Boyfriend Chronicles 02 - The Boyfriend Mandate (22 page)

“Yeah.” He pulled open the refrigerator door and glanced at him over his shoulder. “Not only is he a vegetarian and into Tibetan monk chanting―”

“I don’t chant,” he said dryly.

Noah waved his hand in a
whatever
gesture. “More to the point,” he went on, “this friend also recently made a rule about swearing off relationships with his ex-boyfriends.”

And look how well that turned out
.

Tyler’s lips twisted. “He sounds like a control freak.”

“Like me, he can be kind of impossible sometimes.” Carton in hand, he closed the refrigerator door and set the container on the counter, his gaze full of meaning. “But his heart is in the right place.”

His heart
.

Tyler slowly poured a bit of soy milk into his mug. Shit, what did his heart know?

Noah shook his head, an expression of horrified glee taking over his face. “I still can’t believe you fucked him in the elevator.”

With a quiet sigh, Tyler sipped his coffee. What kind of defense could he possibly come up with? That Memphis seemed hellbent on making his way through some crazy celebratory list and Tyler just wanted to help the guy with his goals? And, seriously, was that how Memphis viewed the mind-melting moment in the elevator? As a goal he’d accomplished? Had Tyler just been crossed off a to-do list?

Oh, God…

Tyler’s hand tightened around his mug. “I don’t―”

Noah’s eyebrow hiked higher as if patiently waiting for Tyler to come unglued. Or maybe he was simply waiting for him to go on. But how to explain?

“He’s driving me nuts,” Tyler finally said.

A simple yet incredibly accurate explanation.

“I know,” Noah said, patting Tyler’s arm with affection. “Watching the stuntman drive you crazy has been the most fun I’ve had since Dylan thought he was only
pretending
to be Alec’s boyfriend.” His grin grew bigger. “A scheme that sent Dylan into the most unique and entertaining sexistential crisis I’ve ever witnessed. And, trust me, I’ve seen more than most.”

Tyler puffed out an amused breath and lifted his gaze back to his friend.

Noah paused before going on. “You want to know what I think?” he asked. “This is the one ex-boyfriend that
should
be revisited. If nothing else, you can enjoy the great sex while it lasts.”

“Perhaps you need a new hobby.” Tyler’s lips twitched at the edges. “One that doesn’t involve scrutinizing other people’s sex lives.”

“Well,” his friend said, “perfecting my bartending techniques and masturbating to the Home Shopping Network will only get me so far.”

Tyler winced. “Christ, Noah. That’s messed up.”

“I know, right? Their stuff is so cheesy.” He took a sip of his coffee before setting it down. “But, Tyler,” he said, his expression growing serious, “I think Memphis is the reason you’ve spent the last ten years trying to fix all of your broken relationships. Or maybe you simply choose to leave before you get left again. I can’t decide which.”

Tyler stared at his friend as every cell in his body rejected the suggestion.

Christ, he hoped he wasn’t
that
pathetic.

“Maybe I’m over analyzing,” Noah said. “But I think this is the one relationship you
should
see through to the end.” His brown gaze remained steady on Tyler’s as he went on, his voice low. “Even if the end results wind up being the same.”

The muscles in Tyler’s abdomen contracted hard, as if he’d unexpectedly been elbowed in the stomach. He stared out the kitchen window for a moment before making the sanity-saving decision to push the worries about the future aside. Unfortunately, that left him wondering where Memphis was now.

“Did Memphis say where he was going this morning?” Tyler asked.

“He left early for the beach,” he said. “Probably to escape that queer-hating reporter and enjoy the ocean and a little solitude.” He shrugged. “Or maybe he wants to blow up some fish, I don’t know.”

The destination didn’t ease Tyler’s concerns.

“Which beach?” Tyler asked, bracing for the answer.

“I don’t remember.” He frowned, picking up his coffee cup. “Somewhere over near Mickey’s Beach, I think.”

Damn. He should have kept Memphis tied up in the elevator.

“Great, he’s gone bouldering,” Tyler said, and when his friend’s brow bunched in confusion, he went on. “Bouldering is rock climbing, minus the ropes and safety equipment.”

Noah choked on a sip of coffee. “For chrissakes,” he said. “What a total adrenaline junkie.”

Tyler practically bit his tongue in half trying to restrain the sarcastic laugh. Adrenaline junkie didn’t begin to describe the man. Preparing for a stunt was one thing—at least precautions were put into place, making the stunt as safe as possible. Even Memphis’s leap off the downtown building had been planned to a certain extent. But climbing without equipment right after sustaining an injury?

Tyler sighed and set his mug down.

Every time he turned around, Memphis was dashing off to his next activity, each one of them as risky as the last. And what had started out as a mere curiosity and then turned into professional concern had now escalated into outright alarm. Of course, worrying about Memphis beat worrying about a future Tyler could do little about.

He pushed his barstool back and stood.

“Where are you going?” Noah said.

“To find Memphis.”

And get to the bottom of what the hell was wrong with him. An idea was beginning to form in Tyler’s head. They’d addressed the second item on Memphis’s so-called bucket list.

Perhaps it was time to address the first.

~~~***~~~

By the time Memphis was on his second climb of the day, the sun had finally burned through the late-morning fog blanketing the deserted stretch of rocky California coast. His fingers and toes ached like a bitch, his muscles protesting from the exertion. In truth, his entire body still struggled to recover from being topped by Tyler Michael Hall.

The motherfucking ride of a lifetime
.

Memphis grinned and his right hand slipped on the rock. Man, he couldn’t focus for shit today.

He shoved the thoughts of last night’s elevator ride aside and ignored the pain of protesting muscles and kept going. Unlike Mickey’s Beach—a popular spot for bouldering—this area had fewer climbs, was less well-known, and was harder to access, all of which meant Memphis had the area to himself. And after everything that had happened, he needed to get his head screwed on straight before seeing Tyler again.

A bead of sweat rolled down Memphis’s forehead and settled into his eye, burning. He ignored the occasional stinging scrape as an elbow or a knee or his bare chest grazed the rocky cliff. Instead, Memphis concentrated on the important task of finding the next handhold, the next toehold. Hell, it felt good to be back where he’d first learned to climb. He concentrated on following the old familiar path—a problem, as it was called in the bouldering world. The sequence of holds that was the answer to reaching the top.

Memphis liked the contradictory term: a problem.

Kind of like losing his last nut. Originally, it had represented nothing but a huge mother-effing problem. But Memphis was pretty sure he’d never have been open to bottoming if he hadn’t been forced to stop buying into boneheaded cultural assumptions. Once the last of his family jewels had been stolen, his position during sex with another dude sorta felt irrelevant.

And,
Jesus
, he was glad he hadn’t missed out on experiencing Tyler the Top.

Memphis’s fingers slipped again, and he shut down the memories until he finished. Ten minutes later, his shorts and chest damp from the exertion, Memphis reached the top and pulled himself up onto the massive boulder. Heart pumping, he stared up at the sky before rolling over onto his stomach, ignoring the rocky surface beneath him. Suddenly, every aching muscle made itself known, and he felt exhausted, not just from the climb but from his recent relentless pace and the company he’d been keeping.

Tyler
.

Memphis refused to sabotage his post-climb high by contemplating the future. Instead, he closed his eyes and rested his forehead on his arms, focusing on the smell of salt and the sound of the ocean. Waves crashed below, a mesmerizing flow of water rushing in and breaking against rock, only to retreat and start the process all over again. Soothed by the rhythm, he must have drifted off, because he woke with a start, trying to identify what had jarred him from sleep.

Beep.

The muffled chirp of a cellular pierced the air. Confused, Memphis rubbed the fatigue from his eyes but didn’t pull the phone from the pocket of his shorts. Julissa had called three times since last night, and Memphis had let every call go to voice mail. She was going to be pissed, but he’d deal with her later. He knew she was worried about him, but he didn’t want to waste more time arguing about doctor appointments.

Tyler, however, had been conspicuously silent. Not once had he called or texted, and given what had gone down between them in the elevator…

Heat shot through Memphis’s limbs, heat stronger than the cloud-blocked sun above, and finished off the last dregs of his slumber-induced brain fog. The cellular beeped again, and he finally recognized that the sound wasn’t one his phone made. Nor was the noise coming from his pocket. It was coming from somewhere down below.

What the hell?

On his hands and knees, Memphis scrambled to the edge and leaned over. And there was Tyler, clinging to the boulder about twenty feet down. A flash of fear charged up Memphis. The man was taking the easier route up, but that did nothing to ease Memphis’s concern.

“What are you doing?” he called down.

A daypack was strapped to Tyler’s back.

In a navy T-shirt and what looked like running shorts, Tyler stretched his leg out, reaching for a toehold to his left. “Climbing a rock,” he said evenly.

Memphis’s lips twitched. “Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

The phone bleeped again, the sound muffled by the nylon of Tyler’s pack, and he ignored it, reaching for the next handhold. Clearly he was familiar with the Dirty Momma route to the top.

Hunh. When had he learned to climb?

When Tyler scanned the rocky wall, searching for his next move, Memphis said, “The three-finger pocket is a little farther to the right.”

Tyler scanned the surface again and found his mark. Muscles straining from the effort, he pulled himself up and then gripped the small jut of rock, positioning himself to stretch his leg to the next toehold.

Memphis took a moment to admire his ex-boyfriend, ex-geek and blower of Memphis’s mind. His runner’s body was lean, his arms and shoulders toned. The muscles, while not overly large, were well defined. He exuded a strength that promised, when he wanted to, he could hold Memphis down and top the holy hell out of him again.

And God knows, Memphis hoped he would.

After last night, he couldn’t see the coiled tension in Tyler’s muscles as anything other than a great, untapped potential. He wanted to find new ways to unleash all that quiet strength. Just the possibility curled Memphis’s already permanently curled toes—a heady thought for someone who’d once woken up in a surgical recovery room convinced his sex life had just come to an early end.

Tyler reached the top and pulled himself over, standing up to look down at where Memphis now sat cross-legged. For the hundredth time since the guy had walked into the photographer’s studio, Memphis was struck by how much Tyler had changed. And not just the subdued attitude or the acquisition of more muscle or the loss of the wild, waves of hair. Back then, Memphis had tried countless times to get him to come along for a day of climbing, promising to coach him through the finer art of an ascent. But the only time Tyler had attempted had been a complete and total bust.

And right now, the guarded expression on his face set Memphis on edge.

Maybe Dr. Hall had decided a thirty-foot boulder was the best place to have a post-fuck discussion. Had he come for more? Had he come to yell at Memphis for exerting himself after strict instructions to take it easy? Or maybe he’d come to push Memphis off the edge for provoking him into a round of angry sex?

Memphis’s mouth twisted wryly. Anticipation and expectation and dread formed a ball in his stomach, along with a few other emotions he couldn’t identify. He stretched out on his back again, forcing the tension from his muscles and the more inappropriate questions from his racing mind.

“Why did you come?” he asked.

Tyler glanced around the flat surface of their rocky perch. “I knew you wouldn’t bother bringing provisions.”

Unless those provisions included lube, Memphis wasn’t interested.

Jesus, he needed to get his mind out of the gutter.

Memphis watched Tyler slip his daypack to the ground and pull out a chalk bag, two bottles of water, two power bars—
damn, no lube
—and a small towel, wiping the sweat from his brow. He sat down and leaned back, elbows braced against the rock, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath from the exertion. When he stretched those long runner’s legs out in front of him, thigh muscles bulging, Memphis had to drag his eyes away. Instead, he folded his arms behind his head, concentrated on the ocean breeze, and stared up at the cloud-streaked sky.

“You’ve picked up some skills since the one and only time I tried to teach you how to climb,” Memphis said.

The man’s breath escaped in an amused rush. “I didn’t handle that so well.”

Memphis bit back his first reply. Accusing Tyler of understating the event wouldn’t help the tension-filled environment.

“I probably shouldn’t have tried to teach you with my climbing buddies around,” Memphis said instead.

“They made me uncomfortable.”

“Everyone made you uncomfortable.”

In part a product of a screwier-than-usual screwed-up childhood, Memphis supposed.

There was a split-second pause before Tyler answered. “True,” he said. “Everyone but you.”

Everyone but you
.

Memphis turned the information over in his mind as he studied the set expression on Tyler’s angular, clean-shaven face.