Boyfriend Chronicles 02 - The Boyfriend Mandate (2 page)

After years of work, the Front Street Clinic was closing in on the funds they needed to secure a grant that would help provide transitional housing for Tyler’s most vulnerable patients. With Memphis doing the commercials, the fund-raiser was guaranteed to be a success. Although Tyler had assumed he was capable of dealing with his ex in a rational manner, he hadn’t wanted to test the theory.

In hindsight, probably a wise decision.

Tyler decided to answer with a partial truth. “I didn’t have time.”

“Why are you taking the time now?”

“Because of this.” He held up the magazine.

Memphis scanned the front page and then winced, and Tyler felt certain he was on the verge of accomplishing his goal for coming today. No doubt the man was now ready to get out of the agreement he’d made with Noah. Memphis visiting town for several weeks was bad enough; working together would only add fuel to the current drama. And while the news articles had been hard on Tyler, imagine the impact on the stuntman at having his sexual orientation so publically exposed.

Despite everything, Tyler had actually felt sorry for the guy.

Memphis cleared his throat. “Yeah, about that…” He nodded at the paper. “I’m sorry you got dragged into my paparazzi fiasco.”

Tyler stared at him, giving him time to go on and hoping to hear that they couldn’t possibly go through with their deal now. Unfortunately, Memphis remained silent.

“That’s it?” Tyler asked. “That’s all you have to say?”

“Well, let’s see…”

Memphis pursed his lips as if in deep contemplation and took the magazine, staring down at the pictures as Tyler waited for the man’s opinion about the mess.

“It’s a great shot of you jogging on the beach. You’re totally cut.” The grin Memphis shot him was real. “I can see you’ve kept up with your running.”

What the hell? He’d been expecting an
of course we’ll have to cancel our plans.
Or at least a
how’s the view from the other side of the closet
? Memphis had finally been outed as a bisexual.

Didn’t he care?

“What are you going to do about the press?” Tyler asked.

“Do?” he said, handing the paper back to Tyler. “Not a goddamned thing.” Memphis casually crossed his arms, his biceps bulging nicely in response, the thrumming energy evident again in his gaze. “Number one rule for dealing with the paparazzi? Keep it classy. Just like Internet trolls, getting defensive only makes things worse.” His eyes twinkled with mischief. “I prefer to keep them guessing.”

What did that even mean?

“Well,” Tyler said, dragging out the word, “clearly we’ll have to cancel our exchange of fund-raising favors.”

“You can’t back out now.” Determination flickered across his face just before he adopted the oh-so-familiar persuasive tone. “Come on, Ty.”

The nickname set Tyler’s body buzzing with memories, but he slowly shook his head. No matter what happened, he couldn’t cave.

“Your pretty-please voice won’t work on me anymore,” he said, forcing a calm tone.

Memphis’s eyes slowly widened, shifting his brows higher. “Not even my killer puppy-dog eyes?”

Tyler’s lips twitched as he suppressed a smile. The deliberate, overly woeful expression looked ridiculous on an adult dressed in nothing but boxer briefs. Tyler suspected the guy knew that already.

“Not even the puppy eyes,” Tyler said dryly.

The absurd expression melted away, although his brow still crinkled in humor, and Memphis stepped closer. “Guess I’ll have to try harder to be irresistible.”

Oh, God…

The proximity pushed Tyler closer to the edge, and he inhaled slowly, ignoring the hint of citrus. “Listen, I―”

“Memphis,” the photographer called from somewhere behind them.

The stuntman didn’t budge, his gaze holding Tyler’s just as securely as a physical touch. A hot ache set up house beneath Tyler’s sternum, and heat climbed up his back. He longed to loosen his tie; maybe then his throat wouldn’t feel so tight. Maybe breathing would be easier, too.

“Memphis!” the photographer called again.

Finally, Tyler’s ex-boyfriend turned to address the photographer, and a brief conversation followed between the two. But Tyler couldn’t focus on the discussion. Instead, he found himself studying Memphis’s ass. The stuntman adjusted his weight on his feet, the muscles in his butt bunching and shifting in a mesmerizing way beneath tight briefs.

And suddenly, Tyler was staring at the front of Memphis’s way-too-expensive underwear. Tyler’s gaze crash-landed back into hazel eyes. Great, he’d been caught checking him out, and now the man looked amused. Very amused.

Tyler’s pounding pulse reached epic levels.

Damn
.

He found a faraway object to focus on and concentrated on even, deep breaths, trying to regain control of his racing heart. Through the years, he’d developed techniques that allowed him to maintain his composure regardless of the shit storm raging around him. As a small child, he’d had plenty of opportunity to practice. His grueling years as a medical resident had honed the ability to a fine art. If remaining calm under intense pressure were considered a sport, dealing with Memphis in designer underwear would serve as an Olympic-qualifying event.

When he felt more in control, Tyler stated the obvious. “Being seen together in public is a bad idea.”

“I’m out of options,” he said. “I’m the spokesman for Hope Heals, and one of their cancer kid’s wishes is to watch me perform a stunt. Noah said you and your nurse could accompany Patrick to the set in exchange for my help.”

Tyler’s resolve took a good beating with the information. “Can’t you find someone else?”

“There’s no time,” he said. “It’s in two days.”

Two days. In
two days
, Tyler was supposed to appear in public with Memphis. There weren’t enough cuss words in the world to fully express his opinion about the idea.

Tyler held up the article. “And if you’ve read the article, you’ll know the reporter plans to be there, too.”

For the first time since Tyler’s arrival, his ex’s expression grew grim.

“Patrick is waiting for a bone marrow transplant.” Memphis paused, and the disturbing news settled so close to the bone it hurt. “He can’t freaking wait forever to get his wish granted. If anyone can understand the urgency of Patrick’s situation,” he went on, lowering his voice an octave and touching Tyler’s arm, “it’s you.”

Tyler’s resolve fell to near nonexistent levels.

Gazes locked, neither spoke as the air grew thicker with every second that passed. But Tyler couldn’t focus beyond the feel of his hair prickling beneath Memphis’s hand. Worse, he realized with painful crystal clarity just how much the man was still capable of getting under his skin. Which meant, instead of fixing his problem as he’d arrived here to do, Tyler had simply discovered he was in deeper shit than he’d first thought.

Tyler briefly pressed his lids closed and then broke their contact, sticking his hand in his pocket.

Regardless of the media storm swirling around them, Memphis was right. Tyler couldn’t back out of the deal no matter how much he wanted to. So what if he still found Memphis attractive? So did millions of others. Who cared if Tyler had to concentrate with the guy’s designer-covered ass nearby? So did all of downtown LA.

A kid waiting for a bone marrow transplant clearly took precedence.

“Okay, I’ll show up as agreed,” Tyler said.

In truth, what choice did he have? He and Memphis both understood the cancer patient’s predicament all too well.

“My nurse and I will escort the Hope Heals patient to the filming as planned,” Tyler went on.

The smile on Memphis’s face put the previous ones to shame, and Tyler suppressed a groan. Christ, why did his ex have to be such a beautiful man?

Ten Years Ago, Bay Area University

Sweat-soaked T-shirt clinging to his back, Memphis took pleasure in the feel of his feet pounding the soccer field. Muscle and bone and ligaments worked together as he strove to be the first to complete the last sprint of The Nightmare, the dreaded drill designed to kick the players’ asses. The adrenaline and endorphins kicked in, leaving him with a natural high. As he closed in on the white line, he pushed himself harder, stretched his legs longer, and left the rest of the team behind.

Because he was Memphis fucking Haines. He’d beaten cancer. He’d made the soccer team his freshman year at Bay Area University, despite the doctors’ predictions. Today’s drill felt
perfect
, except for one little problem.

Where the hell was Tyler?

Drill complete, Memphis fought to catch his breath and scanned the field in search of his roommate. The Tyler Question lingered in his mind while he joked with his teammates during their cooldown, the late-afternoon sun lighting the field. He was still pondering his friend’s whereabouts as he headed into their dorm room.

“Hey, Tyler.” Memphis closed the door behind him and stared at the matching twin bed across from his, giving the bundle under the cover a curious frown. Why the heck was the guy taking a nap? “Why didn’t you meet me after practice like we’d planned?”

Silence.

“You promised to start running with me today, and here it is almost dinnertime and you haven’t done a thing.” Memphis peeled his T-shirt over his head, tossing the damp cotton into the hamper. “It’s past time to get your butt out of bed, bro.”

With a faint shuffle of covers, his roommate buried himself further under the comforter.

Surprised, Memphis cocked his head and considered how to best get a response from the dude. And then his eyes landed on the empty pizza box from last night, the cardboard stuffed in the garbage can, and he grinned.

The diet debate would work for sure.

“Ty, you gotta rein in those eating habits of yours,” he said as if he hadn’t
already
teased his roommate about his food choices a million times before. “The pepperoni-with-extra-sausage shit is gonna kill you.” He picked up an empty soda can and tossed it into the garbage next to the pizza box. “Not to mention this carbonated, chemical-laden crap.”

Still no response.

Hunh.

Normally Tyler would have responded with a zinger that left Memphis laughing. The friendly banter had defined their relationship from the get-go, and he’d liked his roommate from the very first wisecrack.

So why the silence now?

Stumped by the unusual behavior, Memphis gathered a change of clothes and his shampoo. He headed out of the room toward the showers, relief swelling when he found it empty. Sharing a bathroom with twenty guys sucked. After years of locker rooms and nakedness and not giving a rat’s ass, suddenly he’d found himself uncomfortable. A sea of balls and Memphis the only one with a fake nut.

He’d tried to talk the surgeon into handing over Memphis’s diseased, cancer-eaten testicle in a jar. Cuz that would have made a freaking awesome keepsake for his shelf—a reminder of how the body could turn against you and how important it was to take care of it. Good thing the prosthetic testicle hung naturally or he’d have suffered an endless amount of ribbing from his fellow dorm dwellers. Of course, a shower full of naked guys—and, God, the sight of all those
cocks
—made him self-conscious and nervous in other ways, too, always the chance of popping a totally inconvenient telltale boner…

A knot of anxiety and self-doubt tightened in his gut, but he pushed the nagging worry aside.

Twenty minutes later, he was clean, warm-up pants slung low on his hips. His stomach growled as he reentered the dorm room.

“Any ideas for dinner?” he said to the bundle beneath the covers. One of these days, he’d convince Tyler to go organic, although getting him to leave red meat behind would be a tough sell. “I’m in the mood for a turkey and avocado wrap from Giorgio’s,” he went on. “How ’bout it?”

Tyler still hadn’t moved, and a sliver of worry snaked up Memphis’s spine. He parked his hip against his desk. During his hot, muscle-relaxing shower, the sun had finally set. The shade of their single window had been lowered, and the room was dimly lit by the hallway, a crack of light beneath the bottom of the door making a line across the floor.

An ominous weight hung in the air.

“Hey, Ty,” he said hesitantly as he crossed closer to the bed. “You sick or something?”

Again, no answer. And the ever-growing sense of
wrongness
grew bigger, a red alert now flashing in his head. He sat on the edge of his roommate’s mattress and tried to tug back the covers.

Tyler tightened the comforter around his head, and his response sounded as if it were drop-kicked from his mouth. “Please don’t.”

At the anguish in his roommate’s voice, Memphis froze, his hand gripping the bed cover. He was struck with an urgent need to do something,
anything
, to cheer his friend up.

“You’re not suffering from blue balls, are ya?” Memphis tried to lighten the mood with a chuckle, but it sounded strained. “Dude, I told you, you’re not gonna die a virgin,” he teased.

Nothing happened. No groan of regret with Tyler repeating, yet again, how sorry he was he’d let Memphis drag him to the Phi Kappa Delta Cinco de Mayo party months ago. No complaint about how those shots of tequila had hit his veins like a truth serum, his roommate’s worries tumbling out.

But Memphis had met Tyler’s
I’m the only gay guy on campus who’s a virgin
with a confession of his own:
I’m carrying a false nut in my sac.

Tyler’s
I’m gonna die with my anal cherry intact
countered with an
I think my prosthetic nad is sending out the wrong hormones
, a laugh hiding the confusion about his growing sliding scale of sexuality.

His friend had offered him reassurance and dubbed him the uni-baller.

Memphis had smiled and said he’d named the prosthetic Harry. And his roommate’s hysterical laughter, though clearly fueled by alcohol, had loosened the months-long tightness in Memphis’s chest. Tyler’s laugh always made his day better.

Always.

From beneath the covers, Tyler finally spoke. “She’s dead.”

The words struck like a flying soccer ball to the gut, and Memphis stopped breathing. Out in the hallway, people passed by, filling the air with swearing and laughter. The shuffle of feet broke the light that shone from beneath the door.