Chapter One #2
The whitewashed wood floors complemented the dark gray feature wall that was full of artwork (including Cal’s, of course) and photos of his family and friends.
The kitchen was compact but well-appointed with a large breakfast bar.
Slate-blue cabinets combined with polished concrete countertops, bronze fixtures, and chef-worthy appliances.
Ryker cooked the basics, but he’d appreciated the aesthetic of the kitchen when he bought the place.
Large, black-framed windows and fourteen-foot ceilings gave the apartment an airy feel, and the exposed brick wall on the far side provided a warm contrast to the modern touches.
The blue velvet sectional and artwork were the few pops of color in the living space.
The bedroom was at the back along with a den and a spacious spa bathroom, his one luxury.
It was a small apartment by many standards, but it was his—a peaceful haven in which to live and write.
He vividly remembered the day he’d signed the paperwork and gotten the keys.
He wasn’t much for showing his feelings, but even he had teared up.
Coming from a childhood where food and shelter were inconsistent, Ryker was appreciative of everything he had worked hard for.
A loud meow interrupted his musings.
Isaac, one of Ryker’s three fur babies, wandered over to complain to his human. Ryker had adopted the large white Persian cat from the rescue shelter downtown where he volunteered. Isaac’s previous owner had noticed a flaw in one of the cat’s copper-colored eyes, decided he would not be able to enter him in any competitions, and promptly left him at the shelter. That person’s loss was Ryker’s gain.
Isaac bounded into Ryker’s lap and curled up in a tight ball, his ears flicking back and whiskers twitching to signal his displeasure that his human had yet to pay him any attention this morning.
“Okay, Isaac, sorry for neglecting you, but it’s back to work for me soon.” Ryker murmured nonsense to Isaac while stroking his long, sleek back, and Ryker’s body relaxed as the vibration from the purrs grew stronger. While Isaac welcomed Ryker’s touch, the cat was not keen on others—neither Mac nor Cal could pet the beautiful beast without receiving a few scratches.
They had taken to greeting the cat by name only and leaving well enough alone. His other cat, a black-and-white tabby named Princess Leia, usually stayed in her big bed, sound asleep. Spock was Ryker’s third furry roommate, a miniature pinscher rescue with big ears and unlimited energy.
Ryker had a soft spot for animals of all kinds ever since he was a kid. He’d rescued everything from birds to cats and even a rat at one point. His mother hadn’t been amused at the last one, however, and forbade him from any further rodent rescue operations. But that didn’t stop his love for animals—it had only grown as he got older. Ryker had been dropping by the local animal shelter to volunteer for a few hours every week for the past decade. He’d also made several anonymous donations to ensure they
could continue to rescue and re-home as many animals as possible.
He continued to pet Isaac and let his thoughts drift, thinking about the upcoming party. Ryker’s lack of social skills—or lack of concern about them—was probably the reason he gravitated toward animals as well as writing. He didn’t care much about people’s expectations. He did what he enjoyed, and as long as he was honest with himself, he was good. All these thoughts made his body tense again. Isaac jumped off his lap and strutted to his climbing tower near the desk, mewling loudly.
Ryker shook himself out of his musings and opened up his laptop, Googling Wesley Stewart. Mac would have his arguments ready to persuade Ryker to work with this guy, so Ryker needed to prepare his rebuttal. He’d need more than just a “hell fucking no” response to this ridiculous collaboration idea.
Ryker scanned the numerous photographs of Wes online, some from events, others from social media posts, a few from his TV talk show appearances. He had to admit that Wes was a stunning man: tall and broad, with short, stylized blond hair, hazel eyes, and a spattering of freckles over a sharp nose. He had full lips and dimples when he smiled, which only amplified Wes’s fierce beauty. Going through the pictures, Ryker noticed a tall man with curly brown hair standing near Wes at several events. Friend?
Lover?
Lover?
“Why the fuck should I care about that?” Ryker said aloud. “Stop looking at the pretty man and get back to your research.” Ryker perused the Web, wanting to know what Wes himself had to say. There was a YouTube recording of an interview Wes had done five years ago, when his first self-help book was released. He was talkative and charming and had the host in stitches. Very smooth. Maybe too smooth. When the interviewer
asked about a special person in his life, Wes laughed and said he enjoyed dating a variety of men. Well, he was open about his sexuality, no question. But then there was an ask about Wes’s family, and another about whether he would return to writing fiction, and you could see the physical change in his posture and face. Wes’s smile vanished and he deftly changed the subject.
Interesting sore points. Ryker would file that away for future reference.
Writers were curious by nature, and Ryker was interested in learning all about Wes and his motivations. He’d go along with Mac’s plans for now. He’d listen and learn, and then make an informed decision. Or maybe he’d just shut the whole thing down.
Ryker printed out a picture of Wes and taped it to his board. He couldn’t help but stare at it for a long, long time.