The Backup Boyfriend (The Boyfriend Chronicles) (2 page)

Dylan parked the Harley next to a shelf full of neatly arranged tools and turned, hands on his hips. “Spur-of-the-moment purchases are always risky.”

The
especially when you don’t know what the hell you’re doing
went unsaid.

Alec let out a humorless bark of laughter. “Yes, but I needed a change. Today.” Alec briefly glanced down the street, the knot in his chest expanding. After hearing the news this morning, he finally managed to speak the words out loud. “I just learned my ex has a new boyfriend. And I’m feeling…”

Humiliated that the man I thought I’d spend forever with has already moved on.

Demoralized that I’ve been replaced, fifty-six days after the breakup
.

Fifty-six
days.

The number felt tattooed on his forehead.

Dylan’s facial expression froze in alarm. “Please don’t say you’re feeling suicidal.”

This time Alec’s bark of laughter was real. “No, not at all. Just wanted to shake up the routine.” He shrugged, struggling to put his personal promise into words. “Reinvent myself, so to speak.” In ways outside the reach of his memories of Tyler.

Dylan’s comment consisted of a brief pause followed by a sharp nod before he crossed to the shelf of tools. “What kind of problems are you having?”

Christ, where to begin?

“Oh, you know. The usual,” Alec said, surprised the man had asked. “Loss of appetite. Insomnia. I’m second-guessing every decision I made during our two-year relationship. We’d even talked about getting married—”

Alec caught sight of Dylan’s almost horrified expression.

“Dude,” Dylan said, “I meant what kind of problems are you having with the
bike
?”

Heat rushed up Alec’s face, filling every available space.

Nice one, Alec.

He’d completed college in three years and aced his way through medical school. Had received several honors during residency. Had just been named the recipient of the prestigious Bay Area Humanitarian Award for his work with the homeless.

Why couldn’t he deal with a breakup?

Alec shoved his hands into his brand-new racing jacket. “So far just the stalling. But I’ve only driven it the few miles between the former owner’s home and here.”

“Most likely adjusting the carburetor will hold you over until a more thorough tune-up.”

Dylan sorted through the well-organized tools that would make most men salivate. Alec concentrated on the display of Dylan’s muscular back instead of the well-formed ass. Alec’s sex life might be nonexistent of late, but checking the mechanic out wasn’t a part of the make-a-new-life plan.

“I can put you down for a service check in my next available slot,” Dylan said. “If you absolutely have to have the work done sooner, I can recommend a few people I trust.”

“Will adjusting the carburetor help me get it started?”

“Maybe.” Dylan lifted the lid to a massive toolbox. “But it also takes practice.”

Practice.

Alec pursed his lips in thought and gazed at the far wall, where a muscle car sat on a lift, exposing the mysterious underbelly of the vehicle. Although well versed in the barriers of providing health care to the medically underserved, Alec wasn’t mechanically inclined. Could barely operate a hammer and nail. Putting gas in his vehicle was as complicated as Alec could handle. Choosing to purchase the vintage Harley, aside from the cool-factor appeal, had been about pushing his boundaries and challenging himself to move beyond his comfort zone.

Despite this morning’s epic fail, the decision felt right. Even after all the trouble with the bike, Alec still couldn’t forget those first trouble-free minutes on the ride here. He’d felt almost…happy again. Nonetheless, for his new pastime to be successful, he needed someone’s help in the beginning.

Decision made, Alec turned back to Dylan. “Do you ever give lessons?”

Dylan turned his head to look at Alec over his shoulder. “Lessons?”

“You know,” Alec said, suddenly feeling awkward. The confused look on Dylan’s face didn’t help. “Pointers to people who don’t know all the quirks to driving a 1964 Harley.”

No need to mention his ignorance about motorcycles in general.

“’Fraid not.” Dylan selected a screwdriver from the massive metal chest. “I’d make an exception in your case, seeing how you’re a friend of Noah’s and all, but my plate really is full at the moment.” He shut the lid to the toolbox. “But I can give you the names of a couple of people who might be able to help you out.”

A sense of satisfaction surged, and Alec grinned. “Perfect.”

The green eyes held a hint of a smile in return. Given the horrendous start to Alec’s morning, things were finally looking up. With any luck, facing Tyler again wouldn’t be the disaster Alec had been envisioning for weeks.

~~~***~~~

The next day Alec tucked a towel around his waist, hair dripping as he padded out of the bathroom into his bedroom. He’d definitely taken steps toward making things better. The adjustment to the Harley yesterday had made a huge difference. Dylan had gotten the motorcycle started for Alec without any problem, proving that everything functioned properly. And the ride home had gone smoother, the trip proving Alec right.

He definitely didn’t regret choosing the Harley.

This morning Alec felt better. Refreshed. More hopeful than he’d felt in a while. He’d put together a quiche and placed it in the oven, the first real cooking he’d done in ages. Even his daily jerk-off session in the shower had been satisfying.

Right up until he came, the moment ruined when an image of Tyler popped into Alec’s head.

Alec’s lips twisted. He’d started off as usual, visualizing David Beckham on his knees and getting nice and worked up imagining a strong body and hazel eyes so hot they could melt cold butter from twenty-five feet away. Alec liked a little stubble, the rough feel under his hand as he cupped a jaw while lips and tongue played him like an instrument. He and David had been so close to mutual satisfaction.
So close
. And then, like an annoying Internet ad that refused to close, up popped Tyler’s face, staring at him like he had so many times before.

What a way to ruin a good orgasm.

But come Monday there’d be no more avoiding Tyler physically either. Between his ex’s vacation and the medical conference Alec had attended, plus a whole lot of manipulation of the clinic schedule on Alec’s part, he’d managed to avoid seeing Tyler at work since the split.

But they ran the Front Street Clinic together, for God’s sake.

At this point, Alec figured he had two choices. He could man up, stop delaying the inevitable, and be the one to define the moment when they first met up. Or he could continue to avoid Tyler until the last possible minute, in which case the moment would define Alec.

And most likely not in a flattering way.

He towel dried his hair and shoved away the mental image of him blabbering like a fool in front of Tyler or standing there mute—either scenario an unfortunate possibility. Alec tossed the towel into the hamper with a determined
thump
. After almost two months of inertia, the time had come to seize the initiative. And that meant taking steps to ease them into their first day back in clinic together.

He’d call Tyler and tell him to stop by before Monday. No sense in ruining the entire weekend; tomorrow would be perfect. Lazy Sundays worked great for a mature exchange of words in which Alec’s ex-boyfriend retrieved the last of his stuff from the garage.

The proactive decision cheered Alec up as he pulled on his clothes. Today he’d spend some quality one-on-one time with his recent purchase. No harm in practicing kick starting the Harley before Tyler dropped by.

Alec punched Tyler’s name on speed dial with more force than necessary, hoping against hope that Tyler would answer.

Or not.

“Hello?” Tyler said.

Alec’s chest filled with molten lead. “Good morning, Tyler.”

“Alec.”

There was an awkward pause as Alec relived the first time they’d met, during a medical conference in Hawaii. With Tyler’s interest in treating HIV in indigent populations and Alec’s additional training in street medicine, pairing up to create the Front Street Clinic to achieve their long-term goals had only made sense. Both personally and professionally. Now that the personal had ended the professional had just gotten ridiculously hard.

Christ, no more work relationships. Ever.

“Noah told me you bought a motorcycle,” Tyler said.

Alec closed his eyes. Damn Noah and his big mouth.

“I did,” Alec said. “I’m calling about the boxes you left in the garage. I thought you could swing by and pick them up tomorrow evening.”

So far so good. He’d even managed a nonchalant tone.

“Can’t,” Tyler said. “I have plans.”

Great
. Now what? A bead of water ran down Alec’s forehead, and he swiped at the drop. While Alec was trying to decide what to say next, Tyler went on.

“But I can come by today,” his ex said.

Alec bit back the word
no
, but now that he’d set the strategy in motion, he didn’t see a graceful way out. “Today’s fine.”

Today
sucked
.

Tyler said, “I understand if you’re too busy.”

“I can carve out a few minutes,” Alec said. “What time this afternoon?”

At least Alec would have the morning to—

“I’ll be there in an hour,” Tyler said.

An hour? Perfect.

That left Alec just enough time to panic.

“I can’t get it—
her
—started.”

The frustration in Alec Johnson’s voice came across the phone loud and clear, and Dylan bit back a groan as, wearily, he raked a hand through his hair.

Hungry, tired, and up to his eyeballs in work, he didn’t have time for Dr. Clueless today. What Dylan
did
have was a broken air compressor to fix, a tune-up to complete, and a meeting with Noah to discuss the details of the Fifth Annual Vintage Memorial Poker Run in memory of Rick. Dylan’s chest gave a painful twitch.

Five years. His best friend had been dead for
five years
.

Dylan shook his head to chase away the thoughts. If Rick were alive today, he’d be laughing his ass off at the doctor’s screwed-up situation of his own making. Of course, being the proverbial softie, Rick also would have been the first to help Alec out.

“Have you even owned a motorcycle before?” Dylan asked.

The pause was telling.

“I had a dirt bike when I was a teen,” Alec said.

Dylan rolled his eyes. Figured. Most likely the Harley would wind up parked in Alec’s garage, unused. Left to fall into disrepair. What a waste. At least Alec hadn’t purchased a crotch rocket and gone out and gotten himself killed on his first day.

Alec went on. “I know you don’t have time for lessons, Mr. Booth—”

“Dylan.”

“Dylan,” Alec repeated. “But I wondered if you could stop by my place and help me get her started.”

Was this guy for real? Wasn’t adjusting the carburetor enough?

“I’m not a doctor,” Dylan said. “I don’t make house calls.”

“I know,” Alec said. “But my ex is dropping by today. And I’d really appreciate you making an exception, despite my…dumb-ass decision.”

Dylan gripped his phone, refusing to let the sincere words and hint of self-deprecating humor change his mind.

But Noah had sent the doctor to Dylan for help, and Dylan owed Noah big time. And despite his friend’s flippant attitude, Dylan knew the man had nothing but total respect for Alec’s work with the homeless.

The
homeless,
for fuck’s sake.

Dylan closed his eyes. From the ages of fifteen to eighteen, he’d lived on the streets, every day a fight to survive, his only “family” being Rick. They’d stuck close together. Looked out for one another. With Rick’s tendency to get sick and Dylan’s propensity to get into injury-producing fights…
Jesus
, they could have used the services of someone like Dr. Alec Johnson.

Dylan reached for his keys. “Give me your address.”

Ten minutes later he was motoring down the road on his favorite motorcycle, an Indian Blackhawk. As he turned off of Sloat Boulevard and onto Highway 1, he considered turning around. When he entered Alec’s family-friendly neighborhood, the urge grew stronger. Why had he agreed to this?

Just get the motorcycle started and then get back to your massively growing to-do list
.

Alec’s well maintained home had been meticulously restored, like the rest of the 1920s-era houses that lined the street. The Mediterranean style residence had large bay windows, a brick driveway, and a beautiful yard, a nice combination. Kinda homey, if one was into that kind of thing.

Which he wasn’t.

The garage door yawned open, and Alec stood inside, staring down at his Harley. Dylan pulled up and parked his motorcycle in the driveway.

“I’ve been trying for twenty minutes to get her started,” Alec said as Dylan entered the spotless garage, not a tool in sight.

Man, how did the dude function without tools?

“I really appreciate you coming,” Alec said.

“No worries.”

Alec tucked his hair behind his ears. The automatic gesture looked like a well-established habit. The thick, brown waves hung to his chin, just long enough to fit neatly behind his ears. He looked like a young, hippy college professor, his blue gaze open and honest, filled with an obvious intelligence.

Gone were Alec’s jeans and brand-spanking-new riding jacket from yesterday. Instead, Alec wore khaki pants and a polo shirt more fitting the academic lurking beneath.

Alec planted his hand on his hips, eyeing the Harley. “I can’t decide if it’s the bike or if it’s me.”

“I have a 1942 WLA that’s a bitch to start too.”

Alec’s gaze ticked up to Dylan’s. “Should I be taking her reluctance personally?”

“Absolutely.”

Alec chuckled and sent Dylan a smile. Despite the fatigue and this morning’s inconvenient timing, Dylan felt the urge to return the grin and was left wondering why. A buzzer sounded in the background, interrupting the moment.

Alec tipped his head toward the house. “Do you mind? I just need to turn the oven off.”