Boyfriend Chronicles 02 - The Boyfriend Mandate (29 page)

“Why do you want me to?” Tyler asked.

Memphis sent him an
are you kidding me?
look. “Why do you think?”

The pang of disappointment shouldn’t have hurt so much, and Tyler wondered if the explicit curses in his mind were loud enough to be heard outside his head. Was this his only option? A quick fuck while Memphis was in town, but once he left to go back home…nothing?

Tyler had decided to stay at Noah’s place a little longer, less concerned about reporters and more alarmed that being alone now felt more, well,
lonely
.

And the silence seemed louder.

“I mean, we’re two consenting adults who enjoy weapons-grade sex together, right?” Memphis said.

The words set Tyler’s body humming. But he wasn’t looking for a quick lay. And Memphis wasn’t just any man. Because, dammit, Tyler couldn’t
forget
. That was the problem. He remembered more than just the sex, he remembered feeling like he’d finally found home.

The air between them grew thick, and the indecision made breathing a chore. He just needed to wrap his head around the change to long-term expectations. He needed to get his bearings.

He needed time to
think
.

Tyler closed the passenger door. “I can’t right now.”

“Can’t?” Hazel eyes unreadable, he studied Tyler with an intensity that made his heart stumble stupidly. “Or won’t?” he finished.

“Does it matter?”

Memphis stared at him a moment more. “I guess not.” And then he sent Tyler a look he couldn’t interpret and started the Jeep. “Just remember, I’ll be leaving soon.”

The tone of his voice sounded so final. Memphis sent a small smile that hurt, because, God, there was no tease left in the stuntman’s gaze. He seemed so serious.

And that wasn’t the Memphis Tyler knew, either.

“Let me know if you change your mind,” Memphis said.

Tyler mentally groaned as he buckled his seat belt, silence settling uncomfortably around them. The two-plus-hour trip back was going to feel like twenty.

~~~***~~~

Two days later, Tyler stood in the doorway of Noah’s crowded living room, still recovering from the tense ride back. The subdued version of Memphis had felt so
wrong
. Today, he’d brought his new demeanor along to the party to view the final version of the Bachelor Bid commercials.

And right now, as Tyler watched the guests mill about, he wished he could purchase a one-way ticket to anywhere
but
here.

The stuntman had his hip parked on the back of a couch as he listened to Dylan talk, the mechanic’s arm slung around Alec’s shoulder. Memphis’s black T-shirt had the words
Fifth and Taylor
stretched across his chest and emphasized every muscle. His jeans conformed to his body, hugging the ass that could probably be insured for a million dollars—and mostly likely was, just as a joke. Memphis would love nothing better. Julissa stood beside him, wearing a casual dress that showed off her long legs and beautiful dark skin to advantage.

Tyler blew out a breath and gripped his wineglass tighter, forcing himself to focus on the other guests.

A dozen people had shown up, including the volunteer film crew and the video editor, the producer of
The Indestructibles,
and the two models who’d donated their time. Viewing the commercials had left Tyler even more on edge.

The ads had turned out just as envisioned: Memphis supposedly arriving via a stunt to pick up his date to the Bachelor Bid, the female model in one ad and the male model in the second. The sight had brought a sardonic twist to Tyler’s lips. And in true spy-movie tradition, Memphis had insisted he be filmed removing his stuntman jumpsuit to reveal a tuxedo beneath before making his way to his pretend dates’ homes.

And,
holy shit
, no one wore a tux like Memphis Haines.

But right now, Tyler had to deal with the live version in form-fitting cotton and denim. Unfortunately, with all traces of the teasing Memphis apparently gone for good, Tyler was left feeling off-kilter. Every interaction now felt a little strained. And, dammit, he
missed
the smirkier Memphis.

Worse, Tyler had agreed to attend the support group with him tomorrow…

Julissa leaned in to whisper something to her ex-husband, and he sent her a small smile in return. Feeling out of sorts, Tyler stood in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, trying to decide whether to rejoin the party or retreat. A familiar masculine voice broke through his thoughts.

“Let me buy you a beer.”

Tyler’s muscles tensed, and he turned to the left, coming face-to-face with Dylan.

Great
.

He really wasn’t up for a one-on-one with Alec’s boyfriend. They’d never been alone together, mostly because neither had ever sought the other’s company out. And going without the buffer of Alec or Noah hardly sounded appealing. Especially now.

“A beer?” Tyler asked.

“Yep,” he said. “Follow me.” Dylan gently nudged him with his elbow before heading past.

Tyler hesitated, but when Julissa placed her hand on her ex-husband’s back as she leaned in to hear something someone was saying, he pivoted in the doorway and warily watched Dylan. The mechanic stopped at one of the dark wood kitchen cabinets and began to pull out shot glasses, setting them on the marble counter top. Tyler had no idea what the glasses were for. He also had no idea what the guy was up to. For a moment, the expression on Dylan’s face looked as if he were intent on―

Oh, God.

“You’re not about to offer me advice, are you?” Tyler asked.

Dylan almost sounded offended. “I don’t do advice.”

“Never?”

The man closed the cabinet door with a decisive
clunk
. “Never,” he said firmly. “And I know you don’t drink beer, but I think now is a good time to start.” He carried the shot glasses over and set them on the center island before bracing his arms against the counter. “Don’t you agree?”

Tyler met Dylan’s expectant gaze, and the air around them grew charged with all the things that had gone unsaid for so long he’d learned to live as though they didn’t exist. Surely, after all this time, Dylan didn’t feel the need to assert his claim on his significant other? But the mechanic was a territorial kind of guy and fiercely protective, and that protectiveness extended most strongly toward Alec. And Memphis was master of the
if looks could kill
stares…

Now Tyler had to decide between two options—stay here and deal with Dylan or go back to the disturbing view in the living room.

The choice was remarkably easy.

“I think this is a perfect time to start drinking beer.” Tyler left the doorway and entered the kitchen, hoping he wasn’t making a mistake. “As long as you keep your promise not to offer me advice,” he said with a faint smile.

Face solemn, Dylan said, “I’d sooner sell my favorite motorcycle. If you need someone to talk to”—his lips twitched in humor as he crossed toward the stainless steel refrigerator—“I’m sure Noah’s got a therapist on speed dial.”

Despite the awkwardness, Tyler grinned. “If he doesn’t,” he said, “he definitely should.”

Dylan laughed, and the moment stretched long enough for the brief, shared amusement to slip away and leave…

An atmosphere prickly as hell.

Searching for something to ease the tension, Tyler slid onto one of the barstools at the center island and set his wine aside, eventually coming up with a neutral topic. “Any more news about the baby?”

Dylan hesitated for a moment before he opened the refrigerator and returned with three bottles of beer, slowly plunking them onto the counter in front of Tyler. With green eyes and sandy brown hair just skirting the edges of messy, Dylan was definitely easy on the eyes. But being on the receiving end of his occasional relapse into jealous-boyfriend mode meant that Tyler rarely appreciated his good looks. The expression on his face now was disturbing for a different reason.

Something was definitely off.

“What’s wrong?” Tyler asked.

Dylan lifted his shoulder in a half-hearted gesture too stiff to be casual. “Nothing.” He grabbed three more beers from the fridge and set them next to the others. “Alec’s really looking forward to the baby being born.”

A flicker of emotion lit Dylan’s gaze just before he presented his back to Tyler and opened a drawer. The seconds crawled by as he took his time searching through the well-organized kitchen utensils before pulling out a bottle opener. Tyler was almost sorry he’d seen the apprehension in his eyes.

“But you’re not looking forward to it,” Tyler said.

He intentionally put a period at the end of the sentence instead of a question mark.

“Shit, man.” Dylan got busy with the process of popping the caps on the lids to the beers. “Of course I am. I just―” Bottle opener in one hand, he paused to plow the other through his hair, leaving the soft spikes sticking up more than usual. “I can’t―”

The mechanic dropped his arm back to his side with an overwhelming expression of defeat. Silent, he opened the last bottle with a hissing
pop
.

“Are you changing your mind?” Tyler hesitated. “Because I think it’s too late,” he added dryly.

“No,” he said, his tone firm. He spent too much time lining up the shot glasses in front of Tyler, as if their precise location was important. When he went on, his voice was a little lower. “No, I haven’t changed my mind.”

Tyler studied Dylan’s face and debated whether to push the matter or not. Ultimately, he owed Alec too much to ignore his partner now.

“Then what’s the problem?” Tyler finally asked.

Dylan scratched the back of his head, color infusing his cheeks. One didn’t need to be a genius to see that he was struggling to put his thoughts into words.

“I think it’s natural to be nervous,” Tyler said.

Dylan finally tossed the bottle opener onto the counter and let out a sigh. “Months ago, we found out from the surrogate mom that everything was a go,” he said, the words coming out with a hesitant tone. “And ever since, I can’t stop thinking about…I mean, I―” Frowning, Dylan shoved a hand through his hair again, leaving it more of a mess. “Fuck. I don’t know anything about being a dad.”

The thought of the bold, brash motorcycle mechanic cowering in the face of a crying newborn had been an endless source of amusement to Noah—and, Tyler had to admit, to himself. He would have laughed now if Dylan didn’t looked so afraid, a hint of terror shimmering in his eyes.

Dylan’s cheeks flushed darker. “I didn’t exactly have a stellar role model.” He let out a harsh scoff. “My old man was nothing but an abusive drunk.”

Well…shit.

Tyler went still, his mind sifting through possible responses to the confession. The information, although new, didn’t come as a big surprise. It also explained a lot about Dylan’s behavior. But Tyler pushed aside the words of sympathy that automatically formed. No doubt the guy would hate the sentiment.

“Have you talked about this with Alec?” Tyler asked.

Dylan shot him a
WTF?
look and waved his arm in the direction of the living room. “Have you seen your ex?”

“Which one?” he deadpanned, hoping to diffuse the tension a bit.

Dylan rolled his eyes and let out a reluctant laugh, parking his hand on his hip and ignoring the ridiculous question. “Right now, Alec’s deliriously happy,” he said, and then he pressed his lids closed and rubbed his forehead. “He
deserves
to be happy, and I can’t…” He opened his eyes and went on, sounding weary. “I
won’t
shit on that.”

Tyler slowly sucked in a breath and considered what to say next. Jesus Christ. Why had he been elected to be the one to ease Dylan’s fears, or at least try? Then again, it wasn’t like he could send him in Noah’s direction, a man who’d probably have Dylan leaping off the Golden Gate in despair by the time he got through trying to cheer him up.

“You should definitely discuss this with Alec. But I think you’ll be a good parent,” Tyler said. He thought about the situation a moment more before going on. “Actually, you’re a natural father.”

Dylan stared at him as if he’d lost his mind.

“Seriously,” Tyler said truthfully. “I’m not just trying to be nice.”

Dylan Booth had the protective instincts and the stubborn, stick-to-it-iveness every parent needed. His continued friendship with Noah certainly proved he had the unconditional-love thing down pat. In comparison to being Noah’s friend, a screaming infant ought to be a breeze.

Maybe.

“God knows you’ve got a protective streak a mile wide,” Tyler continued. He let out a soft, amused snort. “No one knows that better than me.”

The guy’s eyebrows crept closer to his hairline, and, over the next five seconds, his posture eased a bit. Tyler chose not to mention he knew his
you’re on my shit list
look better than anyone else, too. Now wasn’t the opportune time, especially when Dylan seemed somewhat placated by the words of encouragement.

Besides, Tyler really wanted to know why the man had brought him to the kitchen in the first place.

“So,” Tyler said, stretching out the word as he sought to ease them into a different topic, “are you about to teach me the error of my brew-free ways?”

Dylan adopted a serious tone. “I’m going to coach you on the subtle differences between the different kinds of beer.” He picked up one of the bottles and poured a small amount into a shot glass. “You’re going to sample each one and then you’re gonna tell me which you like best.” He proceeded to follow the same procedure with the remaining five beers, lining up each one behind its corresponding shot glass.

Tyler eyed Dylan closely. “What inspired the impromptu lesson?”

Or, more accurately, why were they
really
here?

“You looked like you needed an intervention.” Dylan glanced at Tyler with an expression that said he had more to say on the matter.

Great. So much for the no-advice rule.

Dylan went on, his tone deceptively light. “You also looked like you needed a drink. Actually, you looked like you needed several,” he said. “And instead of waiting for Alec to step in”—the mechanic frowned and cleared his throat—“I decided to help you out myself.”