The Backup Boyfriend (The Boyfriend Chronicles) (4 page)

“I don’t mind.”

“No need to trouble yourself.”

“No trouble at all. I’m feeling pretty motivated,” Dylan said. “Cuz the sooner you leave, the sooner Alec and I can get back to that sex swing.”

Tyler paused in the midst of picking up the remaining boxes. “Alec doesn’t have a sex swing.”

The grin that hijacked Dylan’s face was huge. “He does now.”

Man, he’d really rolled out of the evil side of bed this morning.

Alec sounded defeated. “You just don’t know when to shut up, do you?”

“It’s a gift,” Dylan said.

Or a curse, depending on the day.

For a brief moment, the unflappable Tyler looked uncertain, less sure of himself. Good, let the bastard have doubts. Finally, Tyler shook his head, the unruffled expression returning as he held the last two boxes in his arms.

“Guess we’ll see you both at Noah’s party,” Tyler said as he passed by.

Dylan’s grin returned. “Looking forward to it.”

Thirty minutes later Alec blew out a sigh of relief when he heard the
beep, beep, beep
of the combination to the front keyless entry of his home, and Noah swept inside with a flamboyant flourish. A tightly wound bundle of energy in a compact five-foot-ten-inch body, he looked casually dressed, but Alec knew the outfit by Hermes had cost a fortune. Noah’s lean frame sported a long-sleeved, cashmere T-shirt and fitted black jeans.

Alec just hoped the man had brought his powers of persuasion along.

Noah closed the door and paused, assessing Alec and Dylan where they sat in the living room. “I need a Bloody Mary.”

“It’s only eleven o’clock in the morning,” Alec said.

Though, God knows, after Tyler’s visit and Dylan’s maverick mouth, Alec felt the need for a drink too.

“Yes, a bit of the hair of the dog and all that,” Noah said as he smoothed a black strand of hair from his forehead. “Couldn’t this have waited until a better time? Like next year?”

Alec said firmly, “No.”

The first thing Alec had done after Tyler left was call Noah and insist he come over. Normally Alec would have taken pity on his friend, but this time Noah’s hangover-fueled protests went unheeded. Alec needed him to talk some sense into Dylan. Besides, it was only fair. Noah was the one who had sent Alec to Dylan in the first place, and Noah had neglected to mention the man was insane.

Alec would have remembered such a description.

Noah crossed the living room toward Dylan, where he stood at the minibar, mixing the Bloody Mary.

“Remember, Noah,” Dylan said, “this afternoon’s meeting about the poker run can’t run any longer than forty-five minutes, tops.”

“I’ll do my best.” Noah accepted the drink with a murmured thanks. “But I can’t make any guarantees.”

Dylan pointed a finger in Noah’s direction. “Don’t make me pull out a timer.”

“Deal,” Noah said. “As long as you don’t make me drink alone.”

Dylan obligingly pulled a beer from the tiny refrigerator, and Alec got the distinct impression the mutually tolerant pattern of interaction had been forged ages ago.

“I saw last week’s blog,” Noah said to Dylan. “I have to say, your post was inspiring.”

Surprised, Alec glanced at the mechanic. “You have a blog?”

“Yep.” Dylan twisted the top off his bottle with a hissing
pop
. “About vintage bikes.” He flipped the cap between his fingers, and it hit the stainless steel garbage can with a
ping
, plopping inside.

Noah grinned as he watched the procedure. “That never fails to amuse me,” he said, turning to Alec. “Isn’t he just the butchiest thing you’ve ever seen?”

Instead of answering, Alec addressed Dylan instead. “What do you write about?”

“Last week I explained what produces the unique sound of a Harley, starting with an explanation about the four cycles of power generation.” A faint grin slipped up Dylan’s face. “The suck, the squeeze, the bang, and the blow.”

“Sounds like my night last night.” Noah sent Dylan an innocent expression. “The suck and the squeeze were good. But the bang and the blow were phenomenal.”

“We don’t want to hear about it,” Alec said.

“Sweetie, that’s because you’re not getting laid regularly anymore.” Noah gestured at the bay window. “You live in San Francisco, for chrissakes. There’s a great big gay world out there with plenty of men to go around.” His gaze settled on Alec, his voice dropping an octave. “It’s time, Alec.”

It’s time, Alec
.

The words reverberated through Alec’s head, and he shifted his attention to the window and the Harley parked in the driveway. Up until this point, he’d been avoiding Noah’s hints about moving on—the loss of a sex life the least of Alec’s problems. But, deep down, he knew Noah was referring to something more important.

Clinging to memories of better times with Tyler was fruitless, but Alec had invested two years of his life into their relationship.
Two years
. And letting go of his hopes for forever had proved harder than he’d ever imagined.

Noah interrupted his thoughts. “You need to start dating.”

“True,” Alec said. But after being so wrong, how could he ever trust his choice of a potential partner again? Alec pushed the thought aside. “Except now Tyler thinks I’m sleeping with Dylan.”

Noah choked on his drink, his face turning red as he struggled for breath. For a moment Alec thought he’d need to help clear his friend’s airway.

“Dylan’s as straight as they come. You can’t even get him drunk and take advantage of him.” Noah pretended to look dejected. He hadn’t earned the nickname the
Diva of
Drama
for nothing. “Trust me, I tried and failed.”

Dylan rolled his eyes. “That was a long time ago. And we all know how much you love confusing intoxicated heterosexuals.”

“Everyone has to have a hobby. Besides, a little flirting never hurt anyone,” Noah said with a dismissive hand before he turned to Alec. “Why would Tyler think you’re sleeping with Dylan?”

“Because I told him we were,” Dylan said.

Noah gripped his glass, frozen, the only movement a slow blink of his eyelids. When he finally recovered, he dropped into a chair. “Now I’m confused.”

“Join the club,” Alec muttered.

Not that sleeping with Dylan was a repulsive idea. Who wouldn’t admire the classic good looks, killer body, and confident attitude? Dylan was daring, unapologetic, and so rough around the edges he made tree bark look like polished glass. The earthy rawness made for an impressive animal magnetism.

“What’s there to be confused about?” Dylan said. He took a pull from his bottle, his Adam’s apple doing a mesmerizing slow rise and fall. “I come to the party and pretend to be Alec’s main squeeze.”

Alec’s head pounded, the beginnings of a killer headache coming on. “You’re not really coming.”

“Hell, yeah, I am,” Dylan said in protest. “I’m not letting that asshole call me a liar and get away with it.”

“But you
were
lying,” Alec said.

“Hah.” Dylan pointed his bottle at Alec. “But he can’t prove that, now can he?”

Alec squeezed his forehead between his thumb and his index finger, hoping to thwart the budding migraine. My God, the man really wanted to go through with the ridiculous plan.

Alec turned to Noah. “He’s
your
friend. Can’t you convince him not to go?”

“Me?” Noah pressed his hand to his chest. “I wouldn’t miss this fake-homo show for all the Gucci shoes on Rodeo Drive. Besides, once Dylan Booth gets an idea in his head, the threat of hell and high water pants won’t change his mind. Hetero or not, he’ll make a fabulous backup boyfriend.”

Dylan tipped his head. “Backup boyfriend?”

“You know,” Noah said. “The boyfriend substitute, at least that’s how I use the term. He’s not a real boyfriend, just a convenience. For display purposes only. Sometimes used to make the ex jealous.”

“I don’t want to make the ex jealous,” Alec said. “That’s a junior high school move.”

“Yeah?” Dylan said drily. “Well, my inner twelve-year-old would love to see Tyler jealous.”

Noah turned his gaze to Alec. “You know how much I admire Tyler’s dedication to the Front Street Clinic.”

Alec mentally winced, but not because of the whiplash change of subject. Alec had acclimated to Noah’s hectic, non sequitur ramblings long ago. But the new topic left Alec worried what would pop from his friend’s mouth next. With Noah, danger lurked around every benign-looking corner.

“Tyler’s a great guy and a fantastic physician. Almost too dedicated to his patients if you ask me,” Noah continued. “But he’s always so…coolly detached. I swear if his pulse got any lower, we’d have to have him declared dead.” He lobbed a look at Alec. “I never thought he was right for you.”

Christ, how had his friend known the truth while Alec had remained so oblivious? When Dylan had opened his mouth and lied about their relationship, Alec’s first instinct had been to deny, deny, deny. Mostly because he knew how much further the lie took him from reconciliation.

Yes, he understood they were over, and he had too much self-respect to cling to someone who’d so obviously moved on. But a small part of him kept thinking if Tyler came back, then Alec hadn’t really spent two years being so
wrong
…

A smile crept up Noah’s face. “I’d like to see Tyler jealous too. In fact, nothing would entertain me more than watching Dylan ruffle the Ice Man’s implacable feathers.”

“Then I’ll simply skip the party,” Alec said.

“You can’t,” Noah said calmly. “I planned it specifically for you and Tyler.”

Dylan shot Alec a confused look, but Alec was too mentally exhausted by the idea of an evening with Dylan, Tyler, and the new boyfriend in the same room to explain its origins. Noah, on other hand, was a perpetual energy machine.

Noah’s enthusiasm showed in his voice. “The Front Street Clinic is receiving the humanitarian award from the Bay Area Council on HIV.”

“And…?” Dylan asked.

“And I’m throwing a party to celebrate,” Noah said as if the answer should be obvious. “Tyler and Alec and I worked our asses off getting that clinic up and running. A one-hundred-thousand-dollar check earmarked for our housing project and a tacky plaque inscribed with Alec’s and Tyler’s names should be celebrated in style.”

Alec glanced at Noah. “You could cancel the party.”

“But I bought enough caviar for a hundred people,” Noah said. “What would I do with such a large order of fish eggs?”

“Donate it to a local food bank?” Alec suggested hopefully.

“Goodness, no,” Noah said, as if Alec had announced they should all eat gazpacho with their fingers. “The order is coming from Caviar House and Prunier in London. This demands a palate that can appreciate quality.”

“Quit pretending to be a snob, Noah,” Dylan said.

“Hon, I’m not pretending.”

For once, Dylan was right. Noah was mostly show. Alec had long suspected Noah’s claim of chasing straight men bordered on being a huge exaggeration.

Questionable sexual conquests aside, Noah used to serve on the Bay Area Council on HIV, which is how Alec had met him. When Alec and Tyler had first envisioned a clinic for the homeless, Noah had worked tirelessly behind the scenes to ensure they had adequate financial support. The man’s energy was amazing, if not exhausting.

“Well, if you’re not canceling the party, I’m going,” Dylan said.

Noah narrowed his gaze at Dylan. “This isn’t your beer-and-a-bucket-of-chicken-wings kind of affair. You up to the task?”

“Definitely,” Dylan said.

“Seven o’clock, two weeks from today,” Noah said. “My place.”

“I’ll be the one in the leather dog collar,” Dylan said.

Noah laughed, Dylan grinned, and Alec let out a groan.

Christ, this was going to be a disaster.

The next morning, after days of typical non-stop fog, the wet blanket had lifted, and the rising sun celebrated by stretching streamers of pink and orange across the sky. Dylan had been itching to hit the road since he’d parked his and Alec’s motorcycles on the trailer behind his truck and driven them east toward Livermore Valley. Two such beautiful bikes deserved a kick-ass route, and Dylan had chosen accordingly. The wine country’s rolling, vineyard-covered hills offered the perfect place to practice Alec’s skills. Dylan had unloaded the bikes with anticipation, but so far, the ride hadn’t lived up to his expectations.

In fact, the trip kinda sucked.

As Dylan followed behind, they headed over a patch of rough road, and Alec’s Harley shook like a washing machine on spin. Dylan bit back the words crowding his throat. He hated sounding like a broken record. But he’d dragged his butt out of bed before the ass-crack of dawn on a Sunday to give Alec the promised lesson, and, bloody hell, he had every intention of following through.

No matter how moody the student.

“Dude, I told you,” Dylan said into the microphone in his helmet. “You need to relax your grip and let the front wheel adjust to the terrain. That’s what it’s supposed to do.”

Instead, Alec’s hands seemed to tighten around the handles. Dylan could practically see Alec’s knuckles bleeding color from the effort. Frustration pierced Dylan in the gut, mostly because he knew the man wasn’t nervous or uncomfortable or acting out of defiance.

No, Alec simply looked pissed off.

They’d been on the spectacularly scenic road for an hour now, enjoying cooler morning temperatures and the scent of earth and all things green, yet Alec appeared no closer to relaxing than he had when Dylan arrived at his house. At first he figured Alec wasn’t a morning person, passing off the man’s one-word responses in the truck as a sign of not enough caffeine. Dylan had hoped getting out on the motorcycles would ease Alec’s tendency toward one-syllable replies. Once they’d gotten started, Dylan had coached Alec via the wireless headset. Alec, however, then chose complete silence.

Single word responses were apparently too much for him now.

Alec’s shoulders looked rigid as he steered through the turn, and Dylan sighed into his microphone. “You’re too tense.”

No response.

“You know,” Dylan said, lips twisting wryly, “in case you hadn’t realized, the wireless setup in our helmets works both ways.”