Boyfriend chronicles 02.., p.1
Boyfriend Chronicles 02 - The Boyfriend Mandate, page 1
part #3 of Boyfriend Chronicles Series
The Boyfriend Mandate
River Jaymes
Chapter One
With the life-altering tabloid article clutched in his hand, Tyler entered the professional photography studio that occupied one half of the downtown San Francisco warehouse. Voices echoed off the high ceiling. Electrical wires stretched across the concrete floor. The tastefully remodeled building contained lights, cameras, and about a dozen staff members, a bigger group than he would have preferred for the task ahead.
Seriously, how many people did it take to shoot an underwear ad? He hadn’t spoken to Memphis in ten years. Seeing his ex-boyfriend would be awkward enough, but confronting him with an audience…?
“Excuse me, sir.” A female voice interrupted his thoughts. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Judas Priest. Whoever she is, she must be psychic.
The absurd thought brought a twist of humor to Tyler’s lips as he turned to face the petite—and possibly clairvoyant—brunette as she approached. With delicate features, she looked like she weighed ninety pounds max, so the fierce get lost expression on her face appeared comically out of place.
“You’ll have to leave,” she went on.
“I’m here to see Memphis Haines.”
Words Tyler never would’ve expected to say, ever, especially with the way things had ended between them.
Her tone wasn’t welcoming. “Is he expecting you?”
“After this article?” Tyler held up the front cover of the magazine. “I suspect so.”
Several seconds ticked by as the brunette’s eyes scanned the headlines. Her gaze shifted, probably landing on the recent photo of Tyler. His facial features were fuzzy at best, the picture mainly focused on his body as he jogged, but recognition flickered through her eyes.
Her gaze shot back to his. “You’re Dr. Hall?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” he said dryly, because most days he liked being Tyler Michael Hall, co-founder of the Front Street Clinic.
A hint of sympathy appeared in her gaze. “I’ll take you to Mr. Haines.”
Tyler sent her a small smile. Apparently public humiliation gained him instant cooperation from complete strangers—ninety-pound hostile strangers, at that.
“Right this way.” The brunette pivoted on her boot-covered heel and started toward the hub of activity at the far end of the warehouse.
He kept a determined grip on the paper and followed. A month ago, the first article had hit the stands proclaiming that Memphis Haines—Hollywood stuntman, beloved cancer-patient advocate, and designer underwear model—wasn’t completely straight. Evidently, the public was struggling to digest the news that one of their favorite celebrity crushes had once played for both teams. Or still did, for all Tyler knew. None of which had affected him directly, until yesterday’s article included a picture of Memphis’s ex-wife and one of his old college boyfriend, Tyler Hall.
Tyler had been openly gay for years. The knowing, curious looks he could handle. Unfortunately, it took every relaxation technique in the book to remain calm during some of the comments he’d received as he’d made his rounds at work.
How does it feel to be the man who drove Memphis Haines straight?
Honey, next time try being more creative in the bedroom. I have this instructional video I could loan you…
And Tyler’s personal favorite from the surfer he passed every morning during his daily run: Dude, I didn’t know you used to bang the underwear guy. Can you get me some autographed briefs?
He rubbed the tension from his forehead. The Front Street Clinic had received multiple awards for its work with the homeless, with special emphasis on those who were HIV positive. He’d achieved a certain status in the community, but currently Dr. Tyler Hall was most famous for a tabloid article about his past. Years of medical school, residency, and hard work now took a distant second place to the news he’d bumped uglies with Memphis Haines.
Tyler let out an amused scoff.
He had a long-standing appreciation for the ridiculous and the absurd, but the assumptions some people were making about their sex life…
Heat flooded his senses, and he steeled himself against the unwanted effects. He wasn’t here to rehash the past. There was nothing to be gained by dredging up those memories. He just wanted to cancel his upcoming charity obligation with Memphis and quietly go on with his life, preferably without being asked if Memphis Haines had gone ungay because of Tyler.
He followed the brunette to the far end of the room. A photographer stood in front of a green screen calling out orders to two female models and the man sandwiched between them. When one of the women stepped to the side, Tyler’s gaze landed on Memphis, dressed only in form-fitting boxer briefs.
Dammit. Whatever you do, Tyler, don’t stare.
He took a moment to be disappointed in himself for the inability to follow through, because Memphis hadn’t changed much. He had the same sculpted chest, providing one the ability to count every muscle in his abs, and the same narrow hips and muscular thighs. His golden-brown hair was shorter, and the five-o’clock shadow added a more mature look to the angular face. But he somehow managed to appear impeccably groomed despite the faint facial stubble and lack of clothing―
Memphis’s gaze landed on Tyler, scattering his thoughts like dropped marbles on a concrete floor.
“Tyler.” Memphis’s stunned look remained in place as he took a step in his direction.
“We’re on a tight schedule, Haines,” the man behind the camera said.
“Come on, Stan.” Memphis gestured toward Tyler. “It’s been ten years since I last saw my friend.”
Friend?
Tyler almost laughed. They’d done the friends-to-lovers thing. But after everything that had happened, how could he be expected to pull off the reverse?
Memphis threw his arm across Stan’s shoulders. “We can afford a ten-minute break, can’t we?”
The photographer let out an exasperated groan before an expression of reluctant affection tempered his response. “This is a good time to rearrange the set,” he said. “I’ll give you twenty.”
“Thanks, bro.” Memphis gave Stan’s shoulder a squeeze. “I owe you one,” he said, and then his hazel gaze landed back on Tyler.
Instantly, a grin spread across Memphis’s face, and Tyler quietly sucked in a breath as if punched.
In the ten years since the man had walked out on him, Tyler had never imagined his ex would greet him with that genuine, boxer-dropping smile.
Stay strong. Stay strong.
“Tyler Hall.” Dimples firmly in place, Memphis resumed his approach with the characteristic athletic grace and tightly coiled energy that Tyler remembered well. “It’s good to see you again.”
“You too,” he said, surprising himself with the casualness he managed to fake while telling a polite lie.
He also managed to maintain a neutral expression until he realized Memphis wasn’t slowing down. Shouldn’t he be slowing down? Panic swelled in Tyler’s chest as the stuntman came closer and—Jesus-haploid-Christ—instead of coming to a stop, he pulled him into a bear hug.
Holy shit.
The tug of memory in his heart hurt, leaving Tyler speechless. He stood, his back stiff as he tried to block the sensory input. His nervous system, however, happily supplied the information he didn’t want to know: hard chest, warm skin, and strong arms. One whiff of the citrus scent and among all the racing thoughts and self-directed swearing going on in his head, Tyler noted with wry amusement that a) after achieving celebrity status, Memphis still used the same shampoo and b) Tyler remembered the scent, as if it had been branded into his brain.
Memphis let go and stepped back, eyes crinkled in humor. “Where is the mathlete who used to live in sweat pants?” He gave Tyler’s tie a playful tug. “You clean up nice.”
Hiding the slight shake in his fingers, Tyler smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from the sleeve of his button-down and nodded in the photographer’s direction, lifting a meaningful brow at his ex. “I see your ability to get your way hasn’t changed.”
Another grin flashed across Memphis’s face, bigger and sexier than the one before. A smile destined to sell the shit out of an expensive brand of designer underwear.
“I always managed to get my way with you,” Memphis said.
The visceral hit hurt, but Tyler shot him an overly bland expression. “I’m sure our relationship is long gone from your memory.”
“You know what they say.”
Muscles tensed, he tipped his head. “What do they say?”
“You never forget your first.”
Tyler bit back an amused scoff. “I wasn’t your first.”
“I was your first,” he said, his hazel eyes growing dark.
Heat flushed up the back of Tyler’s neck. Were they talking about his heart or his virginity here? Although it hardly mattered; Memphis had taken both.
“And, yeah, I popped my het cherry at fourteen.” Memphis’s lips crooked up on one side as he went on. “But you were my first taste of man-on-man action.”
Christ, how was he supposed to respond to that?
He stared blankly at Memphis, but this time Tyler was prepared for the seductive memories. Those were the experiences of a college kid who’d been too gullible, giving Memphis whatever he’d wanted whenever he’d wanted it. Tyler wasn’t the same person anymore. He’d matured and gotten a life, a career he was proud of. Friend s. He’d moved on. And Tyler had been in and out of enough relationships to put the past into perspective.
He was no longer the naive guy who’d been so easily impressed.
“So?” Lips quirked, Memphis parked his hands on his waist. “Don’t you have anything you want to ask me?”
Like what? Have you slept with any other men since me? Have you slept with any men since you divorced your wife? Wife. Memphis hadn’t just gone on to get married, he’d married a woman.
Tyler shut the painful thoughts down, nodding at Memphis’s black underwear. “Wouldn’t you rather hold this conversation in something more than just your skivvies?”
Clearly that wasn’t the question Memphis had been expecting, because he let out a chuckle. “Are you kidding me? There’s a building in downtown Los Angeles that has a digital billboard with a close-up of my butt in briefs. That sucker is ten stories high,” Memphis said. “Once you’ve had a forty-foot picture of your ass on display, you kind of don’t care anymore.”
Tyler took a moment to be thankful he didn’t have to drive by the visual on his way to work.
“By now I could socialize in the nude if need be,” Memphis finished.
“A helpful skill, I’m sure,” he deadpanned, noting the instant reappearance of Memphis’s dimples. He let a beat pass before going on. “But this isn’t a social call.”
Two seconds ticked by, both of them heavy with meaning.
“Yeah.” Memphis steadily met his gaze and swiped a hand through his hair, his dimples slowly slipping away. “I didn’t think you’d come to catch up on old times.”
The tension grew thicker around them.
“No.” Tyler’s small smile felt tight. “I believe we’re well beyond that.”
The past pulsed between them, and Memphis dropped his arm to his side, curiosity and wariness etched on his features as he finally grew still. The man had always been one thousand watts of energy contained within a hundred-watt bulb. Even when he wasn’t moving, you could sense the energy crackling in his body. He rarely went still both inside and out.
This was one of those times.
“Why did you come today?” Memphis said.
Instead of answering, he asked a question of his own. “Why did you agree to do the commercials for the Front Street Clinic’s fund-raiser?”
“As I told your friend, Neil―”
“Noah,” he said.
“Right, Noah,” Memphis said, emphasizing the name. “I agreed to do the advertisements in exchange for a favor. In short, I help you and Noah with your charity commitments while you help me with mine. I figured the agreement was a win-win.”
More like a win-win-lose, with Tyler getting whacked with the short end of the stick. When Noah had first explained the deal he’d struck with Memphis, Tyler should have refused to go along.
“I was actually glad I ran in to your friend at that party down in Monterey,” Memphis said.
Tyler’s forehead bunched in skepticism. “You don’t really believe running into Noah was an accident, do you?”
“He described it as a happy coincidence.”
“He finagled that invitation just to talk to you.”
Memphis’s grin brimmed with admiration. “He seems like a pretty determined guy.”
Noah? Determined?
Tyler squelched the urge to roll his eyes at the understatement. “You have no idea.”
“So why the finagling?” Memphis cocked his head. “Why didn’t you ask me to do the advertisements?”
A self-deprecating laugh threatened to escape Tyler. For months Noah had begged him to drive down to Memphis’s hometown of LA and do exactly that, until his friend had finally given up and approached the stuntman himself. Not that Tyler blamed the man.
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.
