Wilder, Winona - Loving Tyler [Coming Out 3] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic ManLove) (2 page)

His palm against the handle of his briefcase grew slick from perspiration. He was completely out of his element, and the rising heat was becoming unbearable in his heavy layers of Armani. As much as he’d love to see
Tyler
in action, he wanted to get into some air-conditioning and relax with a cold drink. He was still wound up from the long trip and had a dozen cell phone calls he had to make to various clients.

They reached one of several practice rings.
Tyler
didn’t waste time in leaping over the low fence. He walked through the hay-littered centre of the ring with a confident stride. His shoulders were impossibly broad and held back proudly.

Marcus sighed as his deviant nature surfaced. How could he not notice the cowboy had a nice, hard ass? But he wasn’t supposed to think such things. He came from a big, religious Catholic family and such thoughts would never be condoned or forgiven. A million Hail Marys wouldn’t even touch the sins locked up in his head. It was the main reason he stifled all his urges, but not the only reason. Cavendish Tack and Saddles would not keep him around if they knew he had the potential to mar their wholesome image. Partnership was just within his reach, so he wouldn’t blow his chance because he was sexually confused. Recruiting fresh blood wasn’t what he wanted to do for the rest of his life. The constant traveling threw his internal clock completely out of whack. He liked a solid routine, predicable income, and the cleanliness of the office. Driving at all hours, eating at questionable establishments and sleeping at even more dubious motels was grinding at his nerves. He was counting on getting this big account so he’d move up a peg at work.

He watched as
Tyler
made small talk with the hired hands and examined the horses. Marcus pulled a folded cloth napkin from his pocket and mopped his brow. He looked up at the sky, not a cloud to be seen in the great blue expanse.
Fucking great.

Tyler
returned to the fence, a smile still on his face from the bantering he’d been having with the other men. “I have a few hours until my barrel race. You wanna do this now instead of waiting for dinner? That way you can be on your way before dark.”

Marcus got the feeling he had his work cut out for him. He needed to sign this cowboy or there would be hell to pay when he returned to the city. New, fresh talent was what they’d been discussing all month in their board meetings. Tyler James was the perfect candidate. It baffled him why he’d turn down easy money.

“Whatever you want.”

“I wouldn’t say that if I were you.”
Tyler
winked. Just the way he looked at him made his groin stir. Was he purposely flirting with him? No, he was just overly tired and obscenely attracted to the other man. His mind was playing tricks on him.

They walked along the side of the road, dust billowing up with each step. He worried about his black suit getting grimy. Everyone stared in their direction, but Marcus stood out like a square peg in a round hole in his attire.
Tyler
was laid-back, calling out greetings, smiling, and rubbing the heads of little kids as they passed. “Do you live in this town?”

“Me? No.”

“You seem to know everyone here.” Marcus tugged at his collar and could have sworn steam escaped.

“It’s a rodeo town. We all meet up before and after events.”

“Interesting. So the same riders travel from town to town?” Marcus enjoyed learning about new people and cultures, and this lifestyle was completely new to him. He’d never quite found a place where he fit in, even his life back home. He imagined it was because half his life was a lie as he lived to please everyone but himself.

“Something like that.”
Tyler
turned to face him, his eyes hypnotic. “Some people call me a drifter because I don’t have a place of my own. Can’t really settle down when you’re constantly traveling from one point to the next.”

Marcus wouldn’t be able to handle such instability. He even had his clothes planned out for the week in advance. His condo was neat as a pin, and every detail of his life could be found in his day planner. “So, where will you stay tonight?”

Tyler
grinned, appearing amused by Marcus’s concern. “Don’t even know yet, darlin’. Suppose if I can’t find a room to rent, I’ll crash in my truck.”

Marcus didn’t know what to say. Cowboys called everyone
darlin’
, didn’t they? Including other men?

He was flabbergasted that a person could live this way and there was a town of like-minded men willingly experiencing the same thing. He knew the cowboy did well for himself with his rodeo earnings or Cavendish wouldn’t have been interested in him. How could anyone choose this?

Still, he wouldn’t dare say something stupid and insult the man he needed to impress. He had to remind himself he was here for business only.

“No family?”

“No family.”

Marcus kept his mouth shut before he put his foot in it. He couldn’t even imagine what it felt like to be alone in the world. He had so many brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, and cousins that he was never truly on his own. There was always someone stopping by or calling, whether it was welcomed or not. Sometimes he wished he could cut the ties to his relatives and know what it felt like to truly be himself—no expectations, no putting on a mask, and no suffocation.

They reached their destination after a brief walk. The diner was a fifties-styles train car set up just down the main street. A classic greasy spoon, if ever he saw one. Marcus kept a strict diet that didn’t include garbage like an abundance of carbs, fat, sugar, and other empty calories. He went to the gym four times a week on his way home from work, and added matcha to nearly everything he ate. Health was important to him, but he wasn’t such a stickler that he’d embarrass
Tyler
by refusing to eat. Surely they’d have something light on the menu.

“Tyler James!” Several patrons in the diner called out when they entered. Little bells chimed on the glass when the door shut behind them, making Marcus briefly whirl around.

“Where’s Jet at? Ain’t seen him around lately.”

Tyler
frowned, his jovial nature fading quickly. “I’m not his keeper. You’re asking the wrong man, Carl.” He laid a hand on Marcus’s shoulder and guided him to a booth at the end of the aisle. “I think we should take a booth, especially if you want to give me your whole spiel about sponsorship without getting interrupted.”

They sat across from each other, sunlight dancing on the cracked linoleum surface of the table. He couldn’t possibly sit for an hour in his tailored jacket. Even though unprofessional, he leaned forward and shrugged out of the material and carefully laid it beside him, folded over once so it wouldn’t wrinkle.

When he shifted to give
Tyler
his attention, the other man was already staring at him as if Marcus was an oddity he’d never come across. “I thought maybe it was your jacket, but you have some nice, broad shoulders on you.”

“Me? Thank you, I guess.” He forced himself to smooth out the wrinkle in his brow. The cowboy continually confused him, but again, he knew nothing of this subculture of country folk.

“Do you work out?”
Tyler
reached across the table, beckoning for his hand. He reached out, uncertain what the man wanted from him. Would he fail this test, if it even was a test? Were his hands too soft, too smooth from working behind a computer most of the day? He imagined
Tyler
’s were firm and calloused from gripping handfuls of leather reins during his events. The thought of the cowboy touching him with those rough hands got his heart beating double time.

“I try to take care of my body.”

Tyler
used both his hands to massage one of Marcus’s, twisting it this way and that, examining his fingers and palm. Then his hands went higher, testing the muscles in his forearm. Could he feel the tension in his body? Marcus felt more coiled than a spring, uncertain to what he should be feeling about another man. “I can imagine what you look like under that fancy shirt. You probably have toned pecs and ripped abs, don’t you?”

“Flavor of the week,
Tyler
?” A middle-aged blonde woman broke the spell, saving him from answering. She had a conspiratorial smirk as she plucked a pen from behind her ear and poised it above a small pad.

“Dara, don’t start with me, woman. Give me my usual.”
Tyler
pulled away, his light-hearted voice becoming perturbed. He turned to Marcus, the anger quickly dissipating. “What do you want, sweet thing?”

He swallowed hard, feeling aghast and flattered all at once. “Um…Do you have salad?”

“Salad? Are you a cow? Give him what I’m having, Dara, and give us some damn privacy.”

“Whatever you say, Berton Wells.” She laughed as she sashayed back to the kitchen.

Tyler
was shaking his head when he returned his attention to Marcus. “Don’t mind her. She’s out to destroy me.” He chuckled and began fiddling with the sugar packets on the table.

“Who’s Berton Wells?”

“It’s just a stupid nickname they gave me a couple years ago, and it stuck.” He scrubbed his stubbled jaw. “It was the name of one of the most famous stud horses in these parts. You get the idea…”

“Oh, I see, you’re a hit with the ladies, are you?” Why did it make him feel jealous and defensive? He should be used to being a minority, desiring men who obviously were only into women. But the little hints and names of endearment made Marcus feel special.
Tyler
looked at him with a mix of confusion and curiosity. “I guess Cavendish didn’t do their research before sending you all the way down here. I’m sure they wouldn’t want my sexual preference in the headlines.”

“What do you mean?”

“Darlin’, I like men, only men. I thought everyone knew it. Lord knows I’ve never tried to hide the fact.” The waitress came back with two large Cokes and set them on the table.
Tyler
pulled back and leaned against the vinyl bench seat.

“I—”

Tyler
took a drink. Marcus was too in shock to look the other man in the eye. He only studied the ring of moisture left on the table from the glass as his mind processed information at an alarming rate. All the signs were there—the cute names, the touching. But he’d always associated gay men with the typical stereotype of annoying femininity, chicks with dicks as he commonly thought of them. It was just one of many reasons he refused to acknowledge the fact he wasn’t heterosexual.

The cowboy sitting across from him, watching him with those deep green eyes, was everything a man should be—strong, confident and masculine. He was right about Cavendish. They’d never accept a gay man as their poster boy. It was the same reason Marcus kept his feelings of confusion to himself. He even dated women occasionally to appease his family and appear normal in the eyes of his peers, but those were brief encounters and never lasted. God knows he tried to like women, but he was just hardwired different than most.

For years he tried to convince himself he was going through a phase, that he’d start desiring the opposite sex any time, but it never happened. The guilt ate him a bit each day until he made the decision to ignore his impulses and focus on work. Stifling his sexuality had him pent-up and irritable most days, but he expelled that energy at the gym and through frequent mediation.

“Cat got your tongue?”

He refocused on the here and now. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Sorry for what? Do I look like I need pity?”

A silence no graveyard had known lingered around their small booth. Marcus wanted to take back his words, not sure if he should apologize or hightail it and run. They were saved by the rattle of two heavy porcelain plates being unceremoniously dropped on their table. Marcus turned to the lady. “Thank you.”

“No problem, handsome. You’re not from around here, are you?” She leaned on her hip, awaiting his response.

“Leave him be, Dara. He’s with me.”

Marcus’s eyes darted to
Tyler
. The cowboy gave him a discreet wink.

“He’ll only break your heart, sweetheart.” The waitress waltzed off, stopping at the other booths to check on customers.

“She thinks you’re gay.”
Tyler
laughed. “But don’t be offended. I only date the best.” He began to eat the French fries she’d left as if they hadn’t just had the oddest, most uncomfortable exchange of words. Should he eat the greasy garbage served to him or risk blurting out something inappropriate?