Boyfriend Chronicles 02 - The Boyfriend Mandate (6 page)

Tyler whipped out the droll tone. “Right,” he said, dragging the word out, “because being identified as a member of the LGBTQ community is no big deal. But a minor head injury? Now
that
would make life difficult.”

Memphis grinned but didn’t bother trying to explain. He’d learned a lot during his two battles with cancer. In life, none of the small stuff mattered, and once you’d stared death in the face, well…it was mostly
all
small stuff.

The public’s fascination with who he fucked amused the shit out of him. But an injury?

Memphis rubbed his hands down the damp denim covering his thighs. A year and a half ago, he’d separated from Julissa, and a wave of stupid self-pity had led to a night out with his crew. One inebriated fall later, the moment captured forever by the tabloids, and instead of being labeled a drunk or a screw-up—the kind of small stuff he’d find amusing—rumors of a cancer recurrence had circulated.

Jesus, he never wanted to live through that depressing onslaught of public reaction again.

As the spokesman for Hope Heals, he constantly received letters from across the globe. One suggestion of a relapse and he’d been inundated with well-meaning but often tactless well-wishes such as
everyone’s dying, you just know when
and the ever-popular
we’re going to miss you.
Which was a nice sentiment in a fucked-up kind of way. And then there were the
it’s all a part of God’s plan
people.

As if the Almighty Powers That Be had simply penciled in “Memphis relapse, Wednesday at two p.m.”

“You’re serious about keeping this a secret?” Tyler asked.

“Dead serious.” His lips twisted wryly until he caught Tyler’s questioning gaze. “Let’s just say I have my reasons and leave it at that.”

Besides, the Patricks of this world needed public figures who provided proof that survival was possible. As a teen, Memphis had followed Lance Armstrong’s career as if the man’s very existence was a lifeline. So dammit, Memphis would maintain the strong, invincible survivor persona, too—minus the Armstrong-esque doping―if it killed him.

“How is our relationship just becoming news, anyway?” Tyler asked.

“Simple,” he said. “Since we only told family and a few close friends we were more than roommates, the information was kept quiet. And when my initial Fifth and Taylor ad campaign launched, I was already dating Julissa. No one cared about my relationship history. When we got divorced a year ago, everything changed. And then….”

He raked a hand through his damp hair, the pounding in his head increasing again.

“And then what?” Tyler prompted.

Memphis dropped his hand to his lap. “And then a friend of Sean—our fucktard reporter, as Patrick would call him—overhead me talking about us to your buddy Noah at that party.”

Just one more sin to add to Memphis’s ever-increasing pile of screw-ups that impacted Tyler.

Waiting for the sarcastic
thanks a lot
from Tyler that never came, Memphis turned in his seat to study the dark hair and those gorgeous,
gorgeous
eyes. His lean runner’s form filled his clothes just right. His strong, capable hands had calmly assessed Memphis’s cut and seemed as unshakable as the man himself.

Memphis had meant every word about not going to the hospital. But when he’d agreed to let Tyler babysit him tonight, he’d assumed the man would refuse. Now he was on his way to Tyler’s house and, hopefully, a bottle of ibuprofen, a shower, and someplace to lie down. If Tyler insisted on providing a really hot view, Memphis was good with that, too.

Fate had decided to give him time off for good behavior. He’d have to remember to send her a thank-you card.

As they drew closer to the city, Memphis realized he knew next to nothing about Tyler’s life, including where he lived. “Where are we headed?”

“Pacific Heights.”

Memphis let out a low whistle. “How does a physician who works for a free clinic afford to live in such an expensive neighborhood?”

“I don’t,” he said. “We’re going to Noah’s. For the past few days, I’ve been staying with him.”

Memphis frowned in confusion. “Why?”

“Because,” he said dryly, steering his way past a slow-going car, “since my picture appeared in the tabloid, reporters have been knocking on my door trying to score an interview. I even caught one peeking in my window. The security at Noah’s is top-notch, so he offered me his guest bedroom until this blows over.” Tyler let up on the gas and eased back into the line of traffic. “No one gets inside his condominium building without permission.”

“Noah won’t mind you bringing me there?”

“Not at all,” he answered, sounding sincere. “Tonight he’s going out to dinner with some of my other friends, anyway. I decided not to go so they could enjoy dinner in peace.”

In peace
.

God, he hated how Tyler had gotten dragged into the middle of the media circus. Memphis pursed his lips as he turned the information over in his head.

“I don’t understand the fixation on you,” Memphis said. “I mean, everyone already knew you were gay.”

Tyler tightened his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles white, and there was a two-second silence before he answered. “Some people think sleeping with me drove you straight.”

Jesus Christ. Forget the bloody thank-you card, Fate didn’t deserve the sentiment.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Memphis said.

“I’m afraid not,” he said with an even tone.

Memphis cleared his throat, opening and closing his mouth several times. How did he even
begin
to apologize for that kind of ignorance?

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, which hardly felt adequate.

Tyler’s gaze ticked in his direction before returning to focus on the lane of traffic ahead.

Of all the things Memphis had to feel guilty about—and damn it to hell and back, he had plenty—this was one he hadn’t even considered. And why hadn’t Tyler mentioned this the day of the photo shoot? In retrospect, Memphis could totally understand why he’d wanted to end their deal. Instead, Tyler had shown up, kept his end of the bargain, and maintained a remarkable stoicism. Almost
too
stoic.

“You know it’s not true,” Memphis said quietly.

His easy reply sounded a little forced. “Good to hear you confirm it.”

The roaring sound of a passing semi filled the Jeep and then slowly faded away as the truck left them behind. Memphis frowned. This time, Tyler’s words didn’t sit well, as though he wasn’t invested in the answer either way.

“Our sex life was hot.” Memphis studied Tyler’s profile. “You remember that, right?”

Because, damn, he did.

“We were barely out of our teens, Memphis. What I remember is you leading and me following,” he said. And then he bit his lower lip for a moment, a small muscle bunching in his cheek. “And then you went on to marry a woman.”

Well…hell. How was he supposed to respond to that? He waited for Tyler to explain his comment, because, honestly, this was one of many discussions they should have had the very first day. Perhaps it was too much to expect a heart-to-heart right off the bat, especially after a ten-year gap. But Tyler seemed in no hurry to clear the air.

In fact, he seemed determined to avoid the past completely.

Memphis studied Tyler carefully. “You weren’t an experiment for me.” And because he absolutely refused to be anything less than honest, he added, “And Julissa wasn’t a beard.”

A good number of people believed his relationship with Julissa had been a sham, a ruse to fool the public and hide his “gayness.” What a flaming pile of shit. In the beginning, they’d been really happy together.

Tyler didn’t move except for slight adjustments in the wheel, his shoulders stiff. “I’m…” He cleared his throat. “I’m glad you didn’t feel like you had to fake a marriage.”

His tone was sincere, but the words were spoken carefully, and Memphis had the distinct impression there was an
I can’t do this right now
buried in there somewhere. But Memphis refused to heed those warnings anymore, implied or otherwise.

In the beginning, it had been easier to ignore their unfinished business—and the undercurrent of tension that colored their every conversation—in hopes things would eventually improve. But with each encounter, the status quo was beginning to feel really fucking inadequate.

And now he had a headache to deal with and a night with his closed-mouthed ex-boyfriend to endure. A whole night with Tyler…

Jesus.

Memphis tamped down the buzz of desire at the memories the thought brought and discreetly adjusted his half-hard dick beneath the wet jeans.

Christamighty.

His head throbbed, he stunk of fish, and his skin itched from the salt water drying on his body. Wet denim was plastered uncomfortably to his legs. How could he possibly be turned on? Tyler leaned forward to turn on the radio, bringing the scent of his cologne with him, and memories of their first time together engulfed Memphis…

Ten Years Ago, Bay Area University

Memphis woke with a boner big enough to split briefs made of steel.

Cross-eyed from the need pounding in his veins, he blinked, straining to see in the dimly lit dorm room. His lust-hazed, sleep-fogged brain struggled to focus. Slowly he became aware his hand rested on someone’s waist, the skin radiating heat like an oven. But…but the hip wasn’t curvy. Memphis sucked in a lungful of air infused with the scent of a familiar soap.

Tyler
.

Anxiety knifed Memphis in the chest, and he froze, the memories hitting like the first crack of an eyelid during a Monday morning hangover: soccer practice, finding Tyler buried under the covers with tear tracks streaked on his face, and the news that Tyler’s birth mom had finally passed. Worst of all, his roommate had been in
shock
. Memphis had slipped into bed with his friend in a lame-ass attempt to warm the guy up, to make him feel less alone. Unfortunately, Memphis’s hard dick selfishly wanted in on the action now, too.

Damn, he should have known everything would go tits up before dawn.

A soft sniff came from Tyler.

Memphis propped himself up on an elbow. “You awake?” he whispered.

Tyler rolled his head, peering at him over his shoulder. The rising sun filtered through a crack beneath the window shade, enough light to see everything. Tyler’s black hair was wildly out of control, but the bed-head style, flushed cheeks, and sleepy gray eyes combined to make for one freaking adorable look.

Memphis couldn’t help it. He grinned. “Barely awake, I see.”

His roommate’s cheeks grew pinker. “I woke up when you started grinding against me in your sleep.”

Fuck.

After two beats of embarrassment, Memphis ignored the lips so close to his and hiked a brow, hiding the humiliation behind the cocky attitude that drove his roommate crazy. “I know I’m hot and all,” he said with a teasing grin. “No need to weep with joy from the contact.”

Tyler rolled his eyes and scrubbed his face with the back of his hand. He met Memphis’s gaze with a barely there,
you’re such a doofus
smile—the same smile he sent him on a daily basis. One second passed by comfortably enough. The second and third grew uneasy. By the fourth, the smile faded from Tyler’s lips, and everything stretched between them, the sadness and the grief and the
what do we do now?
problem currently pressed awkwardly between them.

Because Memphis still had his cock plastered against Tyler’s lower back. The situation was arousing enough, but then Memphis realized the base of his dick met the top of Tyler’s butt crack.

Holy Christ on a stick.

Back off, back off, back off
.

Memphis knew he should, but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to break the contact.

Tyler cleared his throat. “Look,” he said, turning his head forward to face the wall again. “I get it, okay? It’s not personal.” He slowly sucked in a breath. “Just your normal early-morning boner. No big deal.”

Memphis stared at the waves of black hair and mentally ran through his options. He could take the out that Tyler had offered, pretending the EMB was just that, the usual morning occurrence and totally unrelated to the guy his cock was currently trying to plaster more of itself against.

Or…

Or he could screw the verbal option and act instead, following this situation to its logical conclusion. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t thought about the possibilities. At length and in great detail.

Mind-boggling
explicit
detail.

Oh…
God
.

Decision made, Memphis’s voice reflected the state of his very hard hard-on. “Ty―”

Tyler arched his back, pressing his ass closer in an act that clearly screamed
yes
, and Memphis gripped his roommate’s hip, staying the movement.

He couldn’t fuck him yet. Not like Tyler wanted.

Unfortunately, his roommate interpreted the actions as a rejection. “I’m sorry,” Tyler said, trying to pull away. “I thought―”

Memphis splayed his hand across Tyler’s stomach, keeping the guy’s back pressed to his front. “I wasn’t trying to send you away,” he said, his voice low.

Somewhere down the dorm hallway, a door slammed and footsteps headed up the corridor, the noise slowly fading away. Memphis considered the best way to explain his problem without giving anything away.

He licked his lip. “The thing is…”

Hunh. This was going to be harder than he’d thought.

Memphis tried again. “I’m young and in the best shape of my life.” Elbow propped, he looked down at his roommate and fought to maintain a straight face, despite the teasing tone. “Don’t get too excited, though. I can’t pound the hinge pins from a steel door with my pecker,” he said. “Not yet, anyway.”

Laughter burst from Tyler’s throat, the first since the news about his mother. As always, the response made Memphis grin and did something funky to the rhythm of his heart. But he decided to simply enjoy the familiar sound until Tyler recovered enough for him to go on.

Memphis’s voice grew serious. “But lately…”

He tried to swallow, but his throat felt too uncoordinated.