Before Ryan had to admit the true reason they’d been paired up, realization lit up Z’s face.
“He’s gay,” Z said. Not a question.
“He’s gay,” Ryan confirmed.
“And what? They think because we’re gay that we’re supposed to be interested? Or do they think there’s a secret society of gays fornicating in art galleries? That we’ll just be pulled into the fold because we don’t fuck women?”
Ryan heard irritation in the other man’s voice. No, there was no disguising the fact that Z didn’t like the idea, based on the conclusion he’d obviously come to, but Ryan knew that Z hadn’t thought it all the way through. Yet.
“Have you?” Ryan asked before he could stop himself.
“What?” Z looked as confused by the question as Ryan was for asking it.
“Fucked women?”
“Not once,” Z said. “You?”
Ryan shook his head. He had no fucking clue how he’d managed to take this conversation off course again, but he was the only one to blame. Thankfully Z didn’t expect him to expand, so Ryan chose not to say anything else.
“So, what’s the plan then?” Z asked, sipping his drink through a straw.
Ryan tilted his head, lifted his eyebrows, and stared back at Z, waiting for him to put two and two together. It didn’t take long.
“Holy fuck,” Z said in a harsh whisper. “They want us to act like a couple?”
Ryan smiled; he couldn’t help himself. As did Z, which startled him momentarily.
It wasn’t because he actually liked the idea of pretending to be in a relationship with Z—because he really, really didn’t—but he enjoyed watching Z figure it all out.
“Is that really it?” Z asked, his eyes narrowing. “Your ol’ man wants you to hook up with me? I knew he liked me, but damn. This is a surprise. Think he’ll invite me to dinner?”
Ryan ignored Z’s teasing, tried not to think about the memories of that one night and what this new development might mean. “Honestly, I hadn’t figured it out until just now. Had I known back at the office, I would’ve mentioned it to you. No way would I put you in that position.”
Or himself, but he didn’t add that part.
“I’m in,” Z said quickly.
“What?”
“You heard me. I’m in.” Z’s gaze slid out the window briefly.
“I…” Ryan peered around the restaurant, desperately trying to think of something else. When he came up empty, he met Z’s dark gaze once more. “I really don’t think that’ll be necessary.”
“No?” Z looked disappointed. “What’s your plan then?”
Fighting the urge to fidget, Ryan stared at his hands folded on the table in front of him. “I don’t have one yet.”
“Ah. Well, that’s certainly better.” Z offered a sexy smirk.
“I…” Ryan still had nothing.
“It’s a good plan.”
The hell it was, but Ryan didn’t say as much. “I’m sure we’ll figure something out. And it won’t require…that.”
“Well, you’d better think fast,” Z said roughly. “’Cause if you don’t come up with somethin’ soon, we’re goin’ with that. Now let’s get back to the house and figure out exactly how we make this work.”
Ryan didn’t need to figure out how to make it work. Z’s suggestion was…remarkably simple, for the most part.
But there was one major problem.
The instant Ryan had to pretend to be Z’s…boyfriend…he had a sneaking suspicion that it would all work out on its own.
And that wasn’t necessarily a good thing.
TEN
NOTE TO SELF: MAKE MORE wishes on falling stars. And next time make them so that they include RT naked.
Leaning into the turn, Z followed behind RT, his full attention on the road as they accelerated onto the two-lane road that bisected Mustang Island. A quick head turn to both sides told him he was alone on the road, with the exception of the hot guy molded to his Aprilia RSV4 RF less than a car length in front of him. Once they were on the straightaway, RT gave his bike some gas, and Z followed suit. Within seconds, they were full throttle, doing ninety down the fifty-five-mile-an-hour road while Z’s brain processed the information RT had relayed over lunch.
A couple.
Fucking A.
RT’s words sounded in his head.
Had I known back at the office, I would’ve mentioned it to you. No way would I put you in that position.
Fuck that.
Z was game for any position RT wanted to put him in.
Sure, he wasn’t all that thrilled with the idea of being pimped out, but he couldn’t think of a better man to be pimped to. And if he could simply get RT on board with the plan, Ryan Jacob Trexler was—although pretend—going to be close enough for Z to put his hands on again. And there wasn’t a damn thing RT could do about that.
Unless he intended to blow their cover. Which RT would never do, even Z knew that much.
Now, if only he could sell RT on the idea, he’d be home free. And that was a big if. After what had happened between them in Coyote Ridge, Z knew RT was being overly cautious.
Slowing his bike so they could pull down the narrow road that led to the beach house, Z glanced over at RT. Yeah, this was going to get interesting.
*
The second they stepped onto the front porch five minutes later, Z knew someone had been inside since they’d left. It was a sixth sense he had, one that hadn’t failed him yet.
Backing up against the wall beside the door, he pulled his gun. RT did the same, on the opposite side, responding to the same eerie feeling that Z had.
“Someone brought our things by,” RT informed him in a rough whisper.
“Doesn’t mean that’s the person inside.”
“True,” RT agreed, reaching for the door handle to see if it was unlocked. As he twisted the knob, RT looked to Z.
Well, what do you know? It was unlocked.
When RT nodded, pushing open the door and allowing it to swing inward, they both stepped inside, Z behind RT. A quick glance in the rooms on either side of them didn’t give them much to go on, so they progressed toward the living room.
“What’s up, fuckers?” Colby Trexler greeted from his perch on the sofa, a huge grin plastered on his pretty-boy face.
“You could’ve gotten yourself shot,” RT told his brother, lowering his gun to his side.
“Could’ve, sure. But you’re not that good,” Colby joked.
Z chuckled.
Oh, they were that good. So good, in fact, that their ability to quickly assess a situation was the only reason Colby was still upright and not in a puddle of blood on the floor. Then again, Colby knew that.
“Whose dick did you suck to get this place?” Colby questioned, glancing around with wide eyes.
“Fuck off,” RT grumbled, a strangled laugh escaping him.
Colby lifted his hand, showing them the beer he held. “Y’all know you got cold ones in there?”
Without being told twice, Z slid his gun back into its hidden holster at his back and then headed to the kitchen. He returned less than a minute later, handing over a cold Corona to RT.
“Thanks.” RT took the beer and then headed outside, never making direct eye contact with Z.
“So, seriously, what’s up with this place?” Colby asked, not talking to anyone in particular as he followed RT outside.
“It’s a job,” RT answered, his voice fading as he stepped out of the house.
“So why’s there a picture of Dad on the mantel? That’s just creepy, bro.”
Z didn’t join RT and his brother, choosing to take a breather while he watched the two men. He liked Colby. Along with all the Trexlers and Kogans, the guy was solid. And Colby and RT were close. As close as two men who generally spent weeks on end in other parts of the nation, sometimes the world, handling jobs that Sniper 1 Security was famous for could be.
“Where’d you go, Tavoularis?” Colby hollered. “Get your giant ass out here.”