by Peter Styles
“Wyatt, don’t be a brat,” Lincoln groaned. “You know I care about you.”
“Do I?” he challenged.
“Well… perhaps not. But I do.”
“Right, right,” Wyatt chuckled, taking another drag off his cigarette. “What are you calling me for? I’m busy.”
“I wanted to know if you could come over… I could come and get you so that you don’t have to worry about getting a ride home. I’ll drive you,” Lincoln offered.
“Nah. I don’t want to do that,” Wyatt answered, simply.
“Come on, Wyatt… Please. I need to make it up to you.”
Wyatt paused, contemplating his next words. Could Lincoln really make it up to him? Why did he want to? “Are you just wanting to go back to what we were doing?”
“Yeah. I mean, we had a good thing going on, didn’t we? I’m sorry I took out my frustration on you and stayed pissy about it for so long... I really do want to make it right.”
Wyatt was silent, his eyes closed as he finished off his cigarette. If Lincoln would have made that exact same phone call that morning, Wyatt knew he would have jumped at the opportunity without hesitation. But Wyatt had sworn that he was going to start looking out for himself and what he wanted. He wasn’t going to live to please someone else. His life was never about that, and it wasn’t going to start. Getting involved with Lincoln would just result in him being brokenhearted. “I’m sorry, Linc. I’m not going to be your booty call anymore. Even though I told myself not to get emotionally invested in it, I did. And so being a pal that you have sex with just isn’t going to work for me. I deserve more than that, and no one can tell me otherwise.”
There was a pained silence before Lincoln breathed into the phone, “Wyatt, please…”
“Find yourself another fuck-buddy,” Wyatt said, before hanging up.
His blood was racing as he turned off his phone, putting it back in his pocket. That was… envigorating. He had never felt so in control. Damn, maybe drunk Wyatt needed to handle more shit for him. He had been straightforward and stuck to his own desires rather than trying to appease Lincoln. With this newfound confidence and burst of energy, Wyatt scrambled to his feet and headed back into the club. He wasn’t going to let anyone, not even Lincoln, stand in the way of his good time.
Chapter 8: Terms and Conditions
He awakened to a world of pain. Wyatt’s head was pulsing like never before; he hadn’t even opened his eyes yet, and he knew that it was going to be the most agonizing hangover he had ever experienced. How many jello shots had he eaten? By the bile rising from his stomach, it had been far too many. Jumping from his bed, Wyatt threw himself into his bathroom. Immediately, his head was in the toilet, emptying his stomach of all its contents. His ears were ringing, his arms aching from the dehydration, and his abs starting to hurt from the violent heaves.
Once he was done puking and the dry heaves subsided, Wyatt washed his mouth out thoroughly, and then his face. Did he have some sports drinks? He prayed he had some Gatorade in the fridge. He dragged himself from the bathroom and into the living area. Instantly he was blinded by the natural light coming in from the windows. Fumbling around until he found his sunglasses, Wyatt put them on just to find some relief. He then made his way to the fridge, nearly shouting his praise to the heavens on sighting a six pack of Gatorade still within. Pulling one out, he snatched a box of crackers from the counter and headed back to his room. He wasn’t going to do a damn thing that day.
Curling up in bed, he wrapped the blankets all around him and forced himself to chug some of the Gatorade. It was dreadful with his stomach still being so upset, but he knew he needed to rehydrate. As he choked down a couple of the driest crackers imaginable, he tried to piece together the night before. Wyatt thought it through from start to finish. Heading out to the club, having a few drinks, going to the coat check, dancing, going out for a cigarette, that phone call with Lincoln… Oh god, he had forgotten about that. Surprisingly though, reflecting on it and hearing his own slurred voice in his head, Wyatt wasn’t embarrassed. He was proud of himself. Maybe things were really going to turn around for him. Though Wyatt did remember how weird it felt for Adam to kiss him.
He grimaced at the memory. Then, Wyatt vaguely remembered making out with him after he went back inside. He hadn’t slept with Adam… had he? Wyatt desperately searched through his memories. They had danced and drank for a while, but the rest of the night was fuzzy. Wyatt patted the bed all around him, trying to find his cell phone, hoping that it would have some answers for him. Once he found it, he quickly unlocked the screen. Open on his phone was Jack Brannon’s Instagram, on a shirtless picture of him. Wyatt found himself chuckling quietly to himself, shaking his head, “You’re an idiot, Wyatt,” he sighed.
Clicking away from it, he searched through his phone. He didn’t see any new numbers or strange calls. Then, Wyatt noticed he had ordered an Uber just after midnight. Thinking back, he tried to calculate the time and then let out a big sigh of relief. There was no way he had done anything with that Adam guy; he had left too soon after the time he last remembered checking his phone. His receipt revealed the ride was with one guest only, so he had been alone in his travels. His mind tried to pester him with questions as to why he would have been bothered by sleeping with Adam, but he blocked those thoughts out. His head hurt too much to think anymore about it.
* * *
Wyatt slept on and off throughout the day, waking up to chug Gatorade and take aspirin, then going right back to sleep. He didn’t even make an effort to do anything else until he could bear taking his sunglasses off. And by that time, it was already dark out. It didn’t bother Wyatt any though, he was on hiatus. He managed to remove himself from the bed and step into the shower, desperately needing one after such an insane night of drinking. He didn’t even want to think about how much he probably spent on drinks—that’s if Adam wasn’t buying them for him.
He then pulled on a pair of skinny jeans, put on one of his favorite hats, and moved into the living room with his phone. Wyatt ordered some pizza for himself, really in the mood for something greasy since he hadn’t been able to eat anything all day and his stomach finally felt better; and he was well aware of the regret he would face later. He then put on one of his favorite movies, American Pyscho, and grabbed one of his sketchbooks to doodle in while he waited for his pizza. Even after a horrendous hangover, Wyatt found himself in surprisingly good spirits. Not great, but not terrible. It was actually easy for him to keep his mind off everything else, enjoying the downtime by himself.
Soon, there was a knock on the door, and Wyatt happily shot up. He jogged over to the door, grabbing his wallet along the way. Opening the door, his face instantly fell. Lincoln stood there, in his usual business attire, holding a pizza box in his hand. “What’s going on?” Wyatt asked, folding his arms.
“I rode up the elevator with the pizza guy when I saw him head to your apartment, I paid him for it,” Lincoln smiled, weakly. It was a cute gesture, but Wyatt wasn’t amused by it. He took the box and put it on a table by the door. “Can I come in?”
“I don’t think that’s the best idea,” Wyatt said, propping against the doorframe. “What is it you want?”
“Well, you weren’t returning my calls… I wanted to see if you were alright,” Lincoln shyly admitted.
Wyatt sighed, “I’m fine. Hungover and hungry, but fine.”
“I see,” he muttered. Stepping closer to the door, his voice lowered, “I was really hoping to be able to talk with you. Just for a minute.”
“You aren’t coming in. Whatever you have to say to me, you can say right where you are,” Wyatt stated, not at all budging from his spot blocking the entrance.
Lincoln sighed, “Fine. I… I came to say that I’m willing to discuss being more than just friends with benefits.”
Wyatt’s heart leaped into his throat, but he held to his skepticism, afraid that he would be too easily swayed by Lincoln’s words. “Oh? Why?”
“Why what?” Lincoln questioned, squinting quizzically.
“Why are you suddenly willing to be more than just friends with benefits?”
“Because I’ve missed you a lot more than I thought I would, honestly,” Lincoln admitted, his lime green eyes burrowing into Wyatt’s cerulean blues.
“You sure it isn’t your dick talking?” Wyatt challenged, earning a slight glare from Lincoln. “What? It’s a fair question, given the circumstances.”
“It isn’t just about sex, okay? Why do you think we were friends with benefits, instead of just fuck-buddies? I miss just spending time with you, just watching TV together and talking.”
“So you are wanting to go back to being friends with benefits?”
“No,” Lincoln pressed. “I want to talk this out though. And I would prefer not to do it in your doorway.”
“Well, you can’t come in right now. I’m busy.”
“Busy eating pizza and,” he paused for a moment, listening to the sound of the television in the background, “what, watching American Psycho?”
“Yup,” Wyatt answered plainly, his eyes glazed over in a dull look.
Lincoln groaned, running a hand over his face, “Alright, fine. When would you like to talk?”
Wyatt contemplated for a moment before speaking, “Tomorrow. We can get lunch.”
“Can I pick you up?”
“No. I’ll get myself there. Pick a restaurant and text me the address.”
It was clear Lincoln was a little frustrated that things weren’t going his way, but he nodded and let out a soft sigh, “Alright. Sounds fair. One o’clock work for you?”
“Fine with me.”
“Okay… See you then, I guess.”
“Bye, Lincoln,” Wyatt said, shutting the door. He let out a deep breath. God, that had been insane. Lincoln was seriously considering being more than friends? Honestly, Wyatt hadn’t really considered it a possibility since Lincoln had been so adamant on being nothing more. Especially after the incident with his fan. But maybe Lincoln had been telling the truth; maybe he had missed Wyatt and really wanted to be with him. If Lincoln was willing to change his ridiculous mindset on dating, then Wyatt had no reason to object. It was exactly what he had wanted from the get go. And Lincoln really did seem sorry about the way he had been acting. He was rather impulsive emotionally, wasn’t he? Wyatt didn’t dwell on it too long. Grabbing his pizza box, Wyatt moved over to the couch. He didn’t waste time digging into the pizza, dying to fill the hole where his stomach once was.
* * *
Even though his sleep schedule had been hectic the last couple of days, Wyatt woke up with ease to his alarm the next morning at ten. As soon as he was up, he coached himself not to get too excited about his date with Lincoln. It was the first time since the night they met that they would be out in public together. Already, that was a pretty big sign to Wyatt that Lincoln was trying to change.
Wyatt dressed to the nines for the date, busting out his pale blue casual suit for the occasion. He hadn’t dressed formally since his first year out of college when he worked in an office. Nevertheless, the restaurant Lincoln had picked out was rather nice, and he didn’t want to go in there looking like a joke. He put on a cream-colored dress shirt under it, and a thin, lavender tie to make it pop. Wyatt then styled his hair from the usual messy disarray it was in. He wanted to look nice but hold true to his personal style.
He took a cab to the restaurant, impatiently drumming his fingers against the armrest on the door. No matter how much he tried to keep his mind from reeling, it always went back to Lincoln and what was to come that day. He didn’t want to get his hopes up just to be crushed by Lincoln going back to his old ways. Wyatt reminded himself repeatedly that they were only talking about it, nothing was set in stone. And that no matter what the outcome of it was, Wyatt needed to stay strong and not give into Lincoln unless Lincoln was willing to make him a priority.
When the cab pulled up outside the restaurant, Wyatt paid the fare and stepped out. Going inside the restaurant, Wyatt was in awe of the interior. It was illuminated by an inspiring soft, yellow light, making the rich tones of the gold, cream, and robin’s egg blue in the décor come to life. It was like stepping into a Monet painting, having that soft yet elegant aura. From where he was a homebody and mostly cooked or ate delivery, he had forgotten just how nice respected establishments could be. Back in his office days, he and his co-workers frequented restaurants like this one for meetings. Pacing over to the host, he gave a weak smile, “Hi, I’m with the Prescott party.”
The host looked down to the chart, his finger running across the lines until he found Lincoln’s name. “Ah! Here we are. Please follow me,” he nodded to Wyatt, walking briskly into the dining area.
Wyatt’s eyes scanned all around as he walked through. It was pretty busy in there, but the noise level stayed low. He was guided to the far side of the restaurant by the window. His eyes found Lincoln, sitting facing him in a black suit and tie, the top button was undone and his curls styled in a pompadour. The host pulled out the chair across from him and Wyatt sat down, muttering a “thank you”. “Good afternoon,” Lincoln purred, dimples appearing on his cheeks as he smiled.
“Afternoon,” Wyatt greeted, taking a sip of the water that was already there for him.
“How did your evening go last night?” Lincoln asked.
He shrugged, “Standard, I suppose. Just no alcohol.”
Lincoln chuckled, swirling his tea. “I take it you really overdid it the other night?”
“Does three shots of tequila, three spritzers, countless jello shots, and perhaps a few beers count as overdoing it?” Wyatt asked sarcastically, a hint of a playful smile on his lips.
“Mm, I would consider it in the ballpark,” Lincoln chuckled. “I’m glad you made it home safely. There’s not going to be any men skulking around, trying to compete with me, are there?” Though he had tried to keep his tone light, Wyatt could see the look in his eyes. The look that hinted he seriously wanted to know, and that it wasn’t just some jokey enquiry.
Wyatt’s lips pulled into a smirk that he couldn’t wipe off his face, “Why? You worried?”
“Not at all,” Lincoln said, rather confidently, his gaze burning into Wyatt’s.
Then, a waitress interrupted to get their orders. Wyatt, never having been a picky eater, just chose something at random and handed the woman his menu. Once she had walked away, Wyatt’s eyes wandered back over to Lincoln. “What is it we are here to talk about?” he asked. “I mean, I know it’s about dating… What is there to discuss exactly?”
Lincoln let out a deep breath, his fingers fidgeting with the napkin in his lap. “Well… Everything, in a sense. Talk about if you’re alright with it, what your conditions are, what mine are, ground rules… Things along those lines.”
“Do you have conditions?” Wyatt asked, curiously.
“Yes,” Lincoln said, simply. “I know that may make me seem like a prick, but it’s the smart thing to do. To protect the both of us.”
“Fair enough,” Wyatt muttered, crossing his arms as he propped his elbows on the table.
“So, what are your conditions? I know you have some,” Lincoln smiled weakly, though his eyes screamed that he was bracing himself for the worst.
Wyatt pondered for a moment, his fingertips drumming against his biceps. “I think I want to hear yours first. That way I can decide if I’m willing to consider all this before sharing what I want.”
Lincoln seemed surprised at his response, probably thinking that Wyatt had planned to rip into him with demands and requests. “Alright…” he nodded, sitting up straight. “As you are well aware, I’m somewhat in the public’s eye. And with that being said, no matter how bad we may fight or how nasty a breakup might be, I need for you to agree not to attack myself or the companies I’m affiliated with. That means no spreading rumors, no screenshots of messages, no leaking nudes or sex tapes… I’m not saying you plan to do any o
f it, I don’t think you’re a vengeful person. Just… I’ve seen how a broken heart can destroy lives on both ends of the spectrum. Therefore, I feel the need to clarify that possible reality.”
“That’s reasonable,” Wyatt agreed. “Trust me, I don’t want the world seeing my pale, skinny physique,” he joked lightly, to which Lincoln chuckled. “Any more conditions?”
“I ask that you stay off of social media, other than for your profession and very close friends and family. People will find ways to get to your accounts, and will overanalyze the situation and potentially procure a scandal. I’m not saying this for my own good but for yours. Because people might find out that we’re dating, and they will try and speculate on every aspect of your life to try and paint you poorly. I’ve been very strict with myself in my presence online and so far haven’t had any problems. I research every product visible in my pictures, I make sure to never comment on political issues, and I keep things gender neutral with the products I promote and review. The whole nine yards. Someone I’m involved with needs to have that same level of self-control.”
Wyatt sat in silence, studying every detail of Lincoln’s face as he stared right back, reading for Wyatt’s reaction. “I’ll agree to keep a low profile,” he began, watching the corners of Lincoln’s lips turn up slightly. Wyatt waited patiently to give his own conditions, even though he really wanted to respond to Lincoln’s with one of his own. He didn’t want to be rude. “Anything else?”
“Not related to work, just that you make an effort to answer my phone calls,” he said, the smile growing. Lincoln reached and grabbed one of Wyatt’s hands, stroking the back of it with his thumb, “I worried about you the other night. I was seriously concerned something had happened to you. I’m not asking you to stay chained to your phone, but that when you see a missed call from me, and you have a minute, return the call.”
“Reasonable,” Wyatt commented, with a nod.