by Nicole Dykes
It’s too much. It’s all too damn much. And when his hand moves to the button on my jeans, I finally regain my wits.
“Grady. Don’t.”
“What’s the matter, Ry?” He’s as breathless as I am, his eyes clouded with lust as they meet mine. “Don’t be shy.”
“I’m not fucking shy.” My hand clasps his wrist, and my heart sinks because I don’t know what this is, but I know it’s not real. “But we can’t do this.”
He smiles, but it doesn’t reach those beautiful eyes of his. It’s nervous and unsure. “But we are.”
I shake my head and push his body backward, releasing his wrist. “We aren’t. We should go to sleep.” I head for the patio door, unable to look at him. “We can finish cleaning up tomorrow.”
“Ry.” I hear his strangled plea, but I ignore it, opening the door and slipping inside my house before I lose control.
I can’t do this.
We cannot do this.
I don’t want to get up and face the day, not even a little bit. I kissed him. I more than kissed him.
And he pushed me away.
Yet again.
All night, I went over the moments of last night. His hands, large and commanding. His lips were soft but firm. The way I remember them. His body is all hard edges and brute strength. But still, I was able to hold him there against the outside of the house, demanding his attention.
Until I wasn’t.
Until he walked away from me yet again.
I have no idea what that kiss meant. I’ve never been attracted to another guy in my entire life, but with Ry, it’s different. Neither time was just a drunken fluke. I wanted it. Both times.
But it has to be clear to my stupid fucking brain by now that he just doesn’t want me.
I mean, he’s gay. He isn’t struggling with his sexuality, so it isn’t that, like I thought it was in high school. No. It has to be me.
Fucking great.
I finally sit up in the bed in one of his guest rooms and grab my phone off the side table. I see a text from Waylon, asking if we can get together and tell him I’m still at Ryan’s.
He tells me he’s on his way, and I cringe, thinking maybe I should have asked Ryan first. I mean, I don’t fucking know. What’s the protocol for the day after you blow someone off? Does he even want to see me? Does he need space? Is it cool for me to just invite my manager over?
Fuck. I’ve never worried about anything this much in my life.
I grumble as I stand up, tugging on a pair of sweatpants because I’m pretty sure only briefs is a no-no at this point.
I walk down to the kitchen and see Ryan is already there, dressed in shorts and a cutoff shirt. “Going somewhere?”
His stormy blue eyes meet mine, and I see the concern written all over his face. “For a run.”
I nod my head at that, never having felt as fucking awkward as I do right now. Not because I kissed a guy, but because said guy pushed me away.
“Okay, um . . . Waylon needs to talk about something with me and is on his way over.” I drag my hand through my hair awkwardly. “Is that okay?”
“The dude who was here just yesterday?” His tone screams annoyance, and I walk a little closer to him, annoyed by him being annoyed.
“Yeah. My manager. I just didn’t know if you were kicking my ass out this morning or not.”
His shitty attitude seems to deflate at least a little. “Of course, I’m not.”
“You sure about that, Ry? You looked ready to pack up and bolt from your own house last night.”
He sighs and walks even closer to me now, his eyes scanning my face, and I think for a minute he might touch me. Maybe even kiss me, but he takes a step back. “I’m not running. And I’m not kicking you out. But what happened last night . . .
I fill the gap he just put between our bodies, my bare toes touching his tennis shoes. “A hot as fuck kiss.”
I watch his Adam’s apple bob erratically in his throat and notice he looks pained. “It can’t happen again, Grady.”
“What? Why not?” I may not have any experience with guys, but I know I liked having this one in particular pressed against me last night.
He looks at me like I’m stupid. “You like girls.”
My hand moves to his hip, wanting to pull him closer, but he’s a big fucker, and especially when he’s tense like this, he’s not moving. “I like one guy.”
“No.” He shakes his head and pushes my hand away. “Look, maybe you like both, and if you do, you should go for it. You should go and kiss a whole bunch of boys, but not me.”
“Why the hell not?” It stings. I hate that it fucking stings, but I think I need to hear him say it, say he just isn’t into me. Maybe he really is into the smaller guys. Softer, I don’t know. And if that’s true, that’s fine, but I want to hear it.
“Because I’m not going to be your fucking experiment, Grady. I’m just not. So, yeah. No more kissing.”
He starts toward the front door, and I want to fucking chase after him, but I don’t know what to say to that. I hear the front door click and shortly after, I buzz Waylon in who’s frantic by the time he gets to the front door. “Okay, so I have a great opportunity for you.”
“Hey to you too,” I say, and he waves me off, taking a seat on the couch in Ryan’s living room.
“Hey. I have a great . . .” His face drops as I plop down next to him. “What’s the matter?”
“What? Nothing?”
He studies me, clearly not buying it. “No.” He waves his hand in my direction. “Something is definitely wrong. You look like someone died.” He clutches his chest. “Did someone die?”
“No,” I laugh because he cracks me up even when I feel like shit. “Something kind of happened.”
“What?” He leans forward, interested now.
I take a deep breath. “I kissed Ry.”
His nose scrunches up. “Ry? As in Ryan Bailey?”
“Yup.” I slouch back into the comfy cushion behind me. “That one.”
“Oh my God. Wait, what?” He looks shocked, and I guess it could be a shock. Ryan isn’t even out, and I’m supposedly straight.
“Once on graduation night and then again last night.”
“Wow.” His eyes are wide, and it would be comical if, again, I didn’t feel like total shit right now.
“Yeah.”
“So . . . I mean what happened? And who the hell kissed who?”
“I kissed him.” I shrug. “Both times. But he kissed me back.”
He’s processing, his back straight and his hands on his knees as he goes over the information I just gave him. “So, who is the one freaking out? You or him? Or both?”
My fingers rake through my hair, and at this point I’m surprised I have any left. “Look,” I meet his eyes. “You can’t say anything, but Ryan . . .” I look toward the door as if he’s going to walk through, and then back at Waylon, who is as much a friend as he is my manager. “He’s not exactly straight.”
His lips purse together. “I thought maybe I got a vibe yesterday but wasn’t sure.”
I nearly growl at his words, thinking about what the hell that could mean but decide to keep on going instead of investigating this “vibe.” “Right.
“So, it’s you that’s freaking out?”
“No.” I shake my head. “He did. Both fucking times. He ran, not me.”
“But you’re straight?” He says it like a question, and I shrug.
“I don’t fucking know. All I know is I really, really liked kissing him both times.”
He gapes at me, his eyes wide and his jaw dropped before his puts a hand on my shoulder. “Oh, honey, You love him, huh?”
An uncomfortable feeling swirls deep in my gut. A feeling I’ve pushed away for so damn long and never let myself get close to again.
“We’re friends.”
“Right. Friends.” He nods his head, but it’s condescending like he doesn’t believe me at all. “You know, one time
I got really drunk and ended up kissing one of my best friends. He was great, and I mean drop-dead gorgeous. I should have loved kissing him.” I turn to focus on him, wondering where he’s going with this. “Anyway, halfway into the kiss, we both stopped and just started cracking up. I mean, it was like kissing my brother. And he felt the exact same. We never did it again.”
Yeah, kissing Ry is definitely not like kissing a brother. It was fucking hot. My body actually heats up and tingles just thinking about it. I clear my throat and try to push the memories away. “Yeah, it wasn’t like that with him. It was hot.”
He pats me again on the shoulder, smiling. “I think you’re in love, my friend. Like actual love.”
“He can’t seem to get over the fact that I’ve never been with a guy before.”
He gnaws on his bottom lip, thinking about that information, no-doubt. “Aren’t you freaking out about that a little?”
I smile and shrug. “Maybe a little. But I don’t know . . . You know me, Waylon. I go with the flow.”
He offers me a megawatt smile of his own. “So, the fact that he has a dick and not a . . .” his face actually scrunches up in disgust, “vagina . . .” He shudders, and fuck, I do too, hearing him say the word.
“Don’t ever say that again.”
He holds up one hand in the air. “That I can promise.” We both laugh, and then he moves on. “It really doesn’t bother you?”
I’ve never really thought about my sexuality before. I’ve just been with whoever I’ve been attracted to at the time, and it just so happens, it was usually women, except Ry. “No. Not when it comes to him. I want him.”
“Be sure. Completely sure. And then go for it, if that’s what you want. Confidence is sexy, my friend. No matter what gender you’re working with.”
“Thanks, Waylon.”
“Anytime.” When he straightens his back again, I know he’s about to get down to business. “Okay, so now we need to get to me and this charity I booked for you. And you have to do it.”
I laugh, grateful I have him in my life.
But so damn afraid even with him to lean on, I’m going to fuck it all up.
Or even worse, that Ry isn’t into me at all.
After my run, I snuck in the side door, hoping to avoid Grady and Waylon. I can’t seem to deal today. My mind is planted firmly on that kiss with Grady last night. What the fuck was I thinking?
And why did I stop it?
I strip out of my damp clothes and climb into my shower, trying like hell to shake that thought from my head. I know why I stopped it.
He’s. Not. Gay.
It would be so damn easy to give in to the fantasy. To kiss him and touch him, all the while pretending it wouldn’t have an expiration date. And a quick one at that. But I can’t do it.
I’m not a dumbass kid who thinks a kiss with me could change who he is. I turn the water a little cooler, hoping like hell it will tame the raging hard-on I’ve had since his lips touched mine last night.
I turn off the shower, frustrated and angry with so many things. I see my phone flashing with notifications as I get dressed, but I ignore it. I don’t want to hear about PR opportunities and obligations. I don’t want to check in with my mother about everything that doesn’t make her uncomfortable.
Everything that rides on the right side of her fantasy life.
I’m drowning.
I’m sinking.
Can’t stop sinking.
The words to Immoral’s song run over and over in my head.
They love me.
I’m their fantasy.
But they can’t see.
Even I don’t wanna be me.
“Fuck.” I stare into the mirror as I pull on a plain tee and jeans before reaching for a baseball hat and planting it on my head, pulling it low, shielding my eyes because I can’t even look at myself.
Living a lie. Every single day to appease everyone else.
I grab a pair of sunglasses and pull them on to help with that pesky reflection even more. When I make it out the front door, I see Waylon and Grady standing by the fancy sports car that was parked here when I got back.
I can’t avoid him forever. I give a quick wave, and Waylon offers a bright smile that can’t be fake. The guy is all sunshine and happiness, and it’s almost, almost contagious. “Well, hello again.”
“Hi, Waylon.” I make my way over to them, looking at Waylon even though my shades are dark, and I’m not sure anyone can tell where I’m looking, “I was just going to grab some coffee. You guys want to join me?”
Please say no.
Waylon smiles and pats my shoulder. “I’d love to, but I have a plane to catch.” He turns to Grady, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “But Grady here could use a pick-me-up.”
Grady looks tense as hell, and I’m not sure what to do with that. He’s always completely carefree. “Yeah. I’ll go.” Shit. He turns to Waylon and hugs him properly. “Be good, you little shit.”
“Aw, don’t you worry about me.” He blows him a kiss and winks at me before climbing into his car and driving away.
I turn to Grady. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”
“I want to.” His green eyes are locked on mine with the same intensity as last night and this morning, and I turn toward the garage.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
He follows me into the garage, and we climb into my truck. He looks around the cab and then back at me. “Seriously? A pickup truck?”
I shrug. “What?”
“You really are trying to make sure they don’t see, huh?”
I roll my eyes and back out of the garage. “Gay men can drive trucks. Jesus.”
He laughs, “I’m just saying.”
I exit my gate and head toward my favorite coffee shop. “It’s a perk. It was given to me for being in a commercial. I’m a fucking sellout.”
He chuckles at that and then cocks his head to the side. “Well, fuck. I’ve never gotten a vehicle. Cash, yeah. Vodka.” I grin thinking about the top shelf vodka ads he’s been in throughout the years. “Never anything with a motor.”
“Guess you’re just going to have to try harder.”
He relaxes back into his seat, and I feel a little tension release from my shoulders as we joke around about all the ways we’ve sold out over the years, and then I finally pull into park at the coffee place.
I leave my sunglasses in the car but keep the hat on as we walk inside. I smile when I see Justin is working. He shoots me a great big smile. “I was wondering if I’d see you today. Congrats on winning the World Series!”
I grin. “Thanks. I thought you weren’t a fan.” He’s worked here for two years, and I come in often, so we have our own little routine.
“Oh, I’m not a baseball fan.” He winks, and I smile at that.
“Well, thanks for the support.” His brown eyes are almost shimmering with gold flecks. “I’ll take my usual.”
“Of course.” He looks nervously over my shoulder. “Wow. You’re Grady Bell.”
“Yeah, I’m here.” I hear Grady’s voice, but it barely sounds like him with a clipped tone, lacking all his usual charm.
“What can I get you, Mr. Bell?”
“Coffee. Black.”
Justin looks at me, a flirty smile on his handsome face. “Hmmm, plain black coffee for the rockstar.”
I smile at that as Justin begins working, and I feel Grady tense as all hell at my side. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“What does what mean?” I turn to look at him, seeing the grim look on his face.
“Plain coffee? Like I’m fucking boring or something.”
I stare at him, my right eyebrow lifted in confusion. “I don’t think he meant anything by it.” I keep my voice low, not wanting anyone to hear.
“I can switch it up too, Ry.”
“What the hell is your problem?”
He doesn’t answer me, and I count myself lucky because Justin arrives with my low
fat mocha. “I added a little more mocha this time. I think you deserve a little extra.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it.”
“Plain, black coffee.” He holds out a cup to Grady who takes it, but I can tell he’s still pissy as hell.
Before Grady can say anything else, I pay, leaving a large tip and guide Grady outside toward my truck. “What the hell is your problem?”
He turns angrily toward me. “What’s my problem?” He covers his heart with his free hand. “I thought you weren’t out.”
I think about his words for a minute and look around at the parking lot that’s pretty damn full with people walking in and out of the coffee place. “I told you I fucking am. Lower your voice,” I say, keeping my voice low.
“Right. You’re fucking out, but I have to keep quiet about it, and so do you. And your fucking agent.”
“What’s your point?” I hiss.
“You know what my point is? What the hell was that in there with him?” He points toward the coffee shop.
“With Justin? The barista? It was a fucking coffee order that I make almost every day.”
“Are you fucking him?”
I wince at his question and instinctively look around the parking lot, glad I don’t see anyone nearby. I grab his arm and pull him closer but keep a distance between our bodies. “Careful. You sound like a jealous fucking boyfriend right now.”
He takes another step closer to me, tipping his chin up with no shame. “Maybe I fucking am.”
“Stop,” I order, my heart racing as a group of young women walk out the door with coffees in hand, their eyes on Grady and me and their cell phones out, not at all inconspicuously taking pictures of us. I release my hold on him but look him in the eye. “Stop.”
“Ry . . .” He doesn’t get to finish whatever he was going to say because a car pulls up and then another, both parking near us with photographers rushing out and clicking photos. “Fuck.” He turns to me. “Since when does KC have paparazzi?”
I shrug. “Since my team won the world series and Grady fucking Bell is in town. Come on.” I unlock my truck and wave at the cameras, giving them one good shot, ignoring their questions about what we’re doing here together and climb into my truck.