wasn’t even a choice. Door number one never had a chance. And maybe, Wyatt thought, pushing the sheet down his naked body, that wasn’t fair, but he’d been trying to play fair up until now, and that hadn’t gotten him anywhere.
Maybe it was time to play unfair.
Ryan’s breathing barely changed as Wyatt rolled over, and then nestled himself in the blankets kicked to Ryan’s feet.
His dick was still soft, but as Wyatt ran a tentative finger up the underside of his balls, he had a feeling that wouldn’t last long.
Wyatt had just wrapped his tongue around the head, and started sucking when he felt Ryan tense.
“I thought you were a dream,” Ryan said, voice soft and rough, as he reached down to cradle Wyatt’s head with his palm, running his fingers through his hair.
Wyatt traced a pattern on Ryan’s hardening cock with his tongue. “A good dream, I hope.”
He shouldn’t have worried, but some things were hard to shake, and Ryan literally running away after their first—or second, but who was counting?
—night together was one of those. Maybe it would have been easier if they were something more than employee and employer, or convenience with added benefits.
But Ryan had made his feelings very clear, and Wyatt, having just gotten at least part of what he wanted, wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Speaking of gift horses and mouths, he lapped at the head of his, sucking off a little bit of pre-come.
“It had real potential,” Ryan observed sleepily.
Wyatt took that as a request to continue, so he did, trying to lose himself in Ryan’s taste and scent and the feel of his hardness against his tongue, in his mouth. And he did, swallowing his come with the glow of satisfaction on a job well done.
Almost.
Even when Ryan wrapped his big calloused hand around Wyatt’s dick, pumping him until he felt woozy from pleasure, he couldn’t quite forget that this was all supposed to mean nothing.
He’d never been good with hookups, he reasoned as he wandered back to his place for a quick shower before making breakfast. He just had to adjust to this new normal. Having Ryan was definitely better than not having him at all. That much was true.
“You’re quiet this morning,” Ryan said, pushing his toast around his plate, trying to sop up the rest of his over easy eggs. He looked up, grinning. “I figured earlier it was because you had my dick in your mouth but now you don’t have any excuses.”
“Maybe I’m tired,” Wyatt said, trying to match Ryan’s sly, teasing tone. “Someone kept me up most of the night.”
It had been so good it was hardly anything to complain about. But last night Wyatt had felt lost to the pleasure of finally getting what he’d craved so badly, and this morning he felt like he couldn’t drown out the voice in the back of his head that kept whispering, what’s next?
“And maybe,” he added, Ryan looking up, surprised at his serious tone, “I’m curious what happens next.”
“What happens next? Now that we’re faux-happily-ever-after poster children?”
Wyatt nodded and told himself firmly that the word shouldn’t sting.
It was just a word. It didn’t mean anything, and Ryan didn’t mean anything cruel by it.
It was the truth, plain and simple. He had agreed to be Ryan’s fake boyfriend, not his real one.
Ryan couldn’t be held responsible for the feelings Wyatt couldn’t seem to help.
“Oh, I guess I should call Eric. I’m sure he’s been blowing my phone up with a bazillion messages after Matt left here last night.”
“Is there some sort of plan?” Wyatt didn’t even care what it was. But maybe if he knew, if he prepared himself in advance, it would be easier to deal with.
“Lots of plans, to be honest,” Ryan said.
“Dozens, probably. Eric likes contingency plans. I think the last one he had involving you, and not someone else, was hosting a dinner party here. Something super couple-y, with lots of social media posts from the people invited. Way to generate some news buzz before we confirmed it.”
Wyatt cleared his throat. “We should do a barbecue instead of a dinner party. Something a little more casual.”
Ryan brightened at the idea. “That’s a good idea, actually. I knew you’d be great at this.”
Great at being a fake boyfriend. Wyatt internally raised his hand in a mini, half-hearted fist pump of triumph.
“Let me call Eric, and I’ll run the idea by him. Maybe in a day or two? How long do you need to plan something like that?”
“Plan it?”
Ryan laughed. “Like the food, silly. I’ll take care of the rest. Or Eric will. Or actually Eric’s assistant.”
“The food’s the easiest part,” Wyatt said with an eye roll as punctuation. “Promise, I can handle it. How many people?”
“Maybe ten? Fifteen? Tabitha and her boyfriend. Flor. Her kids. A few teammates if they’re in town. Eric, of course.”
“You’re going to invite Eric?” Wyatt was still on the fence about Ryan’s agent. He wasn’t sure which side he was on, or if he even acknowledged there were sides. Or if he just played everyone, maneuvering everyone exactly where he wanted them, like pieces on a chess board.
“Of course. He’s got to orchestrate this whole thing, right?” Ryan laughed, and the carefree edge to it hurt. Unintentionally of course.
You need to get yourself together.
This was what he had agreed to. This was the new normal. It was time to get his head and his heart on the same page, onto the same plan.
“Right, duh,” Wyatt said.
“But you liked Tabitha, right? And Flor?” Ryan sounded a little concerned, as if Wyatt might not like his friends or his family, which was ridiculous. Because what fake boyfriend required their approval?
“Of course I did,” Wyatt teased. “They’re hella intimidating, but strangely, unexpectedly, nice.”
Ryan beamed. “I think they’d take that as a high form of praise.”
“Well, I meant it.” Wyatt shoved his hands in his pockets. “So barbecue for fifteen. I can do that in my sleep.”
“That’s because you’re brilliant.” Ryan hopped off the barstool, slid his empty plate into the sink, and kissed Wyatt’s cheek. “I’m gonna go call Eric.”
“How about . . .” Wyatt hesitated, and then decided to just go for it. “Would it be okay if I invited some friends too?”
“I didn’t even know you knew anyone in LA. I’d love to meet your friends,” Ryan said, and sounded so god damned sincere, Wyatt wasn’t even sure he was acting. And maybe he wasn’t. Maybe that was the attitude Wyatt should take. It was all real, until it wasn’t.
“They’ve been super busy filming, but I bet I could drag them away for an evening,” Wyatt said. “You probably don’t watch any of the Five Points culinary shows, but they star in Pastry by Miles.”
Ryan rolled his eyes. “Tabitha works for Five Points. Not in the culinary department, because that would be an epic fucking disaster, but yeah, I do. Once in awhile. I heard about that new show. Heard it’s good.”
“Yeah, I worked at Terroir with Miles Costa. He and his boyfriend, Evan, produce the show and star in it.”
“Well, I’m dying to meet them,” Ryan declared. “Invite them!”
It was easy to suggest inviting Miles and Evan to the barbecue. It was another to actually do it.
“Did you drown in the Pacific?” Miles asked when he picked up the phone.
Like Miles hadn’t been so overwhelmed with filming the second season of Pastry by Miles, practically on top of finishing the first season, that he hadn’t bothered to keep in touch either.
“No,” Wyatt said testily, flicking through recipes on the iPad he’d set up on a cookbook stand. “I’ve been busy.” That was actually a lie, but Miles didn’t need to know that.
“Actually, Xander told me that you’re barely working at this private chef gig. Lots of time to experiment in the kitchen, time off to go surfing, all those extended naps in the afternoons.” Miles made the fairly innocent word nap sound as dirty as it could.
“That is . . . almost completely a lie,” Wyatt protested. He hadn’t been whiling away the afternoons by having wild sex with Ryan every day, though if the opportunity had come up, he wouldn’t have said no.
“Xander doesn’t lie,” Miles retorted. “That’s his whole problem.”
It was definitely one of Xander’s problems; he was painfully, bitterly honest. Wyatt wouldn’t say he was lacking in tact, more like it was completely absent from his vocabulary.
But Wyatt didn’t want to talk about Xander. Of course he didn’t really want to talk about himself either, so changed the subject. “How’s season two going?”
“Going to be a wild success, of course. Even better than season one. Cooking Channel has been making overtures about season three but I need to get Evan away from the studio before he forgets where we live.”
“You should get away like . . . tomorrow night, for example,” Wyatt offered.
“Tomorrow night? I was thinking more like a three-week trip to Fiji. One of those huts overlooking the water. No Wi-Fi, no laptop, no cellphones. Definitely no clothes.”
“That too,” Wyatt said, leaning against the kitchen counter. “But circling back to tomorrow night, Ryan and I are hosting a barbecue at his place, and you and Evan should definitely come.”