Summer Stock Read online

  Ryan looked down at his hands and laughed ruefully. “Yeah, actually. I forgot I was holding them.” He handed it over. “You have that effect on me.”

  “Nah. You’re the one with all the charm. I saw how you were with the crowd.” Trey took a long sip of the beer to cover his embarrassment. It was cold and bitter and just about perfect.

  Ryan glanced up, his expression unreadable. “That’s acting.”

  “I’m not talking about when you’re on the stage. I mean—” Trey gestured at the actors dancing near the fire. “I mean, you’re good in a group of people. They all like you, they all want to be like you. They envy you a little, but you’re easy to be around and self-deprecating, so they admire you more than they envy you.”

  Ryan’s lips quirked up in a very different kind of smile from the one he employed on the crowd. “Like I said. Acting.”

  “It’s not just them.” Trey tried again. “Caro and Mason worship you.”

  “Caro mothers me, and Mason barely tolerates me. He’s a pretty good actor himself.”

  The bitterness in Ryan’s tone took Trey by surprise. He glanced over at Mason, who, across the circle of firelight, was slow dancing with Caroline. Had there been any signs of tension between Mason and Ryan before? Now that he thought back . . .

  “He has a tremendous amount of respect for you as an actor.”

  “And zero for me as a person.” Ryan drained the rest of his beer in one big gulp. “Do you want to get out of here?” He stood up and extended a hand as if Trey needed help standing. And the gesture was too familiar, too close to one he’d seen before, that it tightened his chest, choking him.

  Past and present clashed. Panic and reason chasing each other in circles. A helping hand reaching for him when he was beyond help. But no—he hadn’t been. His chest hurt—was he dying?

  No.

  He was on the beach. At a party. Not in his kitchen. The bitter smell was beer, not blood. He glanced to his left, his right, naming the objects he saw nearby, forcing breath through his lungs and anchoring himself in the present.

  Fire. Shoes. Sand. Guitar. Keg.

  “Hey, man, are you okay? I just thought maybe we could walk down to the beach and get away from the heat and the crowd.” Ryan’s hand fell, and he squatted in front of Trey’s chair. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

  Trey swallowed and took another swig of his beer to hide his shaking hands as Ryan’s concerned eyes filled his vision. “I’ll be okay. You reminded me of someone for a minute there.”

  “Oh yeah? Who?”

  “Your cousin, actually.”

  “Caro? Someday you’ll have to tell me what she did to put that look of terror on your face. She didn’t pull some overprotective BS about us sleeping together, did she? ’Cause if she did—”

  “No.” Trey stood up. He had to shut this conversation down. “I’m sorry, a walk sounds great, but I have to get home to Ferdy.”

  “Oh.” Ryan’s face fell. “Got it. Well, it was nice to see you. Give Ferdy some ear scratches from me, okay?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Trey’s breath was still shallow and frantic-fast as he let himself into the truck and reached for the bottle of Xanax he kept in the console. Was this a full-blown panic attack? The rush of anxiety and the urge to dissociate often preceded one, but had he grounded himself in time? And if he took a pill, could he get home before it made driving dangerous?

  He did the math in his head—the public beach access was a ten-minute drive from his place, and the drug usually didn’t start making him sleepy until about thirty minutes after he took it.

  As he sat there staring at the bottle, the passenger door opened, and Ryan climbed in. “I should have asked if you were okay to drive. How much have you had to drink?”

  Startled, Trey looked up at him. “I’m fine. Only the one beer you brought me.”

  “You aren’t acting like yourself.”

  Trey let out a short, mirthless laugh. “You don’t know me.”

  Ryan nodded. “You’re right, but I want to.” He laid his hand on Trey’s thigh, like he had the night at the bar, but tentative rather than bold. “This isn’t a come on. I’m not trying to get you naked. I just— Caro is the only friend I’ve got here, and things are weird with Mason. My best friend is in rehab, so I can’t even talk to her. I could use a friend, and I really like you, you know?”

  Taking a long, slow breath, Trey fished a pill out of the bottle and swallowed it, then he handed Ryan his keys. “Take me home?”

  Ryan smiled. “Of course.”

  Trey waited as Ryan walked around the truck, then he hopped down and held the driver’s door open until Ryan was settled, then shut it gently. What the hell was he doing? He tried to quell the butterflies and nervousness in his stomach as he rounded the truck and opened the passenger door. He stopped dead.

  Ryan was reading the label of his pill bottle.

  He glanced up at Trey and shrugged. “Just curious as to what to expect when this kicks in. Ali used to take this sometimes, but the dosage wasn’t as high.”

  Trey climbed into the truck and fastened his seat belt. “I’ll get drowsy, but my heart rate will slow and I’ll stop sweating and choking on nothing.”

  Ryan murmured an acknowledgment. “Anxiety attacks? That’s rough.”

  He didn’t know the half of it, and Trey had a hard enough time talking about it with his therapist, let alone a beautiful barely-more-than-stranger. Trey switched on the stereo. As country music filled the cab, Ryan started tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “I turn left on Mustang, right?”

  “Yeah.” Curious about Ryan’s familiarity with the island, Trey asked, “Did you grow up here?”

  Ryan nodded. “Mostly. I mean, when I was little, we moved around some—lived on the mainland for a while. My aunt and uncle, Caro’s folks, took me in when I was twelve.”

  “What happened to your parents?”

  “The great state of North Carolina saw fit to remove me from their custody.”

  “Oh.” Trey’s mind reeled. “Jesus, I’m sorry.”

  Ryan glanced over at him. “I was a wild kid, and my dad was a control freak. He came to pick me up one day during one of their separations, I mouthed off, and he took a swing at me. It wasn’t the first time, but this time Mom shoved him off the porch, he broke his ankle, and the neighbors called the cops. They got there just in time to hear my dear old dad tell my mom he was going to kill us both. It was ugly.”

  Trey shuddered. He knew all too well how ugly domestic violence scenes were when the cops got involved. But then, he knew exactly how ugly it was when no one came to the rescue either. “I’m so sorry.”

  Shrugging, Ryan stared at the road ahead. “It was a long time ago.” But his voice was thick, and Trey knew bravado when he saw it. Some part of Ryan was still the wild, mouthy kid whose own dad took a swing at him, no matter how deeply he buried that kid under charm and swagger.

  “Third one on the left.” Trey pointed. “Thanks for driving me home.”

  “You’re welcome.” Ryan turned off the engine and handed over the keys. “My house—my buddy’s house—is only about a mile and a half from here along the beach, so I can walk if you don’t mind me cutting through your house to your beach access.”

  “I don’t mind. Want a cup of coffee before you go?” Trey moved to get out of the car, but Ryan stopped him with a hand on his arm.

  “How are you feeling?”

  The company and the first lick of comfort from the Xanax had already started to calm him. “I’m going to be okay.”

  “Good.”

  Trey started up the steps to the front door of his little bungalow with Ryan trailing behind him. As he fit the key in the lock, he looked over his shoulder and Ryan was right there, so close, he could just—

  “Trey?”

  Damn, but his name looked good on Ryan’s lips.

  And suddenly all the dirty, dirty memories he’d been trying to hold back f
lashed through his mind at once. A laugh that became a moan. A fist in his hair. Teeth biting into his shoulder. His own name, over and over.

  He pulled Ryan close, hands clutching desperately at the soft fabric of his T-shirt, and the promise of warm skin underneath.

  “Not here,” Ryan whispered, eyes wide in the dark.

  Trey nodded, spun around, and fumbled with the key. Ryan’s hand closed over his.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry.” Ryan rotated Trey’s shaking hand, and with it the key, and pushed open the door.

  “Ferdy—”

  Ryan guided him through the door and slammed it behind them.

  “Is out back. I heard him bark when we pulled up.” Ryan’s voice sounded as breathless as Trey felt. “God, Trey, can we . . .?”

  Trey turned, and their eyes met for just a moment before Ryan’s hand came up and stroked Trey’s ear—the ugly ear, the one he hated every time he saw it in the mirror—with infinite tenderness, sending a shudder rippling through him. Then Ryan’s mouth was on his, lush and soft. Trey slid his hands around Ryan’s waist, tugging them chest to chest and groaning as Ryan’s teeth nipped his lower lip.

  Ryan pulled back and smiled. “Even better than I imagined.”

  Trey took his hand and led him to the couch. He shoved Ryan down with a hand on his chest, then straddled his lap and drove his hands into that gorgeous golden-brown hair. This time, their lips came together hard and wild, hips rolling. Ryan’s hands were everywhere—running down Trey’s back to cup his ass, along his thighs and up to clutch at his waist, as if they could get closer.

  We could.

  But even as he thought it, Trey felt some of the tension seeping out of him and a warm fatigue weighing down his limbs. Ryan responded to the change in him by slowing the kiss as he deepened it, until he pulled away and Trey laid his head on Ryan’s shoulder.

  “I bet you’re feeling relaxed after the Xanax and the beer, huh?” Ryan whispered. Trey nodded and took a deep breath. Ryan smelled like smoke from the fire, and like sweat from standing under stage lights, and just the smallest bit like grapefruit. He smiled into the curve of Ryan’s neck and pressed his lips there.

  “Oh god.” Ryan’s head fell back, and he thrust his hips, setting a ridiculously hot rhythm that ramped them both up. Trey nipped at a satiny earlobe and teased behind it with the tip of his tongue. Ryan had pretty ears.

  “That’s—oh—fuck, that’s good.”

  He continued to explore the stubbled skin of Ryan’s jaw and throat, listening to Ryan’s breathy sounds of excitement, all the while rubbing their cocks together until they were both panting.

  “Oh god, don’t— Oh fuck, Trey, stop.”

  Trey reared back, dropping his hands to his sides. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” Ryan smiled. “Please, don’t be. But, dude. You’re spacey and zoning out and after our talk on the beach the other morning . . .” He shrugged. “You gave me a lot to think about. And I meant what I said about us being friends, and maybe that means not fooling around when we’re fucked up.”

  “I’m not—” Trey started, but Ryan’s finger landed on his lips, and there was a finger on his lips so of course his tongue came out, and then Ryan laughed, and why was Trey giggling too?

  “Yeah. You kind of are. That’s a pretty high dosage of Xanax you’re on. And you really shouldn’t take it with beer.”

  “Yes, Mother,” Trey teased, then nipped at the finger still on his lips.

  “So, I’m going to tuck you into bed, and I’m going to let Ferdy in the house, and then I’m going to head home, okay?”

  “Kay.”

  “So you gotta get off me.” Ryan lifted his hips a little, and they both gasped as the movement brushed their cocks together. A fresh bolt of heat shot through Trey, and it took all the effort he had left to stand up and step away from Ryan. He pressed a hand against his aching cock and groaned.

  “You’re playing dirty. Come on.” Ryan led him through the house to the bedroom and eased him down onto the bed. With a couple of quick tugs, Trey’s Chuck Taylors hit the floor, then Ryan’s hands were on his belt buckle.

  “This okay?”

  “Yeah,” Trey rasped out. Ryan stripped him with gentle efficiency down to his underwear and T-shirt and somehow maneuvered him until he was stretched out under the blankets, head on his pillow.

  “I’m going to let your dog in. Is he going to try to eat me?”

  Trey smiled, then shook his head.

  “Does he need anything?”

  “Just make sure his water dish is full?”

  “Sure. Gimme your phone.”

  “In my pants.” Trey gestured to the pile of denim on the floor, and Ryan fished it out.

  “Unlock it?”

  “Why?”

  “So I can put my number in it, goober.”

  Smiling, Trey held his thumb over the home button until his home screen appeared. A few moments later, his phone was locked again and sitting on the table next to his bed.

  “Call me in the morning so I know you’re okay.” Ryan’s lips brushed his forehead, and then he was gone.

  Ryan pushed open the door to the backyard, heart pounding. “Ferdinand?”

  A dark shape on the back deck made a rumbling sigh, then hefted itself to its feet and shook. Ferdy.

  Ryan steeled himself against the wall as the giant gray dog lumbered inside, but Ferdy just gave him a brisk inspection of sniffs and snorts, then crossed to the mattress and lay down, tail thumping.

  “Good boy,” Ryan said softly. “You take care of your daddy, okay?”

  The dog cocked his head to one side and yawned, and Ryan turned the lock, stepped outside, and pulled the door firmly closed behind him. Beach access for Trey’s neighborhood was down a short communal path. The walkway was well lit and quiet, giving Ryan plenty of time to mull over what had happened at Trey’s house. Two things were clear: his attraction to Trey was growing stronger, and he was going to have to tell Mason where he could shove his promise.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket. He thought about silencing it without looking at the caller ID, but what if it was Trey? When he glanced at the phone, he had to do a double take. West?

  “Hey!” he answered. “West, how are you?”

  “Better question: where are you? I just got in and my house is empty. Thanks for leaving your cereal bowl in the sink, by the way. This is how we get ants.” West’s familiar Southern California accent was as comforting as a hug. Affection for his friend and anticipation swept over Ryan.

  “Sorry. Won’t happen again. I’m down on the beach walking home from a party. I’ll be there in maybe twenty minutes.”

  West’s voice shook with laughter. “I’m teasing you, Bry. I washed it and put it in the cupboard. I’m gonna open a bottle of wine and get in the hot tub. Join me when you get back; I miss your ugly face.”

  “I miss yours too.” Ryan grinned so hard his cheeks hurt. “I’ll see you soon.”

  He slid his phone into his pocket and kicked off his sandals, suddenly wanting to be back at the house right freaking now. Sandals in hand, he took off at a jog. He had so much he wanted to ask West. Had he talked to Ali? Did he know when she’d be out of the rehab program? What about the part they’d discussed before he’d come home to North Carolina? Was that project getting the green light?

  By the time he unlocked the gate to West’s backyard and jogged up the winding stone steps that led to the expansive patio, he was breathless with excitement and sweating with exertion. West waved from the hot tub, grinning in welcome.

  “Come on in, I’ll pour you a glass.” West was classic Hollywood pretty, and had spent some time in front of the camera as a child actor. Now in his forties, his black curls were graying at the temples, but his blue eyes were full of the youthful sparkle that had made him a household name. He was one of the handsomest men Ryan knew, and it was easy to understand why Ali was so smitten with him.

 
“I’m, um . . .” still a little turned on from making out with Trey. “I’m just gonna grab my trunks from inside.”

  West threw his head back and laughed. “Dude, your dick’s been in my mouth, I don’t care if you get in the hot tub naked. Hell, I’m not wearing trunks either.”

  Blushing, Ryan turned away and stripped before climbing into the hot tub on the opposite side from West, who passed him a glass of something white and chilled, then clinked their glasses together.

  They both spoke at once.

  “Have you—” Ryan started.

  “Has Ali—” West broke off with a laugh. “Go ahead.”

  Ryan took a sip of the wine. It was dry and crisp, just what he liked. “Have you talked to her?”

  West’s smile fell away. “Not since before she left for—for the spa. She came by the place all high and—” He shook his head. “We fought. We fought like we never fucking fought in five years. And then she grabbed my keys, left, and crashed my Benz. I haven’t seen her since.”

  Ryan winced. “Sorry about the car, man.”

  Shrugging, West took a sip of wine. “I don’t care about the goddamn car. I was pissed that she took it, because she could have gotten herself killed. But it’s just a fucking car. I thought she’d learned her lesson after what happened with yours.”

  Not giving in to his natural urge to defend Ali—West was right, what she’d done was terrifying, and Ryan was every bit as pissed as West was—he just took a drink of his wine and closed his eyes.

  They sat in silence for a long time, the steam and the hot water draining the tension out of them. Even though Ryan’s boner was long gone, his mind was still half with Trey, wondering what had spurred the anxiety attack on the beach.

  “So, have you talked to her?” West finally asked, drawing Ryan’s thoughts back to the present.

  “I got a text. I think she’s committed to this recovery thing, but it’s really hard for her. She told me to say hi to you.”

  “Yeah?” West glanced over at him. “Well, that’s something.” He sank deeper into the water and splashed some of it on his face and through his dark curls. When he spoke again, his voice came out raw and rough. “I can’t watch her kill herself. Not after Jason.”