Playboy For Hire

13. Ryder

13

RYDER

I stared at my phone. Three missed calls and a string of texts from Quinn, all in the past forty-eight hours.

QUINN: Ryder, I’m really sorry. What I said was out of line. I wasn’t trying to hurt you, but I know that I did anyway. And I’m sorry.

That was the first text. I glared at it, annoyed by the apology. What right did Quinn have to assume his words had any effect on me at all? Aside from the fact that I’d kicked him out of my room in response to what he’d said, that was.

But still, the way he was texting me now, all these perfectly worded, thoughtful apologies, pissed me off. It was like he was talking to a child throwing a tantrum, trying to calm them down. The fact that I knew I was acting like a child only made things worse.

“Dude, where’s your friend these days?” Amir asked.

“What? Who?”

“You know, your friend ,” Raf said, adding air quotes just in case I’d missed the sarcasm in his tone. “The hot one with the glasses who started showing up here and spending increasing amounts of time in your bedroom.”

“You can stop waggling your eyebrows,” I told him sourly. I shifted in the reclining chair in our living room. We were watching a Nats game, Amir’s team of choice, and they were losing badly.

“My eyebrows do this naturally,” Raf said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It’s been like, two days,” I said, glaring back down at my phone screen. “And he’s just a friend. Maybe not even that.”

QUINN: Okay, I’m not trying to pressure you, I just really want to let you know, I value our friendship and would love to apologize in person.

QUINN: That’s not a euphemism for sex. Unless you want it to be .

He’d added a winky face after that. I hated that it was cute, and that I couldn’t stop thinking about what makeup sex with Quinn would be like. We hadn’t even done anything more than blow jobs, but I was sure it would be amazing.

“Wait, are you serious?” Amir said. “Because if you’re not hooking up with him, I call dibs. He’s cute.”

“Tragically, Ryder remains boring and straight,” Raf said. “And you can’t call dibs, because I called them first.”

“I literally just called them before you said anything.”

“I called them spiritually. I’m the one who’s been letting him into the house. He and I have a connection.”

“Only because you happened to get to the door before I did,” Amir grumbled. “If I’d known who was ringing the bell, I would have.”

“You snooze, you lose.”

“Would you guys stop?” I snapped. “He’s not interested in either of you.”

I hoped that was true. Ugh, what if Quinn were interested in Amir and Raf? What if, by not responding to his texts, I was losing my chance with him? What if he came over tomorrow, not to go to the awards dinner, but to get my housemates’ phone numbers?

If he came over at all. I still needed to reply to his most recent text.

QUINN: Okay, I’m assuming from your radio silence that you don’t want to hear from me anymore. But if you still want company at that awards ceremony, I’d be happy to come. I really am sorry.

Dammit, I did want company. I wanted Quinn. But that was the problem. He’d made it pretty clear the other day that he thought I was an idiot. That had hurt. Maybe it would be smarter of me to end things now, before he slipped and told me just how dumb he really thought I was.

“Wait, really?” Raf looked at me in confusion. “Is Quinn straight too? I did not get that vibe off him.”

“Are you seriously just two straight guys platonically sitting in your bedroom together with the door closed?” Amir asked.

“No, Quinn’s gay.” I sighed. “But we’re not—he’s not—I’m just…it’s complicated.”

“I knew it!” Amir said triumphantly. “I knew something was going on between the two of you.”

“I never said something was going on.”

“That’s literally what ‘ it’s complicated ’ means. Or is there really nothing happening between you two?”

I looked down at my phone. “Well, not anymore.”

“You sneaky bastard,” Raf said. “You guys are hooking up.”

“Wait, is this you coming out to us, Ryder?” Amir asked. “Or are you just bullshitting?”

I looked at him with pained eyes, and his whole face lit up, the baseball game entirely forgotten.

“Holy shit, are you serious?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know what’s happening between us. We were just having fun, it wasn’t supposed to be serious or anything.”

“Classic Ryder,” Raf said. “When was the last time you actually dated someone for more than one night?”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not that bad.”

“I’ve never seen you with the same girl twice.”

Now it was Amir’s turn to wiggle his eyebrows. “But we’ve seen your friend more than once. So what happened? Did he develop feelings? We could have told him that was pointless.”

“Our little heartbreaker strikes again,” Raf said, like a proud dad at a Little League game.

“I’m taller than you are,” I told him.

“Yeah, but you’re younger. That makes you permanently little.”

“Besides, you’re a baby gay now,” Amir put in. “Which means we’re contractually obligated to tease you for it.”

“I’m not gay,” I muttered. “I’m bi. I think.”

“But you’re not hooking up with Quinn anymore? Because I’m serious, if nothing’s going on between the two of you, I am single.”

The thought of Quinn with either Amir or Raf made my stomach clench. Both of them were older than I was, and more accomplished. Quinn would make way more sense with either of them.

Maybe I should just tell Quinn they were into him. Rip off the band-aid and accept the inevitable. I imagined seeing Quinn every day, snuggling on the couch with Raf or in the kitchen with Amir, and my hands curled into fists. I wasn’t angry at Quinn, but at myself, for letting him slip through my fingers without a fight.

My friends were right about one thing, though. It had been a long time since I’d met someone I wanted to keep around. And maybe that meant something.

I swiped my phone on and started to type.

The next day, I was at Quinn’s apartment, sitting on his bed as he went through his closet, holding up various outfit options. He pulled out a charcoal gray suit, and I shook my head.

“Too formal.”

He pulled out a polo and a pair of chinos.

“Too casual.”

He pulled out a sweater vest and corduroys. I considered for a moment, then shook my head again.

“Too librarian.”

“I am a librarian.”

“Yeah, but you’re a hot-shot lawyer too. We need an outfit that says successful, intellectual, and too cool for your shit.” I stood up and walked to the closet.

Quinn stepped out to make room for me. “One outfit can say all that?”

“All that and more.” I began flipping through the hangers in the closet. “A really good outfit affects people’s entire perception of you. It’s a way to communicate without using words—and directly to someone’s subconscious. The perfect outfit can work wonders.”

“Jesus. Now you’ve given me something else to freak out about. I wear the same thing every day so I don’t have to think about it.”

“I mean, that’s fine.” I pulled out a shirt with a semi-spread collar in a crisp lavender. “If you find something that works for you.”

“Does my go-to outfit work for me? Or do I not want to know?”

I pulled a thin navy tie free of his tie rack and draped it over the shirt, then turned to hand the clothes to Quinn.

“Your go-to outfit is fine, don’t worry.”

“But just fine?” Quinn wrinkled his nose. “I thought outfits were supposed to convey all these adjectives. What are mine saying?”

I gave him an assessing look. “You really want to know?”

“I…think so? I hope I don’t regret this.”

“It’s not bad,” I reassured him. “I would say that your standard outfit says competent but not confident. You come across as mature and intelligent, but a bit like you’re trying to fade into the background.”

“Really?”

I laughed and pointed at his closet. “Just how many pale blue button-up shirts do you own?”

It was a rhetorical question. The answer had to be at least twenty. And most of the times I’d seen Quinn, the shirt had been paired with brown corduroys or chinos, and a pair of Oxfords. It was the kind of outfit that said, ‘ I would like your eyes to slide right past me, please .’

Quinn flushed, and I smiled. “Seriously, the way you dress is fine.”

“Except it makes me look like wallpaper.”

“Yeah, but that’s kind of what you’re going for, right?” I scrutinized his face for signs of offense. “I’m sorry, maybe that came across as mean.”

He laughed. “After the stuff I said to you a few days ago, I think you’re allowed to be mean to me.”

“No, I’m not. And I’m sorry again for taking so long to reply. I just had to pull my head out of my ass.”

“Well, I’m sorry too. Just to say it again.”

I smiled. “That’s the eighty-seventh time you’ve told me. Believe me, your message has come through.”

“Are you sure? Because I can say it an eighty-eighth time, if that would help.”

I was rummaging through the pants Quinn had hanging on the other side of his closet. I pulled out a pair of lightweight wool trousers with a subtle houndstooth weave.

“Here,” I said, handing them to Quinn. “Try all of that together.”

Quinn looked at everything I’d give him. “A tie? You’re not wearing a tie.”

I was not. Instead, I was dressed in the very outfit I’d deemed too casual for Quinn. A navy polo over khakis, with worn-in brown loafers. But that was because the impression I was trying to convey was that I was coming to the dinner under duress, and didn’t consider it important enough to dress up for.

“Yeah, but I’m not trying to impress them.”

“I thought the whole point was that they didn’t take your life here seriously,” Quinn objected. “Why not show up in a suit and look like you work at a big lobbying firm?”

I shrugged. “I used to do that. Wear suits whenever they visited, bring work clothes home with me whenever I went back to see them. But that just earned me comments about how I thought I was too good to work on a farm anymore, and I was trying to hide my roots.”

“Ugh. That’s awful.”

“That’s my parents. This way, at least, they don’t comment about how I’m getting too big for my britches. You on the other hand—” I smiled at Quinn “—are going to knock their socks off.”

“Which I want to do because…”

“Because maybe, if they think you’re cool and important, some of that will rub off on me.” I turned back to the closet and pulled out a blazer that matched the trousers. “Here. You’re not going to wear that, just carry it over your arm. It’ll be perfect.”

Quinn did, in fact, look perfect. I tried to stare without looking like I was staring all through dinner. He was elegant and poised, and the fact that he was kind of quiet was working in his favor. It came across like he was aloof and thinking about the world’s problems, rather than shy. I congratulated myself for having played a tiny role in that, but really, it was all Quinn.

He was surprisingly good with my parents, charming my mom with questions about what it was like growing up in the countryside, since he was from Baltimore originally. He asked my dad about the kind of machinery he used on the farm, which made him as happy as I’d ever seen him, outside of one of this YouTube rabbit holes.

Quinn mentioned the right-to-repair movement, saying he’d heard arguments on both sides, and wondered what my dad thought about it. My dad had lots of thoughts, it turned out, and that kept the conversation going for another thirty minutes.

Since my parents liked nothing more than talking about themselves, they were having a lovely evening, which was trickling down into me having a not-totally-sucky evening myself. If visits with my parents always went this smoothly, I might not avoid them so much.

“But enough about me,” my dad said finally. “Quinn, you seem like a young man with a good head on your shoulders. How on earth did you and Ryder end up being friends? You tutor him in math or something?”

Quinn shot me an awkward look. I just shrugged. As barbs from my parents went, that one was pretty benign.

“No sir,” Quinn said. “Actually, math isn’t my strong suit. Ryder and I met at a bocce game. His team beat mine in a landslide.”

“Bocce.” My dad sounded suspicious. “What kind of game is that? Some sort of city-slickers thing?”

I closed my eyes briefly, impressed by my dad’s ability to get worked up over bocce, and his ability to use the word ‘ city-slickers ’ unironically.

“Oh.” Quinn shot me another glance. “I don’t know where it’s popular, exactly. But it’s kind of like bowling, but outdoors?”

“It’s Italian in origin,” I put in. “And traces its roots to the Roman Empire. People play it around the country.”

Trust me to know useless facts that would never help me at work or in school.

“Well, I’ve never heard of it,” my dad harrumphed.

My mom gave me a reproving glance. “So you have time to play soccer and go to school and play this other game, but you can’t spare a weekend to come down and see your parents?”

“Bocce is like, one hour a week,” I protested. “It’s not the same commitment as coming home for a weekend.”

My mom looked at my dad. “It’s always the same answer, isn’t it?”

“Boy thinks he’s better than us,” my dad said. “Never should have let him go to that fancy school.”

“You didn’t actually let me do anything,” I said. “The scholarship is what made it possible. That, and me working.”

“You should be working back home. Back in my day, kids didn’t sass their parents like that. If you ask me, a good beating is all it would take to—”

“Mrs. Olson,” Quinn interrupted, “you never finished telling me that story about your grandmother’s quilt. Do you still have it to this day?”

It was a blatant change of topic, but my mom was so excited to talk about it that she jumped in over my dad.

“Oh, yes, I do. It’s one of many that I’ve kept saved in a wooden chest from my mom. I thought Ryder might want them someday, when he meets a nice girl and has kids. But these days, I think he’d rather pretend we’re not even his family.”

“Oh, I—” Quinn hesitated, clearly unsure of how to respond to that, but my mom kept right on talking.

“I don’t suppose you would want one?” she asked. “I know it must be hard for people who don’t have big families to support them.”

Quinn’s brow furrowed, and I looked at my mom in confusion. The topic of Quinn’s family hadn’t come up at all tonight, but I knew for a fact it was huge.

“I’m sorry,” Quinn said politely. “I don’t think I understood that. You said—”

“That you don’t have a big family,” my mom repeated, nodding. “I mean, clearly you’ve done very well for yourself, and you should be proud of that after growing up in the inner city like you did. But I just thought, with a single mother and all, you might not have too many family heirlooms of your own.”

My mouth dropped open in horror.

“Oh.” Quinn blinked. “That’s very, um, kind of you. My parents are still together, though. And I grew up in Guilford.”

“Where’s that?” my mom asked, completely unaware of the awkwardness she’d caused.

“It’s a neighborhood in north Baltimore,” he said, a slight tightness appearing at the corners of his eyes. “It’s actually quite nice.”

“Oh, that’s lovely. It must be wonderful when a neighborhood gentrifies like that. Were your parents lucky enough to own their own home?”

“Ma, I don’t think you need to give Quinn the third degree,” I said. “And I don’t think it’s relevant what kind of property his parents do or don’t own. It’s a little racist.”

“Racist? Honey, I was just asking because I know property taxes can skyrocket when a neighborhood gentrifies, so it can push out families who don’t have a cushion or enough of an income to adjust.”

It was so like her to make assumptions like this. I should have known. She assumed the worst about me all the time. Why wouldn’t she do the same thing to Quinn?

“Yeah, but you’re assuming that his family wouldn’t have that ability. His parents are professors. They’re not exactly impoverished.”

“It’s okay,” Quinn broke in. “I’m sure your mom was just curious.” He smiled at her. “And yes, my parents do own their home. I feel very fortunate to have grown up the way I did.”

“Even with the—” my mom broke off, gesturing at her cheek.

Quinn froze, and the knife and fork dropped from his hands with a clatter.

“Ma,” I hissed. “You can’t just ask people about things like that.”

“She’s only asking out of concern,” my dad said, his deep voice making me jump when he rejoined the conversation. “A child doesn’t get a scar like that without some serious abuse. Or at least neglect.”

Quinn still hadn’t moved, but he’d drawn in on himself, and I could tell that this conversation had turned into his worst nightmare. I’d worked so hard trying to convince him that no one noticed his cheek, so of course my parents had to go and undo all of that. And it was pretty ironic for my dad to assume Quinn was abused, right after telling me a good beating would fix me.

Quinn shook his head. His lips parted slightly. He swallowed, and I watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down, but still, he didn’t speak.

My right hand was on my lap. Slowly, I moved it over to Quinn’s leg and squeezed, just above his knee. Not in a sexual way. Just to tell him I was there, and I knew this was awful.

“Quinn wasn’t abused,” I said, my voice hot. “It’s a birthmark. And it’s really rude to comment on people’s appearances, and make assumptions like that.”

“That’s rich, you calling us rude,” my dad said.

“Maybe he told you it was a birthmark,” my mother chimed in. “But people don’t always feel comfortable sharing the truth about difficult childhoods.” She looked at me as she talked, like Quinn wasn’t sitting right there next to her. “It could have been a burn. Or a gunshot. Even a scar from a knife.”

“What kind of knife leaves a—”

“It’s alright,” Quinn said, his voice a croak when he finally spoke. “I know your mom was just trying to be kind.”

He smiled at me, then at my parents, but I could tell it was strained.

“Luckily, it really is just a birthmark,” he said. “So nothing to worry about.”

My mom looked back at me. “See. He’s not bothered.”

“Or he’s being ten times more polite than you are for asking him in the first place.”

“Really, it’s fine.” Quinn flashed another tense, nervous smile around the table. He let his hands fall to his lap. “I know people can be curious.”

My mom leaned over and patted his shoulder. “Thank you, dear. I appreciate that you see where I’m coming from. I just wish a little of your understanding could rub off on Ryder. He seems determined to think the worst of us all the time.”

“Never should have let him leave home,” my dad said for the second time that night. “Lost all his manners up there in the city.”

“He used to be the sweetest boy,” my mom confided to Quinn. “All yes sir and no ma’am. He’d come with me to go grocery shopping. He’d even help me pick out my church clothes on Sundays. Just the most respectful little kid. I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

“Lost all his sense, too, once he left his family.” My dad glared at me. “Forgot how to respect his elders.”

“It’s hard,” my mom continued. “Being separated from your family. But it really does seem like he’s determined to be cruel sometimes. I know kids want to spread their wings, but he doesn’t understand that he’s our only child. His job is to be at home, helping us. I always thought he’d grow up into the perfect son, but instead we got…this.”

She held her hands out helplessly and nodded at me, as if to say, ‘ Can you even imagine our hardship, having this ingrate for a son ?’

“Never had any work ethic,” my dad said. “If he’s determined to waste his life, let him.”

My mouth worked silently. I wanted to object, wanted to defend myself. But my throat was so dry, I couldn’t make a sound.

“It would be one thing if he left school with a job lined up,” my mom said. “But what does he have to show for himself? Nothing. But is he embarrassed by that? Not a bit.” She sighed. “I know you shouldn’t pin all your hopes on your children, but I never thought I’d be this disappointed.”

“That’s a shame, Mrs. Olson,” Quinn said.

I looked at Quinn with a sick feeling in my stomach. I knew he didn’t like conflict, but that didn’t mean he had to agree with what my mom was saying. But then he squeezed my knee under the table and continued.

“I wish you could see the Ryder I know, because your son is amazing. He’s one of the hardest-working people I know, even in the face of adversity. He thinks deeply about even seemingly simple subjects, and he doesn’t give up just because things get hard. He’s kind, generous, and forgiving. If I were his parents, I’d be proud to have raised a son like that. I know I’m proud to call him my friend.”

I stared at him, speechless. I wished I were half the person Quinn had made me out to be. No one had ever stuck up for me to my parents before.

God, I love you .

The thoughts popped into my head when Quinn turned to smile at me. I blinked, my stomach turning a somersault. I didn’t mean that, did I? I’d only known Quinn for a couple of months. We weren’t even together.

But seeing him here, polite but defiant, refusing to back down under my dad’s glare or my mom’s disbelief, I realized any chance I had of not developing feelings for Quinn was gone. I might not be in love with him, but I was damn close.

And suddenly, I couldn’t take another minute of dinner. No more strained conversation, no more awkward moments, no more insults disguised as observations. I was done with all of this.

What I wanted was to be alone with Quinn. To show him how grateful I was.

I stood up. “Sorry to be a disappointment as always, but we’re done for the night. Or at least, I am.” I caught Quinn’s eye, then nodded at the door. “I think we should go.”

Quinn frowned up at me. “Are you sure? We still have—”

“I’m sure.” I held his eyes, willing him to read my thoughts, to understand all the things I couldn’t say out loud.

I like you. I want you. And I need to be naked with you, right now .

“Ryder? What on earth—you can’t just leave in the middle of dinner,” my mother said, her hand clenched around her cloth napkin.

“I can,” I said. “And I think it’s better for all of us if I do.”

“This is your father’s award dinner ,” she hissed, looking around the room. No one at any of the tables close to us was paying attention. “I won’t let you leave.”

“I don’t think you can stop me,” I said, keeping my voice even.

“Can’t stop you, can I? Just think about that for a moment. If you leave now—”

“Oh, let him go, Alice,” my dad grumbled. “It’ll save us the trip of having to come back for his graduation.”

My mom fixed me with a glare. “Ryder, if you leave now, I don’t know when your father will be willing to speak with you again.”

I looked between the two of them and realized I didn’t care. The only person who’d ever been kind to me was Quinn. And he was the only person at this table who I cared about making happy.

I looked down at him. “I’m ready if you are.”

Quinn nodded slowly, then folded his napkin and stood up. “Thank you for the meal, Mr. and Mrs. Olson. It was lovely to meet you.”

“Come on,” I said, already heading for the door. “Let’s go.”

We were still kissing when we bumped up against the front door of my house.

We’d kissed while waiting for the metro, kissed on the train, kissed some more while waiting at red lights as we walked to my house.

“Here, let me.”

I broke away from Quinn’s lips long enough to fumble my keys into the lock. I turned back and caught his lips again as I twisted the knob, the two of us stumbling through the door and into the living room. I pushed Quinn back against the wall and kissed him deeply, then slid my mouth down to seek the skin just below his jaw.

Behind us, someone cleared their throat, and I jumped, turning to see Amir and Raf sitting on the couch.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Amir said.

“Oh, God.” Quinn flushed. “Sorry. We didn’t see you.”

“Good night,” I called, not worried about being rude. I took Quinn’s hand and dragged him up the stairs. Behind us, my friends erupted into laughter. I pushed Quinn into my room, then slammed the door behind us, too turned on to be embarrassed.

We kissed against the door as I removed piece after piece of Quinn’s carefully chosen clothing, and my own. He laughed when I got to work on his shirt, meticulously undoing the buttons one by one.

“I’m surprised you didn’t just rip it off me,” he said.

I looked at him in mock horror, but it was at least fifty percent real. “It’s a nice shirt. I would never do that.”

Once I’d gotten both of us undressed, I pulled him towards the bed and laid him down on his back, straddling him.

“I am going to give you the best blow job of your life,” I told him.

“What? Why?”

“For sticking up for me back there. You were amazing.”

“I was just saying what was true. I can’t believe your parents don’t see how great you are.”

I snorted. “You can stop the act now. They’re not around to listen.”

“I mean it.” Quinn pushed up onto his elbows. “I meant everything I said to them. You are incredibly sweet, and kind, and I really do consider myself lucky to have you as a friend.” He laughed shyly. “Also, not to bring up a sore spot, but you did literally charm the pants off of me tonight.”

I barked a laugh. “Okay, fair point. But I’m still sorry for putting you through all that. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me that they’d be such assholes to you. They were terrible. You shouldn’t have been so nice to them.”

“It’s okay. I’ve dealt with worse.”

“You shouldn’t have to.”

“No, I shouldn’t,” Quinn agreed. “But getting angry in front of them wasn’t going to help.”

“You weren’t getting angry, though. I was.”

“I know. But that’s the thing about stereotypes. People see what they expect to see. If I had reacted negatively to your parents, at the end of the night, they would have remembered me as the angry Black man.”

“I’m pretty sure my parents will have no trouble remembering that I was the one who lost my temper tonight, seeing as that’s one more way I’ve failed them.”

“Okay, well maybe they would remember both of us being angry. But I don’t want your parents to see me that way.”

“I just don’t want you to have to put up with bullshit because it’s easier than making a scene.”

Quinn smiled. “See? This is what I mean. You’re caring, and considerate, and they’re idiots if they’re not proud of you.”

Warmth rushed through me. I didn’t deserve Quinn. I wasn’t good enough for him.

I tried to suppress the voice in the back of my mind that pointed out that in all of the compliments Quinn had given me, he hadn’t said I was smart, and that when you thought about it, the things he was saying were things you’d praise a kindergartener for.

I didn’t want to ruin the evening, so I just said, “Stop it, you’re making me blush.”

He smiled wickedly. “There are other things I’d like to make you do tonight.”

“Ooh, a little Dom/sub play?” I laughed. “Not what I was expecting, but sure, I’ll give it a try.”

“No, dummy. I meant making you come.”

“Oh.” Heat rushed to my cheeks. “Well yeah, that’s okay. But first you. Because I owe you. And I’m going to give you the best orgasm of your life.”

“Big words. Sure you can back them up?” Quinn arched an eyebrow.

“I like this version of you,” I told him. “Confident. Cocky, even. How come you keep him hidden so much?”

“It’s easy to be confident when I’m around you. And when none of my family members are around.”

I laughed. “I hope none of your family members are around for this.” I leaned over the side of the bed. “Auntie Thea, are you under there?”

He swatted my arm. “You know what I mean.” Then he bit his lip.

“What?” I asked.

“I was just thinking…”

“Yeah?”

“If you really wanted to give me the best orgasm of my life, how would you feel about having sex?”