by Beth Bolden
It was everything Wyatt needed, barring the kitchen, which was just a few steps away.
What he wanted was standing in the kitchenette, examining the contents of the mini fridge.
“I told Gabriela to stock this,” Ryan said, pointing out the empty shelves. “I’ll have to talk to her.”
“I can stock it, it’s not a big deal.” Wyatt was already a little embarrassed at the ridiculous salary that Ryan was paying him, never mind that he was dying to get into his pants again. He didn’t need Ryan to pay for his groceries.
“Gabriela does the housekeeping, and runs the odd errand but she doesn’t live here,” Ryan said. “I don’t really have a personal assistant. If I need help, Eric will usually loan me his. Nicole is intimidatingly efficient so I try to avoid it if I can.”
“So it’s just . . . me and you.” Wyatt tried not to make that sound like an invitation, but he was acutely aware of Ryan’s bare chest and the big fluffy bed in the next room. It was impossible not to think of what they could do in it. After all, it had been so good when it was just Wyatt’s bike and a swath of gravel. The bed opened up endless possibilities that had Wyatt’s head swimming and his cock half-erect in his jeans.
“Yep.” Ryan smiled brightly. He seemed just as happy about this turn of events as Wyatt.
Wyatt wanted to reach over and pull Ryan against him, their first kiss and its incendiary intensity in sharp, perfect detail in his mind. The second, he knew, would be even better. The third might outdo every kiss he’d ever experienced before.
It was one of the reasons why he hadn’t kissed Ryan yet. He didn’t want this to be a casual, hookup sort of thing. He wanted to show Ryan that he wanted more. More than just a quick afternoon in bed together. Or a quick ride up in the Hills followed by a convenient blowjob.
And everything tempered by the sobering realization that Ryan was his boss. He’d never wanted to blow his boss before.
“We should talk about expectations,” Wyatt said, dropping his duffel on the floor and digging out a worn pad from the side. He’d written a list of questions he’d needed to ask last night, after ducking out on his own farewell party.
“Expectations? You feed me when I want food. That’s about it,” Ryan said, and even though Wyatt didn’t like the tiny crease forming Ryan’s brows, he forged on.
This was stuff he needed to know to do his job. And for what Ryan was paying him, he couldn’t shirk his responsibilities or his duties, all because he was desperate to get into his boss’ pants.
“Expectations sounds more formal than I was intending,” Wyatt confessed. “I just have a long list of questions, basically.”
“Questions?” Ryan frowned. “We’ll deal with that tomorrow. Tonight’s your first night in LA. It’s nice out; let’s go for a drive. And this time we’ll take my bike.”
“Oh, uh, okay, sure.” His first day at Terroir, Bastian Aquino definitely hadn’t invited him out. Or issued the invitation with quite that fiery glint in his eye either. Ryan definitely looked like he was up to something. Wyatt might still be unsure, but he didn’t think he had the willpower to turn this man down.
“I’ll take a quick shower, and then we’ll head out,” Ryan said. “Feel free to settle in.”
Settle in while Ryan was in the shower? Naked and dripping wet and only half a house away? Wyatt felt his temperature spike at the thought.
“I think I’m going to take a quick inventory in the kitchen,” Wyatt said, because that felt so much safer than fantasizing about joining Ryan in the shower.
* * *
Wyatt was headfirst in a cupboard, cataloging mixing bowls, when he felt a warm hand rest on his back.
“Find everything you needed?” Ryan asked when Wyatt straightened. The athletic shorts had been swapped for a pair of jeans tight enough they made his heart thump harder. He’d done something cute and swoopy to his hair, and he smelled delectable, like spicy vanilla. Wyatt’s mouth watered, and he was suddenly, painfully aware of his own faded jeans and old t-shirt.
He hadn’t dressed to go out. Or to impress a cute guy, even though he’d known Ryan would probably be here. He’d dressed to drive six hours on his bike, and hadn’t put anymore thought into it. Maybe he should have, instead of spending the last twenty minutes digging through Ryan’s kitchen drawers and cupboards.
“You have the basics,” Wyatt said, trailing after Ryan as they headed towards the garage. “I’m probably going to have to pick up some stuff.”
Ryan seemed completely unconcerned by this, and Wyatt felt an awkward, embarrassed pulse at the acute financial gap between them. Ryan had enough money he didn’t have to keep track, while Wyatt scraped by, even now with the increased salary.
That feeling when Ryan opened the garage door, a light shining down on a Range Rover, a Bentley, and a Tesla. And a really sweet street bike that had clearly been modified for speed, and then painted a flat, sexy matte black. In a pair of leathers, Ryan would look like fucking Batman.
It made Wyatt’s serviceable bike look like garbage in comparison. And even though Ryan never seemed to compare, Wyatt couldn’t help doing it.
Ryan passed by the cars without a second glance and pulled a sleek black helmet from a cubby on the wall. He extended the helmet Wyatt’s direction. “You up for it?” he asked, that sly challenge back in his eyes.
It wasn’t a question of what Wyatt was up for, but if the night would end without Wyatt getting everything he was up for.
He grabbed the helmet, and slid it on, watching as Ryan picked up another one, and did the same.
Ryan was maybe only an inch shorter, with slightly narrower shoulders, but it felt just as good to climb on the bike behind him as it had to feel Ryan’s arms wrapped around him. It gave him hope that Ryan might echo his own versatile preferences.
Sliding his own hands around Ryan’s waist, he let one drift down and feel the flexing muscle of his thigh as he pulled the bike out of the garage. Ryan’s glance backwards was bright and challenging.
It shouldn’t have surprised Wyatt that Ryan liked to go fast; after all, he’d seen the collection of cars, even though he only had a vague idea of what they were capable of. Wyatt knew more about motorcycles, and had definitely known this was custom and tuned for speed, but he still wasn’t expecting the way Ryan floored it when they pulled onto the freeway.
The acceleration pushed Ryan’s body more firmly into the cradle of Wyatt’s, and he knew there was no way Ryan was going to miss how hard he was, cock aching in his jeans. He wanted everything they’d had last time they’d been on a bike like this, and so much more.
But while Ryan seemed to be in a hurry to get somewhere—weaving in and out of the traffic on the freeway, expertly maneuvering the bike even with the extra weight on it—he didn’t seem to be in any hurry to go somewhere specific. They hit Highway 1, and even the early evening traffic didn’t seem to phase Ryan.
The sun was setting, the sky ablaze with color as they headed further up the coast, and to his surprise, Ryan did finally pull off the road, but not towards an abandoned parking lot, but to a busy taqueria with a nearly full parking lot.
He stopped the bike with a spray of gravel, and pulled off his helmet, grinning like a loon. Wyatt reluctantly removed his hands from Ryan’s waist, and took off his own helmet.
“And I thought I drove fast,” Wyatt teased, pushing his hair back.
Ryan winced. “I might like speed a little too much.”
“The adrenaline can be addictive,” Wyatt acknowledged.
“Yeah,” Ryan admitted. “You been here before?” he asked, gesturing to the building behind them.
The last thing Wyatt had expected was for Ryan to take him to a restaurant. But here they were. Wyatt shook his head, wondering if he should ask Ryan what the hell he was thinking.
“I haven’t. I’m assuming I’m off the clock,” Wyatt said, because he couldn’t just let it go, not the way Ryan did. Probably because Ryan had all the advantages here, and al
most certainly kept forgetting that Wyatt didn’t have any.
“Of course you are.” Ryan grinned recklessly. “Though maybe the apprentice has something to teach the master?”
“Master of what?” Wyatt scoffed. “You definitely know how to handle yourself on that bike.”
“Master of good food, duh,” Ryan said, slinging his helmet under his arm. “This place makes the best tacos in Southern California. Pretty good view, too.”
Wyatt didn’t even pretend to look out at Malibu, spread out underneath them. “Yeah, I really like it.”
Ryan flushed. “You wanted to ask me some questions. I figured it might be good to grab some food.”
“I’m not complaining. If you want to feed me, I’m not going to stop you,” he teased back. If Ryan was going to act like this was a date, then he wasn’t going to stop him from doing that either. In fact, he could definitely hold his own, if that’s what this was.
Not everything had to be so black and white—either professionally or personally. Weren’t the best things a gray-hued combination of both? Wyatt reminded himself of his good friend Miles and his boyfriend, Evan, who worked and loved and fought together, sometimes all at once.
If they could do it, then Wyatt could too, especially if it was Ryan he was doing it with.
There was a lengthy line at the little shack, and a lot of the picnic tables were already full of people enjoying their tacos. Wyatt half-expected someone to recognize Ryan, but everyone ignored them.
“I keep expecting everyone here to mow me down to get to you,” Wyatt half-joked. “Am I going to end up being part-chef, part-bodyguard?”
Ryan shot him an incredulous look as they settled in the back of the line. “Please, I’m definitely not that famous. If Eric ever tried to saddle me with a bodyguard, I’d laugh in his face. Or something worse, like question his manhood or his net worth.”
“You don’t ever get people who recognize you?” Wyatt had known who Ryan was instantly, but then he’d been touched and undeniably impacted three years ago when Ryan had come out of the closet. Also he’d definitely thought he was hot back then. That feeling hadn’t changed three years later, when he’d found him at Temple and had spent too many hours staring at him.
“I’m a baseball player, not a celebrity.” Ryan rolled his eyes. “Every once in a while, yeah, I get someone who wants a selfie or an autograph, but it doesn’t really happen all that often. Eric probably wishes it happened more. He’s always wanting me to sign more deals to raise my public profile, but like I said, I’m a baseball player, not a fucking influencer, or whatever they call those assholes who take impossible Instagram pictures. If I’m going to take pictures it’s going to be of all the sick places I visit.”
“You like to travel?” Wyatt asked. He kept trying to ignore how much like a first date this felt like, but it kept cropping up. But the truth was, however it felt, he wanted to get to know Ryan.
“Confession,” Ryan said, leaning closer, and nudging his shoulder against Wyatt’s, “it’s one of my favorite parts of being a baseball player. We don’t get a lot of time in cities, sometimes, but every place just feels different, you know? And it’s an experience to be in every single one.”
Wyatt wished he did know, but he didn’t. He’d worked his ass off getting through culinary school, had spent some time in Chicago, then Portland, and then had gotten the job at Terroir, and had jumped at the chance to come back to California. But his truth was that he’d barely ever left California since he was born, and even though he felt a little wistful at the thought of exploring the world and all the culinary delights it had to offer, he’d never really felt the lack of travel.
“I haven’t really traveled much,” Wyatt confessed. “Not much opportunity.”
Ryan’s smile was bright and infectious. “Maybe we can change that.”
Wyatt didn’t really understand how he could do that; it wasn’t like Wyatt was going to go with Ryan on road trips as his personal chef. And that was the whole issue, wasn’t it? Ryan had never defined his job role, and Wyatt had a feeling that wouldn’t change. Ryan wasn’t really a definer. He liked the adrenaline rush of making it up as he went.
“We’d better figure out our order,” Wyatt suggested, gesturing towards the menu. “What do you usually get?”
Ryan rattled off half a dozen types of tacos, and added, with a lopsided grin, “And definitely beer. I wasn’t supposed to drink during the season so I definitely want a beer with my tacos.”
“Let’s get a bucket then,” Wyatt suggested. “We can share. And I definitely want to try those authentic shrimp tacos. And the al pastor.”
When they were about to get to the register, Ryan shooed him away, with directions to find a table. Wyatt decided that he didn’t care if Ryan bought him some tacos and a beer. It was fine. It didn’t mean this was a date. It didn’t mean anything, necessarily. It was a guy welcoming his new employee. Except it hadn’t felt precisely professional when they’d been pressed together on his bike earlier, and it wouldn’t feel that way on the way home either. Especially with Wyatt desperate for Ryan to pull over for every dark corner.
Ryan ventured over to the table Wyatt had found with his very capable hands filled with plates and the bucket of beers dangling from one finger.
It shouldn’t have reminded Wyatt of the other night, but pretty much everything reminded Wyatt of the other night. The way Ryan walked, the way he smiled—brighter now, and more spontaneously—the way he bit his lip or wet it with his tongue, and definitely his strong, calloused hands.
“Food,” Ryan crowed with excitement, sliding the paper plates across the table. “And beer!”
“Do you think there’s anyone on the planet who doesn’t like tacos?” Wyatt asked, digging a chip into the salsa verde, heat prickling his tongue as the jalapeños hit his taste buds. “Tacos are god’s food.”
“Tacos are amazing,” Ryan agreed.
“What else do you like to eat?” Wyatt asked, squeezing a lime over his shrimp tacos.
Ryan glanced up, attention distracted from the food in front of him. “Is this part of the interrogation? Should I find my handcuffs?”
Wyatt thought Ryan would be sufficiently pleased at how his heartbeat picked up at the mention of his handcuffs. “No,” he scoffed wryly. “I promise, it’ll be fine. Just a few questions. I definitely find that food is a personal thing. Besides, I want to prevent you from tossing your meal at me, and keep your broken-plate rule intact.”
“It’s not going to be hard,” Ryan said. “I’m really laid-back about food. Most of the time, I don’t really care, honestly. Just put it in front of me, and I’ll eat it.”
Wyatt was skeptical but maybe that was from a history of working at the most exacting restaurant in America. “Okay, tell me this. When it’s just you, what do you eat? Start with breakfast.”
“A banana? An orange? Sometimes a mango or a papaya if I can get my hands on it. I like to buy those pre-boiled eggs from the store for protein. Maybe a frozen turkey sausage or two, if I’m feeling like making the effort.”
Wyatt had seen Ryan’s kitchen and how pristine it was. He had a feeling Ryan very infrequently “made the effort.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t mention any protein shakes,” Wyatt said, swallowing a big bite of fantastic fresh and spicy shrimp. He’d done a little research, and the shakes seemed to be the ubiquitous item that most athletes imbibed.
Ryan’s grin was too cute, all lopsided and embarrassed. “Those go without saying. I like to put low-fat peanut butter in mine.”
“Smooth or chunky?”
Ryan choked on his beer. “Oh, smooth.” An unholy glint lit his dark eyes. “Very smooth.”
Wyatt had to swallow hard, even though he wasn’t even eating at that moment. “Noted.”
“But you’re not writing anything down?” Ryan teased.
“I have a feeling I won’t have any trouble remembering any of this. So far, it’s not exactly complicate
d. What about lunch or dinner?”
“Eric is going to be really happy that I hired someone who takes his job so seriously,” Ryan said. “I don’t really care, honestly. Feed me something. Whatever you feel you want to make. October and November, I don’t worry too much about what I’m eating, though towards Thanksgiving, I’m going to have to watch it a little, because I have an Adidas commercial shoot. And knowing Eric, who’s arranging the whole thing, they’ll have me mostly naked.”
Wyatt’s cheeks heated at the thought of all that bare skin. Except he wasn’t picturing it on an Adidas set, he was picturing it in his bed, with Ryan raising his eyebrow the same he had the night they’d met. Daring Wyatt to do everything he wanted.
Maybe a pair of those handcuffs of Ryan’s thrown in for good measure.
He was all quicksilver heat, hot and swift but possibly not lasting. Considering that Wyatt already wanted more, he wasn’t sure he could settle for what Ryan might give him.
Who am I kidding? Wyatt asked himself. He was going to take anything Ryan would give him, love every second, and then somehow deal with it when it ended.
Maybe if he did a really great job, Ryan might keep him on after, no matter how wretched that would feel. It wasn’t something to look forward to, but Wyatt needed the money.
“Everything okay?” Ryan asked, pulling Wyatt out of his depressing thoughts. Thinking about flings ending before they even began, worrying about fallout and finances.
Wyatt grimaced. “Sorry, just got distracted.”
“I must not be entertaining you enough,” Ryan insisted, and suddenly, there was his foot, his boot nudging Wyatt’s. And even through two layers of leather, the impact blasted through him. It wasn’t the first time Ryan had touched him since he’d arrived, but this wasn’t just a simple touch. It had a purpose and intent.
I’m going to touch you a lot more tonight.