The Backup Boyfriend (The Boyfriend Chronicles) (6 page)

“I appreciate the offer, but what about the Triumph?” Alec asked.

“It’ll keep until tomorrow. I’ll tell the owner of the bike I’m running a day behind schedule.”

“Won’t your boss get mad?”

“Dude,
I’m
the owner,” Dylan said. “I can do whatever I want.”

The news sent Alec’s hairline reaching higher. When Noah had sent him to see Dylan, Alec hadn’t given the ownership of the business any thought. “I assumed you were an employee.”

“Hell, no,” Dylan said. “You think I’d work this hard for someone else? I own this bucket of grease, lock, stock, and barrel of used motor oil.”

“Then why isn’t it called Booth’s Classic Motors?”

Dylan’s face went blank, and he turned back to the motorcycle, plunging his fingers back inside. Dylan might be a hard man to read, but right now the tension in his shoulders spoke volumes. Several seconds passed by until Alec began to wonder if Dylan would answer the question.

“My best friend’s last name was Adams. We used to talk about opening our own business restoring vintage motorcycles.” Gaze fixed on the Triumph, Dylan gave a tiny shrug. “So I guess it’s a way of making sure Rick got what he’d always wanted.”

Alec rested his palm on the handle of the Harley, unsettled by the news.

“Rick,” Alec said slowly, the pieces of the puzzle slowly slotting together. “As in Noah’s old boyfriend?”

“Yep.”

Alec didn’t know much except that Noah had dated a man who had died of HIV, hence Noah’s commitment to the community. But the news that Dylan’s friendship with Noah had been forged through that relationship came as a complete surprise.

In retrospect the information explained a lot about the connection between Dylan and Noah, complete opposites in many respects. From the first moment Alec had watched the two interact, he’d been curious. Alec could tell the bond went deep. He just hadn’t known why.

Crouched by the bike, Dylan continued with his task, and Alec searched for something appropriate to say.

“That’s a nice way to keep his memory alive,” Alec said.

“Mmm hmm,” Dylan said, keeping his eyes on his task. “Every year on Rick’s birthday we used to take a road trip. The poker run is a way of remembering him and raising money for HIV research at the same time.”

So not only had Dylan named his business after his dead friend, Dylan had started a fundraiser in honor of him as well. Still waters did indeed run deep. Dangerously deep.

“Bring the Harley over here and we’ll start with an oil change,” Dylan said.

The subtext came across loud and clear: conversation over, time to move on.

Alec dismounted, pushed the motorcycle closer, and parked next to the Triumph.

The next two hours came as a complete surprise and were much more entertaining than Alec would have predicted. Every time Dylan sent Alec to fetch something, Alec tried to help, but his ignorance about basic tools was impossible to hide. When Dylan had to describe what a Phillips screwdriver was, the mechanic could barely contain his laughter.

After that, Dylan’s good-natured teasing became a part of the process. So Alec shamelessly used his photographic memory to spout random motorcycle facts he’d picked up during his research—the first time since college that Alec’s ability to recall useless information had come in handy.

As Dylan set the bucket of used motor oil aside, Alec finally worked up the courage to ask the question that prompted today’s visit. “Tomorrow I’m planning on having a beer at Danny’s Suds and Sports and catching the football game on TV. You want to come along?”

Alec hated that he held his breath while waiting for an answer. One of the few things he and Tyler had shared outside of work had been college football. Alec considered himself a serious fan. Tyler maintained an interest as well, enough to humor Alec, anyway. And with the start of the season tomorrow night, the first since their breakup, he couldn’t stomach the thought of watching the game alone.

Christ, he hated rattling around an empty home.

“When is the game?” Dylan asked.

Dylan stood and placed the bucket of old oil on a table before returning to kneel by the motorcycle, this time right at Alec’s feet. The scent of spicy soap and musky man and motorcycle hit, reminding Alec of Dylan’s intent to pose as his new boyfriend. Alec’s nervous system sparked, his thoughts stumbling.

“Seven o’clock,” Alec said.

“College or pro?”

“College.”

“Which team?”

Alec absently studied the sweat staining the collar of Dylan’s T-shirt and the smudge of motor oil on the back of his neck, a result of the messy process and the state of Dylan’s hands.

“College Bay University,” Alec said.

“The Tigers?” Dylan winced. “Somehow, I never pictured you as a glutton for punishment.”

“I know,” Alec said, a smile overtaking his face. “But they’re local. Besides, I like cheering for the underdog.”

“If you support the Tigers, you must get off on cheering for the losing team as well.” Dylan leaned back on his heels, bringing him closer to Alec’s legs, and sent him pointed look.

Unfortunately, now those green eyes gazed up at him from a position that brought to mind all sorts of scenarios involving Dylan on his knees, and Alec’s body went still. His traitorous mind pictured sweat-slicked arms and messy fingers reaching out to cup Alec’s crotch. Unzipping his zipper…

And before Alec could stop them, more graphic visions barreled past. Dylan’s callused hands stroking Alec’s cock. That pink tongue circling his head. Dylan’s mouth stretched wide around him, hot and slick and taking him deep. Alec gripping that grease-stained neck as he thrust hard, coming in the back of Dylan’s throat.

Holy shit
.

Heart thudding painfully, Alec gave a single shake of his head and forced the images from his mind.

Alec didn’t trust himself to date just yet. And he’d be crazy to get involved with someone looking for nothing more than a quick fuck. Alec had never been the one-night-stand type, a sure route to frustration and heartbreak. But fantasizing about an unattainable straight man?

The epitome of ludicrous.

Dylan gave a sharp nod. “Okay. I’ll come.”

Alec ignored the thrill jutting through his veins at Dylan’s unintentional double entendre.

“Good.” Alec cleared his throat awkwardly. “I’ll go dump the bucket.”

He picked up the pail and headed for the used-oil barrel, feeling slightly unsteady.

So far he’d had no trouble admiring Dylan’s drool-worthy attributes with an almost detached, clinical air, like one did of someone completely out of reach. But time had changed things. Clearly there was more to Dylan’s rough-and-tumble attitude and sharp tongue than Alec first appreciated, namely learning his bark lacked serious bite. Not to mention his dedication to his friend’s memory.

Alec bit back a sigh. Enjoying his time with Dylan was fine. Admiring his loyalty was good too. And Alec felt no shame recognizing that the man brought a new level of standards to the phrase “sex on two legs.”

But there was something slightly alarming the way Dylan, without even trying, pressed a hidden nerve inside Alec. A nerve he hadn’t known existed. Dylan had unlocked a sweaty, tough-guy fantasy Alec had been better off
not
knowing he harbored.

And now, when he looked into Dylan’s gaze, Alec suddenly longed to see heat in those green eyes as they peered down at him from a very inappropriate position.

Christ. And he’d thought his life couldn’t get any more screwed up.

~~~***~~~

Packed, the sports bar hummed with fans hoping against hope their team could pull off the impossible and actually win a game. And if someone had told Dylan he’d wind up hanging out with a guy who knew every statistical fact about the Tigers, he’d have sworn he needed to get a life.

Alec, however, had no shame whatsoever as he leaned closer to Dylan to be heard. “Their quarterback had a 135 passing efficiency rating last season, up from 129 the year before.”

“Your knowledge would be more impressive if it included the stats of a
winning
team.”

Alec clearly didn’t care. “So who’s your favorite?”

“Whoever’s the best bet on the TV set.”

“You’re a love-the-one-you’re-with kind of guy.”

“Absolutely.”

“That’s sad, Dylan,” Alec said with mock sympathy. “Very sad.”

“No.” Dylan sent his friend a huge grin. “I prefer a sure thing.”

When the quarterback got sacked on the big screen hanging over the bar, Alec let out an exuberant groan. The dismayed Tiger fan to Dylan’s left slapped the counter, jostling his beer in the process. Dylan slid his mug and his stool an inch closer to Alec’s. Although Dylan preferred pro ball to college, he had zero regrets about coming tonight.

Watching Alec’s reactions was almost as entertaining as the game itself.

At halftime, Dylan turned to Alec. “How did starting the Harley go this morning?”

“Got it on the first try.”

Alec’s satisfied little-boy grin brought an odd flush of pleasure through Dylan’s chest. Alec had grown much more adept at turning over his motorcycle, with an eighty percent success rate of getting her going even when cold. Just like their backcountry race, every kick start of the Harley brought a flare of excitement and satisfaction to Alec’s eyes.

And why was the sight so fucking amusing?

Probably because most of Dylan’s serious biker buddies lived fairly far away. Outside the occasional trip to a rally or an organized run, Dylan’s contact consisted of the rare phone call and a meet-up once, maybe twice, a year.

Dylan paused and then tossed out the idea that had been churning in his head for the past several days. “You should come on the poker run with me,” Dylan said. “Plenty of awesome bikes to see.”

Alec let out a skeptical snort. “I’ve owned my motorcycle a little over two weeks. I’m not exactly a pro.”

“Don’t need to be. The weekend is all about fun.”

The doubtful look on Alec’s face grew bigger. “I’d hate feeling pressured to keep up.”

“No pressure, man,” Dylan said.

Alec tapped his fingers on the counter. “I think I better pass.”

The pretty brunette waitress set down two more beers and took the empty chicken-wing basket away, and Dylan sent her a nod of thanks before turning back to Alec. “Let me know if you change your mind. As I said, lots of awesome bikes to drool over.” Dylan cocked his head as he went on. “You never did tell me why you chose your Harley.”

Alec crossed his arms. “It was an impulse buy. I’d spent some time doing research, thinking I’d choose a duo-sport because I wanted something light enough to pick up. You know”—Alec’s lips quirked as he took a bite of his French fry—“in case I fell over or anything.”

Dylan played dumb. “Now who’d do a lame-ass thing like that?”

Alec laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Since the first lesson, Dylan had learned that a smiling Alec was good. A laughing Alec? Even better. Alec’s refusal to participate in the poker run left Dylan feeling vaguely unsatisfied. Clearly he’d have to work on the guy and get him to change his mind.

But before Dylan could decide how to make that happen, or why he cared so much, his cellular buzzed, and he pulled the phone from his back pocket. He eyed Noah’s incoming number and groaned, letting the call go to voice mail.

He pointed his iPhone at Alec. “This is why I need you to say yes.”

Alec tipped his head in confusion.

“To keep me from killing Noah at the poker run,” Dylan went on.

“And you thought that would provide me with incentive?” Alec said drily.

A chuckle escaped before he could stop it. “This year Noah volunteered to be in charge cuz I want to actually enjoy myself instead of running around taking care of last-minute details. Unfortunately, he’s been driving me friggin’ crazy.”

He never should have let his friend volunteer to head up the annual run this year. For some reason Dylan had yet to explain, the fifth anniversary of Rick’s death seemed… significant, for lack of a better description. Although he appreciated Noah stepping up to the plate, Dylan was beginning to have regrets.

Serious regrets.

“At least Noah’s organized,” Alec said.

“Yeah, but his attention to detail is driving me batshit crazy.” Dylan’s lips twisted in a mix of irritation, amusement, and affection—the standard reaction triggered by his friend.

From Alec’s earlier response, no doubt he felt the same way.

“And Noah didn’t know how much work the event involved, so he’s been a queen bitch about the whole thing,” Dylan said.

“I’m not surprised you two have vastly different ideas about how the weekend should play out. Noah’s as gay as they come, and you’re”—Alec waved in Dylan’s general direction, clearly struggling for the right words—“very much not.”

Amused by Alec’s description, Dylan licked the hot wing sauce from his fingers and wiped his fingers down his jeans. “I sure as hell don’t spend as much on clothes.”

“He does give the Kardashians a run for their money.”

“How the hell would you know that?”

“Don’t tell anyone.” Alec leaned in close and lowered his voice. “I hide my
People
magazine in the middle of my stack of medical journals.”

Dylan tipped back his head and laughed. Apparently the good doctor’s research fetish extended to pop culture gossip as well. “Your secret is safe.”

Alec steadily held Dylan’s gaze and set his drink down, blue eyes lit with humor. “Go ahead and say it.”

“Say what?”

“That reading
People
magazine makes me a girl.”

Dylan pressed his lips together, smothering the smile, and gave Alec a lingering once-over as if the ridiculous statement deserved serious consideration. Alec didn’t have an overly muscular build, but the slim, well-toned physique filled out his button-down shirt just fine. Clearly, the man was in good shape. His angular face lacked any hint of femininity, but something about those blue eyes softened the features, and it wasn’t just the thick lashes. No, the effect came from an underlying openness and humility.

A vulnerability that Dylan found strangely compelling.