Boyfriend Chronicles 02 - The Boyfriend Mandate (26 page)

Each pump of his hand, every sucking breath in on Memphis’s part, renewed Tyler’s determination. Speed wasn’t a possibility, but the technique definitely had its fair share of perks.

Like the blissed-out expression on Memphis’s face.

Mouth parted, cheeks flushed, knee held high with his ass on display, the stuntman looked exquisite.

Eyes still closed, Memphis made tiny adjustments in his rocking hips and thrusting fingers, matching the rhythm of Tyler’s one-palm-two-cocks hand job. An achy sound of pleasure ripped from Memphis as he hiked his leg higher, added a third finger, and delved deeper. Tyler bit his lip against the whimper forming in his throat, goose bumps prickling his arms.

Memphis choked out a “Ty―” and arched his back as if electrocuted.

Apparently, he’d found his prostate.

Good. Because after he left to go back home, every time he enjoyed this part of himself, Tyler wanted him to remember this moment.

He wanted him to remember every detail.

After the sweet spot had been discovered, Memphis must have found it again and again because the guttural sounds coming from his mouth were positively, hair-raisingly sinful. Tyler concentrated on not coming before Memphis, a
huge
problem in the past.

Eventually the feel of his hand on them both became too much—the sliding skin and the sweat and the glorious, groin-tightening tingle—and Tyler let technique go in favor of a more satisfying speed. When he pumped harder, the orgasm rose out of Memphis like hot, molten lava, a bubble of inarticulate noises and undulating hips and thrusting finger fucks as Tyler’s palm grew satisfyingly slick. Tyler held on long enough to savor the sight and work the man through the entire process before―

Pleasure rolled through Tyler in a long wave, and he added his own cum to the mix on their skin.

“Christ,” Tyler whispered.

His heart slamming in his chest, sweat cooling on his skin, he waited until he felt steadier before he opened his eyes.

Lids at half-mast, Memphis let out a breathy, “Damn.”

Tyler huffed in agreement. A freshly fucked Memphis was particularly attractive. And, holy shit, Tyler might as well have doused himself in gasoline and set himself on fire.

“That was hot,” Memphis said, and satisfaction warmed Tyler’s veins more. Memphis lazily rolled his head to gaze up at him. “Tyler 2.0 is
hot
.”

The post-sex buzz and feeling of satisfaction slowly evaporated. This was the second time Memphis had said something to that effect.

“And Tyler 1.0 wasn’t?” Tyler said.

“Uh, no…” An uncomfortable frown crept up his face. “That’s not what I meant.”

Tyler shifted to a sitting position. Two seconds ago, Memphis had been sprawled against the rock, looking sated and completely boneless with spooge pooling on his stomach—a sight Tyler had taken in with immense pleasure. Now Memphis appeared tensed and ready to bolt. It took everything Tyler had to keep from reaching out and shaking the truth from him. Instead, he reached for the towel and cleaned himself up as Memphis did the same.

The silence stretched until Tyler thought it would squeal in protest.

Memphis shifted his gaze away and reached for one of the power bars. “Organic flax seed power bars,” he said, reading the label while hiking an amused brow.

The words and the look on his face didn’t help the uncomfortable situation.

“Memphis,” Tyler said in warning.

“Forget losing my balls and experiencing PMS, eating these will definitely turn me into a woman,” he said, ignoring the protest. “By the way, the high fall is in four days. Are you coming to watch? Please tell me you’ll be there to―”

“Stop.” The longer Memphis avoided the conversation, the more concerned Tyler grew. “What exactly did you mean?”

“Nothing,” he said, and then he went to take another bite of his snack.

Tyler removed the power bar from his hand.

“Fuck,” Memphis murmured. “It’s just…” He sat up and propped his hands behind his back, his expression hesitant.

And Tyler’s body grew so tense he thought his muscles would snap in two. The sensation intensified every second Memphis stared out at the scene beyond the boulder, as if too nervous to look him in the eye.

The stuntman who jumped off high-rises without a flinch was afraid to look at his ex.

With a sigh, Memphis finally finished. “Being your boyfriend wasn’t easy.”

Tyler’s heart slid lower in his chest until it bottomed out somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach. He had to turn his gaze away from the sight. He could tell by the man’s expression that the admission had been difficult. It was harder still to hear.

Being your boyfriend wasn’t easy
.

Too stunned to speak, Tyler stared up at the clouds streaming by in the sky as the old memories slowly unfolded, everything different when viewed through the lens of the brutal confession. Maybe he had been a little too
needy
…

Christ, what a humiliating word.

“I was hoping as time went by you’d get a life outside of just ‘us.’” Memphis rubbed the back of his head. “But you didn’t. And toward the end, it became this weird dependency thing, and I started to feel…I don’t know…” He finished with an awkward shrug of defeat, dropping his arm to his side.

Tyler’s tongue still wasn’t working properly, and he felt like he was going to vomit.

“It’s hard being somebody’s everything,” Memphis went on in a low voice. “It’s an exhausting pair of shoes to fill. And I didn’t―” He cleared his throat. “I wasn’t up to maintaining that role while duking it out with cancer again.” His voice rough, he went on, his hazel eyes full of regret. “I’m sorry, Ty.”

Four days later, Memphis stood on the fifteenth floor of an abandoned building and glanced down at the crowd gathering on the blocked-off street of Charlotteville. Located halfway between LA and San Francisco, the struggling city probably hadn’t seen this much action since the local packinghouse had closed, taking a hefty number of the town’s jobs with it. Hence the city council’s willingness to offer financial incentives to film part of
The Indestructibles
here. In a few minutes, Memphis would fall one hundred and fifty feet with nothing but a cable, a mechanical descender, and an air bag to keep him from splattering on the ground.

No do-overs allowed.

Two cameras had been set up to film the stunt, and the volunteer cameraman for the Bachelor Bid commercial was here as well. Memphis also knew Tyler was waiting down there, somewhere.

His stomach gave a sickening roll, but not because of the height.

Less than a week ago, the two of them and been getting along better than ever. Tyler had forgiven him for leaving in such a bastardly way, they’d enjoyed a day on the streets together, and then they’d had fun bouldering. Best of all, Tyler had proceeded to blow Memphis’s mind for a second time.

For a brief, shining moment, things had felt almost…right. Or, at the very least, adjacent to right. Regardless, all the lingering tension about the past had seeped away, and Tyler had seemed relaxed and approachable. The time together had felt so
good
. But the two kick-ass leaps forward had been followed by a large moronic step back, because Memphis had ruined it all.

God, he was such a freaking idiot.

In a post-sex induced state of lethargy, he’d opened his big, fat mouth in a confession that had blown their tenuous peace to hell. Ever since he’d arrived in San Francisco, Memphis had been debating whether or not to spill his guts completely. In the end, he’d decided not to put their shaky-at-best, newfound relationship at risk by sharing the ugly truth. What point would it have served? Why would he want to hurt Tyler again? Hadn’t Memphis already done enough? And, yeah, he knew his reasons were partially selfish.

He’d just wanted to enjoy Tyler’s company again, the man who’d once loved him more than anything, before everything potentially went to shit for a second time.

His heart rate rose, and he blew out a long, slow breath, rolling his shoulders to relieve the sudden tension and reaching up to massage sore muscles. And then, against strict instructions from his brain, his fingers landed on the small lump in his neck.

Fuck.

His pulse shot skyward even as his eyelids slid shut. Was it his imagination or had the mass gotten bigger? It had definitely gotten bigger. The sucker was still pretty small, though, and had hardly seemed worth worrying about. Unfortunately, deep down, he knew that, applied to this particular situation, size really
didn’t
matter.

Big things could mean nothing and little things could be very, very deadly.

He’d told himself he was just being paranoid. Jesus, he’d already done two tours of duty through Desert Cancer. Surely Fate didn’t hate him so much as to sign him up for a third? So he’d slipped into defer, delay,
deny
mode.

Of course, he was tired; he hadn’t been sleeping for shit lately. And a small mass did not automatically mean his last round of treatment had missed a few cancer cells, hidden in a lymph node somewhere, waiting to rear their bitchy little heads again.

But the denial had been easier to maintain
before
Tyler had finally laughed and sent an amazing smile Memphis’s way, and he’d started to think beyond their time here. And that had gotten him thinking about the future.

A future he was beginning to realize had been cut painfully short…

Heart thudding, tension coiling in his muscles, Memphis scanned the sidewalk far below, searching for black hair and a button-down shirt while pushing his fears away. Because, goddammit, he was going to enjoy his visit to San Francisco before heading back to LA. He’d deal with the problem then. He’d had enough of his life stolen from him already. And he refused to let a
probably
—or, more accurately, a
most definitely
—ruin the rest of his time with Tyler.

Then again, Memphis’s big mouth had probably ruined it already.

“Everything’s a go, Haines.”

His stunt coordinator approached from the left with his clipboard in hand. Mind still churning, Memphis watched as Hal tugged on the straps of the harness beneath Memphis’s specially designed military jumpsuit. Then he checked the stainless steel shackle, the U-shaped connector with a bolt that attached the stunt harness to the cable.

“Wind speed steady at five miles per hour,” Hal said with a final tug on the connection.

Time to get your head in the game, Memphis
.

A nice adrenaline rush always made him feel better. And nothing beat the thrill of a one-hundred-and-fifty-foot drop. Just like Hal, he’d meticulously checked and rechecked every detail. Including the weather conditions.

Memphis cleared his mind of everything but the gag and took one last look at the ground below. “Five miles per hour is as good as we’ll get.”

“You ready?” Hal asked.

Memphis snorted at the loaded question. Was he ready to take this fall? Heck yeah. He was absolutely ready to face Tyler and try to fix what his mouth had destroyed. Ready to die again…?

Hell no.

The self-mocking twist of his lips made Memphis’s smile too tight. “I’m always ready,” he said. “But gravity is a bitch of a mistress.”

The stunt coordinator chuckled. “An unforgiving one, to be sure,” he said, and then he used his walkie-talkie to signal the crew below.

Memphis slowly filled his lungs until his heart rate felt rock steady. Once Hal gave him the all clear, Memphis sent his mentor a grin and took the plunge…

Immediately, his stomach swooped at the feeling of weightlessness, and time slowed, seconds feeling like minutes.

Air swooshed past as the ground rushed toward him. His pulse pounded in his neck, and his heart thumped in his chest. He loved the moment of release, the amazing sense of empowerment. For a brief moment, the massive surge of endorphins made Memphis feel invincible.

Fucking invincible
.

And then the mechanical descender slowed him down right before he hit the airbag with a muted
whomp
that gave his body a jolt.

Buzzing from the disorienting impact, he took a moment to stare up at the blue sky to get his bearings, and then he slid off the edge of the ten-foot-high bag, landing on his feet. Not until then did he hear the applause around him, and the effects of the adrenaline rush sadly, slowly began to fade. One of his crewmen approached to release the cable, and Memphis let the man work while he concentrated on catching his breath and scanned the spectators to his right, searching for Tyler.

“Shoot,” Pete muttered.

Memphis blinked and realized he’d been standing there longer than he’d thought. He pulled his gaze away from the crowd and looked at Pete, the balding crewman who was struggling to unhook the equipment. Several seconds ticked by as he fought with the shackle at Memphis’s chest.

Pete dropped his hands, cheeks pink with embarrassment. “I can’t get the pin unscrewed.”

Confused, Memphis glanced down at Pete’s tool belt. “Use the pliers like you usually do.”

“I forgot I loaned them to one of the grip crew guys.” His face flushed a darker shade of red. “The numb-nut didn’t return them, so I’m gonna have to go find another pair.”

Memphis glanced down at the special hole in his clothes for the shackle. He couldn’t remove his jumpsuit until the cable was unhooked. And he couldn’t unstrap the stunt harness until the jumpsuit came off. Unless he cut off his clothes, he was stuck to the mechanical descender located fifteen stories above his head.

Hunh. If things had to go wrong, better to be on the ground than on his way down.

Memphis stepped back into the shade of the airbag, his mouth quirked in humor. “I guess I’ll patiently wait here,” he said and then watched Pete jog away.

Unfortunately, patience was becoming harder and harder to pull off. When Memphis scanned the spectators lined up on the left, his eyes instantly landed on Tyler, and everything seemed to slow down again.

Your clock is ticking, Memphis.

You’re running out of time…

Shit. Shaking off the melancholy mood wasn’t getting any easier, either.