Page 72 of Pieces of Me

“Men are more uncomplicated?” Rylan kept his face devoid of any expression that could be construed as pity or judgment, knowing that would cause Scott to shut right down. “I wouldn’t have any comparison myself,” he added drily.

Scott nodded. “By far. And I’ve never had any romantic feelings for a woman, ever.”

“And you have for men?”

Scott glanced away again. “Just one.”

Rylan froze, but Scott pulled away and rolled to his feet, trying in vain to brush the dirt from his ass and legs. He finally gave up and reached down a strong hand to yank Rylan to standing.

“Go take some pictures,” he ordered. “You made it up here, now take advantage of it.”

Rylan accepted the change of subject for what it was and wandered away, the promised beauty of the view distracting him, and soon he was deeply involved in setting up the perfect shot. Before he knew it, Scott was tapping him on the shoulder.

“I hate to interrupt,” he said softly, “but I still need to hit the gym for some powerlifting, and I’d like some time for a quick nap before going out tonight. I can bring you back up here sometime if you weren’t done.”

Rylan powered the camera off and put the lens cap back on before stowing the whole thing in his backpack and slinging it over one shoulder. “I was only playing around,” he said, “experimenting with the light and depth from being up so high. Sea level, remember?” He pointed to himself self-deprecatingly, and Scott grinned.

“Let’s get you back down to your comfort zone right now.” He knelt at Rylan’s feet, his back to him. Rylan stared down at him.

“What―”

“Climb on!” Scott instructed, and Rylan was horrified.

“No! Jesus. I can walk down.” He made to move past Scott, and Scott grabbed his leg, stopping him.

“I want to get down fast,” he said, “and you weigh probably, what, one sixty-five?” When Rylan nodded, Scott went on, “I can get part of my lifting in right now, so climb on.”

Rylan peered around and straddled Scott’s back, yelping when Scott straightened, hooking his arms under Rylan’s knees in a classic piggyback. He took off in a lope toward the trail, and as they passed Pete’s group, Rylan heard one of the girls say in a disgusted tone, “Why oh why are the gorgeous ones always gay?”

Scott’s steps were surefooted and lithe as he ran, and after some fright over whether Scott would drop him, Rylan settled in to enjoy the ride, draping his arms around Scott’s neck, squeezing his sides with his knees. Their sweaty skin slid together as they bounced along, and Rylan was hyperaware of how his crotch was pressed into the small of Scott’s back.

The old Technicolor 3-strip camera was converted in the 1950s to shoot in horizontal 8 perf 35mm frames with a 1.5 anamorphic lens. Once processed, the film came out to a 2.40 aspect ratio.

Rylan ran through as many final-exam questions and answers as he could remember, trying to keep himself distracted from the sensation of Scott’s hard body moving between his legs, the heat of Scott’s bare back pressed against his chest. Still, he was disappointed when Scott set him down about two-thirds of the way to the bottom.

“Gonna sprint the rest of the way,” he panted. “Meet you at the car.” He took off in a run, leaping over rocks and dodging other people on the trail with the surefootedness of a mountain goat. Men and women both did double takes as he flashed past, and Rylan sucked in a deep shaky breath and headed after him.

When he reached the car about ten minutes later, Scott was on the phone, his body language clearly angry.

“I told you, I’ve been working out,” Rylan heard him say. “Some cardio and lifting.” Pause. “No, another couple hours, at least.” He sighed heavily. “Look. I’m sorry the Vegas shoot didn’t pan out. Why don’t you come out to the club tonight, and we’ll go somewhere to talk. What? I said I want to talk, Lance, so relax.”

Rylan wandered off a little ways away from the car, trying to give Scott some privacy. After a few more minutes of terse back and forth, Scott hung up and beckoned Rylan over.

“Let’s go,” he said, his voice weary and a little sad. They made the drive to Rylan’s apartment in silence, and right as Scott pulled up in front of Rylan’s building, his phone chimed with an incoming notification.

Instead of tensing up or getting angry, though, Scott suddenly grinned. “Look,” he said, turning the phone to show Rylan. “Pete posted this to the club’s Instagram account. We all have access.”

Rylan leaned over to see, and he smiled too. Pete had snapped a pic of Rylan on Scott’s back, that moment when Scott was making sure Rylan was secure before taking off down the trail. They were looking at each other and laughing, the sky behind them a brilliant blue. Pete captioned it, “Ran into some hotties on my hike today! This little horsey was rode hard and put up wet. Giddyap!”

Rylan’s face burned at the suggestive phrasing, but there wasn’t anything salacious about the pic, just a couple of guys out enjoying each other’s company and the beautiful day. The comments were already rolling in, though, about Scott being a “daddy” and a “top,” along with the ubiquitous pleas for Scott to fuck them.

“‘Ditch that femme boy, gorgeous,’” Rylan read out loud, scrolling down. “‘Baby twink ain’t good enough for you.’” He handed the phone back with a grimace.

Scott looked at him narrowly. “You’re going to need that thick skin of yours more than ever,” he warned, “working at the club, especially if we’re going to be traveling together. There will be lots of comments like that, and worse.” He shrugged. “It’s all part of it, and no one’s immune. People are assholes.”

Rylan got out of the car, shut the door, and leaned against the doorframe, propping his elbows on it. “I can handle it,” he reassured him. “I’m not that sensitive, believe me.” He straightened and gave Scott a little wave as he moved toward his apartment. “See you tonight.”

Scott nodded, shoved the car in reverse, and drove away without another word.