Page 62 of Pieces of Me

“I’ll download the shots I took tonight onto a memory stick and drop it off here tomorrow,” he said, slinging the backpack over one shoulder and looking up at Scott. “Or I can e-mail a file to the owner. Whichever you think he’ll prefer.”

Scott didn’t answer, moving closer, roaming his eyes over Rylan’s face, cataloging the differences six years had made. There was a scar high on his cheekbone that Scott knew hadn’t been there, and he couldn’t help but reach out to brush his thumb over it. It was small but jagged, the raised skin rasping against the sensitive pad. “What happened here?” he asked, his thumb moving in small circles.

Rylan’s blue eyes were steady on his, and he gave a small shrug as he pulled away. Scott let his hand drop to his side. Rylan started for the dressing room door before turning back. “The photos?” he prompted. “For the owner to look at and decide about a job?”

Scott blinked. “Just, um, run a memory stick back over when you can. The owner’s name is Corey. Corey Lindermann.”

“Thanks, Scott.” Rylan smiled at him as he pushed through the door to leave. “I mean it.” Then he was gone.

A brief moment of indecision, and Scott went after him, following him out to the crowded sidewalk. The club was minutes away from closing, and the patrons were already spilling out to mill around, inebriated and chattering excitedly. Scott could see Rylan in the distance, striding away toward the light-rail stop a couple of blocks over.

“Rylan!” he called, jogging up behind him. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Rylan looked puzzled. “For interfering with my one-night stand?” He quirked his lips at Scott’s sheepish nod. “I’ll survive.” His blue eyes were sparkling, and suddenly Scott didn’t want to let him go.

“How about breakfast, my treat?” he suggested impulsively. “There’s a diner a few blocks away that makes a mean omelet.”

Rylan cocked his head to the side. “Sure,” he said. “But you don’t have your own plans?” His meaning was clear, and Scott shook his head.

“No. The guy I’m dating right now is out of town.”

Rylan glanced at him in surprise. “You’re dating someone?”

“Yeah, for a few weeks now.” Scott could tell Rylan was dying to say something, so he prompted, “What?”

“He doesn’t have a problem with―” Rylan waved his hand back toward the club.

“My work?” Scott started moving in the direction of the diner, his hands stuffed in his pockets, waiting until Rylan was keeping pace with him. “No, why would he? He’s a gay porn model.”

Rylan choked, and Scott gave a low chuckle. “He’s off filming a scene this weekend, in fact.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“No. It’s his job, like the entertaining I do at the club is mine. We both know what we’re getting, what the score is.”

They reached the diner, and Scott pulled the door open for Rylan and took a deep breath of the comforting coffee and griddle smell that washed over them from the warm, bright interior. They seated themselves, a hot carafe and menus soon in hand thanks to a friendly, gum-chewing waitress.

Scott knew what he wanted to order already, so he sat back as Rylan perused the menu, his head down, his lashes dark against his cheek. He didn’t have the cute purple hair anymore, and the earrings he sported in each ear were tiny diamond studs now instead of the flashy cubic zirconia. Stubble shadowed his lean jaw, and the hands holding his menu were slender, long-fingered, the nails short and meticulously clean. A large dive watch was on his wrist, and other than a braided leather choker, he didn’t wear any other jewelry.

“What about you?” Scott asked when Rylan tossed his menu aside and picked up his coffee cup to take a few cautious sips, closing his eyes in rapture.

“God, this is good coffee,” he muttered. “What about me―what?”

“Boyfriend? Someone waiting for you back home?”

Rylan pursed his lips, a shadowed look coming into his eyes. “My boyfriend didn’t want me to move out here,” he said quietly. “Broke up with me right before I left Miami.” He shrugged. “Said he couldn’t do the long-distance thing, even knowing it was only temporary.”

“Sorry, Ry.”

“Yeah, it sucked. We were pretty serious. At least I thought we were. But the first challenge that came along, he bailed completely on me.” Rylan gave Scott a rueful grin. “That’s why I’m sitting here so fascinated by the thought of you dating a porn star. Your relationship must be superstrong to withstand knowing he’s having sex with someone else tonight, even if it’s just a job, while you’re half-naked, grinding down on some dude’s lap and his hands are all over you.”

Scott raised an eyebrow. “Or maybe,” he replied, his tone dry, “neither one of us cares enough for it to matter.”

Rylan’s eyes widened, and he choked a little on his sip of coffee, coughing into his napkin. “Guess that’s a possibility, too,” he said when he got his breath back. “But why call it ‘dating,’ then?”

Scott took a sip of his water. “Wishful thinking, I guess. Because each time I date someone I think maybe I’ll try to care, but it’s not long before I realize I still don’t give a shit.”

“Does the other person feel the same way, though?”