No Way Out

by Julie Lynn Hayes

  “Did you want to put your feet up and read?” Wyatt suggested. “Kind of relax?”

  “If that’s how you want me,” Shy acquiesced.

  Wyatt resisted the urge to remind Shy that he wasn’t Randy and Shy did have a choice in the matter. Not too fast, he cautioned himself. Take it easy.

  “Let’s try that and see how it goes.” He glanced around the room. Selecting a wicker chair, he placed it across from the couch and sat in it. Dissatisfied, he pushed it back until he found the perfect distance. He picked up his sketch pad and pencil, and began to draw.

  Chapter Thirteen

  EVEN THOUGH they hadn’t set an alarm, Shy woke early the next morning. Some habits were too hard to break. But for once he didn’t feel an overwhelming compulsion to leap out of bed. Instead, he rolled over, maintaining a cautious distance from Wyatt, and quietly watched him sleep. There was something comforting in the gentle rise and fall of the other man’s chest, the occasional flutter of his closed eyes. The way he randomly smiled to himself, as though he were having a very pleasant dream. Shy envied him that. Shy seldom remembered his dreams. And most of the dreams he did recall were painful ones. That was one reason why he disliked sleeping any longer than necessary.

  Giving in to an urge he couldn’t explain, Shy edged a little closer. But Wyatt never stirred. He must be very tired. Not surprising. They’d spent a long afternoon in the art room, as Wyatt worked, followed by a longer night playing video games.

  Wyatt had spent hours sketching Shy to his satisfaction. At first nothing seemed to please him. He wadded up sketch after sketch and tossed it to the floor, then started on another. After a while, the floor had become a minefield of discarded efforts.

  Shy didn’t mind. Wyatt’s passion for his craft was evident in every move he made, the way he clutched his pencil as he drew, the steely determination in his eye, the slight crease of his forehead, puckered in concentration. And when he glanced between his sketchbook and Shy…. Shy found himself deluged with feelings he couldn’t explain. Heady sensations coursed through him such as he’d never experienced before. Wyatt looked at him as if he saw something in him no one else ever had. Something worthwhile, not damaged goods.

  After a while, Wyatt had set the sketch aside, saying something about it being a good start as he rose and stretched his back, with a loud pop. Then he apologized profusely for not even giving Shy a break, although Shy kept telling him he was fine. To make amends, Wyatt ordered in a pizza from a local parlor. They ate the pizza and washed it down with glasses of white wine, then played video games on the homeowner’s huge TV, staying up until the wee hours of the morning.

  Shy couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun.

  The even cadence of Wyatt’s breathing changed, probably a sign he was waking. Shy started to scoot back to his former position, but before he could put his plan into effect, Wyatt had rolled toward him, and now Shy was looking directly into those big blue eyes, and he couldn’t have moved if he’d wanted to. Which he didn’t.

  “Morning,” Wyatt greeted him. “You sleep good?”

  “Yeah. You?”

  “Beautifully.”

  Wyatt had a gorgeous smile. And kissable lips. Acting on impulse, Shy darted forward and kissed him softly. Shocked by his own boldness, he felt his cheeks go warm. He anxiously scanned Wyatt’s face for a reaction. Wyatt seemed frozen in place, eyes wide.

  “I’m sor—”

  Before Shy could get out any more of his apology, Wyatt had stilled him with a gentle kiss. Soft, yet passionate without being rough. A kiss with a great deal of promise. Then another. And another. And then Shy stopped thinking at all.

  Shy’s head was spinning by the time Wyatt pulled back, regarding him with concerned eyes. He thought Wyatt murmured something that sounded like, “Too soon, too soon,” but he couldn’t be sure, and the next moment Wyatt excused himself and headed to the bathroom.

  By the time he returned, Shy had made the bed, and was smoothing the blanket down. Temptation averted… for now.

  “Let’s go see what we can scare up for breakfast,” Wyatt suggested.

  “Don’t you want to get dressed first?” Shy asked.

  “Let’s see how the day goes.”

  Shy followed Wyatt down the stairs and into the kitchen.

  “You mind starting the coffee?” Wyatt asked as he rummaged through the refrigerator. “I think we have the makings of a decent omelet, and that’s one thing I can cook. You like omelets?” He pulled his head out of the fridge to regard Shy.

  “Yeah, I make them a lot, but I have to make them with whites only. The dietician insists.” He shrugged. “They’re healthier that way.”

  Wyatt snorted. He emerged from the fridge juggling a carton of eggs, a package of shredded cheese, and what looked to be fresh herbs. “Sorry, I don’t do healthy. There’s a reason eggs have yolks, you know. And it’s not just to look pretty.”

  Shy giggled at Wyatt’s silliness. He dumped the grounds from the day before and added a fresh filter, followed by coffee from the can. He filled the carafe with water and emptied it into the coffee maker, then flipped a switch to start the brewing process. “There’s juice left from yesterday, want me to pour some?” he offered.

  “That would be great, thanks.”

  Shy got out two small glasses and set them on the table, then got out the pitcher he’d freshly squeezed the day before and poured it into the glasses and set it on the table. He took a seat and sipped at his while Wyatt whisked the eggs and poured them into a small skillet. Wyatt wore only a pair of sleep pants, which hung about his hips. He seemed to be very comfortable in his own skin. Shy took advantage of the fact Wyatt wore no shirt to stare at his nipples. They were larger than his own, darker. There was something very inviting about them. Shy found he couldn’t draw his eyes from the sight.

  When Wyatt’s gaze caught his, Shy blushed and quickly shifted his attention back to his juice. Wyatt made no comment. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed. And maybe that was wishful thinking on his part.

  “What kind of herbs are those?” Shy asked.

  “Tarragon,” Wyatt replied. “You’re not allergic, are you?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Good.” Shy looked up, just in time to catch Wyatt’s smile. “This won’t take long. Omelets are good for fast breakfasts. Anyone can make ’em, even me.” He laughed as he added the cheese, then folded the mixture in the pan over, waited a moment, then plated it before starting on the second omelet.

  “I think the coffee’s done,” Shy murmured. “I’ll pour.” He needed to do something other than stare at Wyatt’s half-naked body. That couldn’t end well. Quickly rising, he got two mugs from the cabinet, and creamer from the refrigerator, and prepared their coffees the way Wyatt had the day before, then took his seat once more.

  “Wish we had some bacon,” Wyatt commented. He flipped off the burner and pushed the pan back, sprinkled tarragon over the omelets, and lifted both plates. “Maybe next time. I know I need to go to the store, but I should probably call Lukas first, see if he’s still talking to me, before I start making any plans—” A stricken look crossed Wyatt’s face, as if he’d said something he shouldn’t. He quickly set one of the plates in front of Shy, then laid the second at his own place and sat down.

  “What do you mean?” Shy asked, frowning. “Why wouldn’t Lukas be talking to you?”

  Wyatt had stuffed a bite of omelet into his mouth and couldn’t speak immediately. Was that deliberate? When he’d finished and washed it down with first juice, then coffee, he took a deep breath and finally addressed Shy. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sure he’s speaking to me,” he hastily amended. “That’s an exaggeration, you know? He doesn’t like the way I try to blow off these little parties he gets me invited to. I know they’re for my own good, but, well….” He shrugged. “I’ll call him when we’re done here. There’s supposed to be a get-together this afternoon. I have to say, they do feed you pretty g
ood at those things.” He forced a smile, but Shy got the distinct feeling there was something Wyatt wasn’t telling him.

  “What kind of a party is it?” Shy asked.

  “We call them meet and greets,” Wyatt said. “The artists get together with the patrons, mingle, schmooze, that kind of thing. Discuss our work, our visions. Our artistic dreams. In other words, we have to look our best so someone will want to sponsor us.”

  “That doesn’t sound too bad,” Shy commented.

  “You wouldn’t think so, would you? It’s not that simple. How’s your omelet?”

  “Delicious,” Shy assured him.

  They concentrated on eating for a few minutes. Shy could sense Wyatt was turning something over in his mind. He could see it in his eyes. He just didn’t know what that something was.

  Suddenly Wyatt snapped his fingers, and Shy jumped a little.

  “I have an idea.”

  “What’s that?” Shy asked, curious to know what had piqued Wyatt’s interest.

  “If I remember correctly, this thing’s going to be held near the Art Museum. How about we stop in there for a few minutes?”

  “The Art Museum?” Shy couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I’ve never been there.” He raised his mug to his lips, watching Wyatt over the brim.

  Wyatt looked aghast. “You’ve never been?”

  There were a lot of places in St. Louis Shy had never been, thanks to Randy. And the places he’d been he didn’t want to discuss.

  Why did he have to think of Randy now? The very thought of the older man was enough to make him lose his appetite. He pushed his plate back and rose, but before he could even think about rushing out of the room, Wyatt had risen and come around the table.

  “It’s okay, it’s okay.” He pulled Shy into a quick embrace. “We can fix that, it’s easy. We only have time for a short visit today, but we can come back later, when we aren’t pushed for time. There’s so much there I’d love to show you.”

  Shy knew he should say no, knew he should face the reality of his situation. He was Randy’s to do with as he pleased, and Randy would not like this. Not at all.

  A little voice in the back of his head whispered that Randy didn’t have to know. Who was going to tell him? Certainly not Wyatt. Make the most of this, for as long as it lasts.

  Wyatt’s arms were strong, his chest comfortable. Shy gave in and rested against him, breathing him in. He wished this moment would never end. But of course it did.

  He drew back finally and met Wyatt’s concerned gaze. “Okay,” he said. “If you want me to go with you. I don’t think I have anything really nice to wear, though.”

  “That doesn’t matter. This is informal. We’ll find something for both of us to wear.” Wyatt’s smile was radiant now, and Shy felt himself relax a little.

  “Are you going to call Lukas?”

  “Actually, I’ll just text him and ask for the address. That way I won’t have to write it down.” As he spoke, Wyatt took his phone out and began to type with both thumbs. Satisfied with his message, he replaced the phone in his pocket. Why did Shy get the impression he was avoiding a confrontation of some kind?

  “Why don’t we finish eating and get dressed?” Wyatt suggested. He brushed his thumb across Shy’s cheekbone softly.

  “Okay,” Shy agreed, leaning into Wyatt’s touch.

  I’m in so much trouble.

  Chapter Fourteen

  TEXTING LUKAS instead of calling him was avoidance on Wyatt’s part, and he knew it. But he didn’t want to continue the argument with his mentor and chance Shy overhearing anything he shouldn’t. Things were going too well to fuck them up now. Shy was definitely warming to him and relaxing more. He wasn’t nearly as tense as when he’d first arrived, the night of Grant’s heart attack.

  Touched that Shy had sought him out in his time of need, Wyatt had only wanted to protect him. But he couldn’t deny there was something between them, something palpable. And Wyatt intended to fan that spark until it had a chance to grow into a flame. He wasn’t sure where their relationship might go, but he definitely wanted to find out.

  But first he had to figure out how to get—and keep—Shy away from Randy Grant.

  There was no telling when the man would be released from the hospital. Maybe as early as Monday. Wyatt was surprised he hadn’t phoned Shy even once the day before, or demanded Lukas bring him up to see him again. But maybe Grant realized even he didn’t exactly look his best in a hospital gown, with his ass hanging out, and maybe his vanity overrode other considerations. Frankly, he didn’t know how that man’s warped mind worked.

  Still, time had to be drawing short, and something needed to be done. Wyatt’s natural inclination was to keep Shy safe with him, there at Masterson’s house, but that might be too close for comfort for Shy. Right now, though, he didn’t have any alternate suggestions. And he didn’t think he could discuss the matter with Lukas, not in his current mood.

  Wyatt was half afraid Lukas would call him in response to his message. But his fears were put to rest a few minutes later, as they were getting dressed, when Lukas texted the time and location of this afternoon’s event. The address belonged to one of those big old three-story houses on Lindell, the kind that even put this neighborhood to shame. Lukas already had some of Wyatt’s art with him, including the piece he’d finished in the middle of the night and messengered to him via an Uber driver who was a fellow art student as well as a friend. Wyatt’s paintings would be displayed, along with that of other starving artists who were also vying for recognition, in the hopes of attracting a patron or two. Backing was everything in the art world, every artist vied for it. There was no mention of anything that had passed between the two of them earlier, for which Wyatt was grateful.

  “Is that from Lukas?”

  He looked up from the phone screen to find Shy had found a warm blue button-down shirt of Masterson’s that fit, along with a pair of dark dress slacks that nicely accentuated his slender build. His pale blond hair hung loose about his shoulders, and the total effect stunned Wyatt into momentary silence. “Wow, you look really good,” he managed to get out finally, as Shy blushed. “Oh, sorry. Yeah, Lukas texted the address. We’ll have just enough time for me to show you want I wanted you to see at the Museum and then head over. It isn’t far.”

  Shy nodded, his gaze raking Wyatt up and down. “You always look good,” he said simply, not that Wyatt had asked, and now it was Wyatt’s turn to blush.

  “Is there anything you need to take with you?” Shy asked, thankfully diverting Wyatt’s attention.

  “Just us. Lukas will take care of the rest.” Of course, he hadn’t actually told Lukas he was bringing Shy, but if the man had half a brain, he’d surely figure it out, especially once he got the new painting. If not, he’d realize it soon enough when they showed up together.

  Making their way to the front door, Wyatt ushered Shy out, then closed and locked the house behind them. Masterson’s luxury sedan sat waiting in the drive where he’d parked it. Wyatt opened the passenger door for Shy before quickly rounding the car, taking his place behind the wheel. He noticed Shy never once glanced toward the house across the street. That was a good sign, surely?

  Traffic on Skinker Boulevard was reasonably light and Wyatt made good time. Soon they’d made the turn onto Lagoon, passing into Forest Park. Wyatt loved the tree-filled park. It was a beautiful little haven in the middle of the city. He wished they had more time to properly explore the area. They would someday, he vowed. He’d do his best to make up for everything Shy had been denied before, as much as he possibly could. Wyatt didn’t have a great deal of money, but there were a lot of things to do and see in St. Louis that didn’t cost an arm and a leg—in fact, many were free—and a number of them were to be found in Forest Park.

  He turned onto Fine Arts Drive, heading up the hill to the familiar building which graced the top of the rise. Once known as the Palace of Fine Arts, it was originally constructed for the 1904 Worl
d’s Fair, and was the only structure still remaining from that time. Parking at the Art Museum could be a bit tricky at times. Those who could afford it anted up the fifteen dollars to park in the newly built garage, which directly adjoined the building. Those on a budget, like Wyatt, jockeyed for position in the free lots nearby.

  Turning into one of the small parking areas, Wyatt almost didn’t spot the brake lights of a red minivan. The question was—was it coming or going? He quickly braked, watching for some sort of indication. Luck was with them, and the driver was pulling out. Wyatt quickly zipped into the vehicle’s vacated space before anyone else could lay claim to the spot, and gave a fist pump of triumph once he’d parked. “Yes!” His action produced laughter from Shy. The sound was music to Wyatt’s ears.

  “You know what, before we go in, let’s pay our respects to Louis.” Wyatt turned to Shy with a wink and a grin.

  “Louis who?” Shy wanted to know.

  “I’ll introduce you,” Wyatt said mysteriously as they exited the car. He led Shy up to a huge statue on a concrete viewing platform across from the entrance to the museum. They stood at the base, looking up at the large bronze figure. “Shy, meet his majesty, King Louis IX. The man St. Louis is named after.”

  “Wow,” Shy said as he gazed up at the man and his steed. “I didn’t know we were named after anyone. Guess I never thought about it much.”

  “I read something somewhere that it’s because he’s the only French king to be made a saint, and the first settlers were French, so I guess that was important to them.”

  “That makes sense,” Shy replied.

  After a few minutes of paying their respects to the long dead monarch, Wyatt led Shy to the end of the platform away from the museum. “Check out this view,” he said. “That’s Art Hill, right below us. Down there’s the Grand Basin. This was all part of the World’s Fair, back in 1904. I bet it was really something to see. I read that the Ferris wheel was so large, they could fit like fifty people in every car. And there was a hell of a view when you got to the top.”