The Backup Boyfriend (The Boyfriend Chronicles) (3 page)

“Go ahead.”

Alec opened the door into what looked like the kitchen as a delicious smell drifted into the garage. Feeling on edge, Dylan shifted on his feet as he scanned his surroundings, trying to remember why he’d agreed to make the trek to Alec’s house.

A sense of obligation, mostly. Curiosity too, about the man Noah had been mentioning for several years now. Dylan had expected serious and boring and uptight, not the self-deprecating sense of humor from yesterday. Pushing the motorcycle into the garage had to have been humiliating. Hard not to admire how Alec handled himself with dignity in the face of one embarrassing moment after another. And every interaction left Dylan a little more curious…

He rubbed his jaw. But he still had work coming out his ears and a bike rally to organize in honor of Rick.

Frowning, Dylan glanced at the far wall that contained a framed, poster-sized picture of a crowd of people holding signs. He stepped closer, intrigued.

The protest looked well attended. Dylan had no trouble figuring out the subject, a rally to support gay marriage. Posters dotted the scene with slogans such as
Down with DOMA
and
Don’t Hate, Overturn Prop 8
. And then he spied Alec in the picture holding a sign that read
Jesus had two Dads and he turned out okay
.

Dylan bit back the grin and turned to look at Alec as he reentered the garage.

“Nice slogan.” Dylan pointed at Alec’s sign.

Alec followed Dylan’s gaze and another easy smile appeared. “I didn’t come up with the phrase, but I felt it was worth repeating.”

“Definitely a winner.”

“It appeals to my love of irony.”

Dylan let out an amused grunt. “I know what you mean.”

He was about to turn away from the poster when he spied a middle-aged woman in the picture, standing to Alec’s left. Same brown hair as Alec’s. Same blue eyes. Dylan leaned in to read the woman’s sign. On top, the huge placard read
Waiting for my son and his partner to attain equal rights
. Beneath was a blown-up picture of a wedding invitation.

Alec Walter Johnson and Tyler Michael Hall request the pleasure of your company
…

Surprise widened Dylan’s eyes.

“My mother,” Alec said.

Dylan cleared his throat, trying to think of a response. “Supportive.”

He certainly had to admire her creativity.
And
the irony.

“You have no idea,” Alec said drily. “She’s still celebrating the death of DOMA.” Alec blew out a breath. “Unfortunately, she’s also holding out hope she gets to use that invitation one day.”

The pause lengthened and turned uncomfortable, and Dylan felt pressured to fill the silence. What was he supposed to say? Hats off to you for your part in lifting the ban on gay marriage? Sorry your boyfriend left and now you can’t enjoy the fruits of your labor?

Or maybe: congratulations, you won the war…but lost the battle.

Dylan stuck a hand in his back pocket. “The Harley.”

“Right,” Alec said. “She’s being stubborn.”

Grateful to get back to business, Dylan said, “So the bike is cold. Which means you’ll need to turn the fuel tap.” He crossed back to Alec’s motorcycle to point out the various parts as he continued. “The choke needs to be all the way down. After giving her a few primer kicks, then you return your choke to one click below. Key on, one quarter throttle”—he touched the handle of the Harley—“and she should fire right up.”

At the lost look on Alec’s face, Dylan hesitated. Did the guy even know the purpose of the choke? Seriously, the man had no business owning a vintage bike. He should have started with a friggin’ moped.

“Remember, this machine has a lot of compression,” Dylan went on. “You gotta respect her. The kickback can throw you over the handlebars.”

Alec’s expression shifted from slightly lost to vaguely concerned, and Dylan suppressed the sigh. The “quick” visit was going to take longer than he’d thought. And certainly more time than he could afford.

First things first, Booth
.

“Why don’t you let me show you how to start her?” Dylan said.

Dylan mounted the motorcycle and ran through the process, explaining each step as he went and firing her up on his second try. Satisfaction rolled through him, and he revved the engine for a moment, enjoying the lumpy rumble unique to a Harley.

“I’ll take her for a spin to warm her up,” he said over the noise. “It’ll be easier for you to practice when she’s not so cold.”

Alec nodded, and Dylan backed her out and headed down the driveway.

Instantly, he relaxed, cruising up the street. Despite his totally clueless state, Alec had managed to choose well. Dylan settled back on the leather seat, getting more comfortable. What a sweet ride. With all the crap piled high on his current schedule, when was the last time he’d taken a trip with no destination in mind, just for fun?

Felt like forever.

Dylan tooled up the road and around the block, enjoying the agility and smooth suspension before returning her to the driveway. While the bike continued to idle, vibrating beneath Dylan, he glanced at Alec, who appeared to be having second thoughts about his purchase. Not being able to start her would definitely put a damper on things.

“Listen,” Dylan said over the rumbling engine, “if you want, this week after work I can teach you all her quirks.”

In what spare time
?

Dylan pushed the annoying thought aside. If nothing else, the Harley deserved an educated driver. He could afford an hour at the end of his day. Besides, Alec wasn’t the total stick-in-the-mud Dylan had envisioned. Despite going against Dylan’s advice, the man’s dedication to his purchase was beginning to grow on Dylan.

Alec looked relieved. “That would be great.”

“Since tomorrow’s Sunday, we’ll start in the morning.” Dylan nodded at the Harley. “You ready to give her a whirl?”

“Yeah,” Alec said, reaching for the handle. “I just—”

Alec’s gaze caught and held on something in the distance, his lips tightening, and he briefly closed his eyes before facing the road. Dylan glanced over his shoulder and discovered the reason for the interruption.

An athletic looking guy in running shorts and shoes closed the driver’s door of a sleek Range Rover now parked across from Alec’s house. A second man exited the car. Dylan killed the switch on the Harley, and the motor died, the last rumble vibrating in the air.

“Christ,” Alec murmured. “Tyler brought his boyfriend.”

Tyler, as in the
Tyler Michael Hall
listed on the wedding invitation. Well, that explained the wigged-out look on Alec’s face. They watched the two men open the trunk of the Range Rover.

“I can’t believe he brought his new boyfriend,” Alec said again. “
Damn it
.”

Stunned by the force behind Alec’s whispered words, Dylan turned back to Alec. The dude who’d gracefully faced total public humiliation on the streets of San Francisco seemed to be losing his shit. Anxiety shimmered in his eyes. Apparently, his composure and sense of humor evaporated when facing his ex.

“How am I supposed to act?” Alec whispered forcefully. “Friendly? Coolly cordial? Or do I just ignore the new boyfriend? I know one thing for sure. I definitely don’t want to act like the desperate ex.” Alec shoved his hair back from his face, the rising panic rolling off him in waves thick enough to choke a horse. “And, good God, what was I thinking asking Tyler to come get his stuff?”

Unfortunately, Alec rambled on, and Dylan shot a glance at the two men now approaching. Just what he didn’t have time for, getting sucked into the middle of a goddamn soap opera. Alec’s disjointed mumblings finally died out as Tyler made his way up the driveway.

Alec’s voice sounded strained, but at least all signs of his babbling had vanished. “Hey, Tyler.”

The ex, in contrast, looked completely unruffled.

“This is the motorcycle you bought?” Tyler had black hair, cool gray eyes, and a tiny crease of concern between his eyebrows. “Are you trying to get yourself killed, Alec?”

Color tinged Alec’s cheeks, his expression open, exposed, reminding Dylan of Rick. And the age-old need to protect bristled through Dylan. He forced himself to grip the handles of the Harley.

He’d spent his adolescent years using his fists to defend his friend against homophobic bullies, but Tyler wasn’t one of those. And this wasn’t Dylan’s fight. Besides, the ex was right. Clearly Alec was as green as they came. But for some reason the trace of alarm in Tyler’s tone ticked Dylan off, mostly because Tyler looked completely in control while Alec seemed too agitated to reply. Though preferable to babbling, Dylan hoped Alec’s tongue-tied state wouldn’t continue. Because somebody needed to say something…

The awkward moment stretched to the point where Dylan couldn’t take the pressured silence anymore. “Alec is handling her just fine,” Dylan lied.

“Fine” being a relative term, of course. But he chose to ignore the
are-you-kidding-me
? look Alec lobbed in Dylan’s direction. No false bravado from the man. What followed was a hint of skepticism in Tyler’s eyes that raised Dylan’s hackles further.

“How well do you know Alec?” Tyler asked.

For the life of him, Dylan couldn’t stop the words that scraped from his mouth next. Maybe because, with the simple lift of a brow, Tyler had more or less called Dylan a liar—which wouldn’t have pissed Dylan off so much except for the fact it was true. Maybe he was irked by the smooth tone of Tyler’s voice while Alec looked so friggin’ miserable, the seeming imbalance of power always triggering the reflexive action.

Protecting Rick had been Dylan’s most important job. But using his fists was no longer an option. Words, however, were.

Which often popped out of Dylan with zero advanced planning.

“I know him well enough,” Dylan said, hoping to bring Tyler down a peg or two, level the playing field for Alec, so to speak. “Alec brought me home and fucked my brains out last night.”

Whoa, that felt all kinds of weird coming from his mouth.

The silence that followed lasted just long enough for Dylan to register Alec’s jaw go slack and the blank expression on Tyler’s face. The new boyfriend pressed his lips together and looked away. Dylan couldn’t be sure, but the man might have been laughing.

Finally, Tyler studied Dylan, his gaze drifting over his holey jeans, faded T-shirt, and work boots. “Alec slept with you last night,” Tyler said, a question mark buried at the end.

Was he daring Dylan to confirm the statement? Dylan crossed his arms, fast losing patience with the man for calling him out on his lies.

“Yes.” As if his previous statement hadn’t been crazy enough, Dylan found himself upping the ante. “We’ve been pretty hot ’n heavy for a while now.”

“Interesting,” Tyler said, his expression unreadable. Two beats passed before Tyler glanced at Alec. “So I assume he’ll be attending Noah’s cocktail party as your date?”

A
date
?

Alec’s mouth opened, but no sound came. As the man’s mute state continued, Dylan shifted on the motorcycle, the awkward tension making his muscles tight. The look on Tyler’s face was clear. He didn’t believe a word Dylan had said, and the answer to the party question was simply a test. If Dylan said no, Tyler would be proven right.

But if Dylan said yes…

Jesus, what was he thinking? He couldn’t say yes. Dylan knew plenty of people who swung that way, and Rick had been as gay as they came, but Dylan wasn’t sure he could even fake an attraction to a guy. ’Course, he was an expert at bullshitting his way through just about anything.

You don’t have time for this
.

Dylan opened his mouth to refute the ridiculous “date” idea and then glanced at the expression on Alec’s face. The man was bleeding vulnerability. And after three years on the streets with a friend who’d been a constant target, Dylan couldn’t change now, the protector-mode as ingrained as breathing. The words shot out before he could stop them.

“Yep, I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss Noah’s party for the world,” Dylan said.

Fuck. He could just imagine the hysterical laughter coming from Noah now.

Alec’s voice was strained. “Yes, Dylan will be attending with me.”

Well, double fuck. Alec made a lousy liar. The light in Tyler’s eyes transmitted his complete skepticism. He didn’t believe either one of them. And Dylan decided the man must be a total douchebag.

An extremely
astute
douchebag, but a douchebag nonetheless.

“I’ll just collect the last of my things,” Tyler said.

Alec waved at six neatly stacked boxes in the coroner of the garage. “Help yourself.”

As soon as Tyler and his boyfriend left, each carrying two cartons as they headed for the Range Rover, Alec leaned in Dylan’s direction.

“What the hell did you say all that for?” Alec whispered, blue eyes blazing.

Dylan ignored the churn in his stomach as he wondered exactly same thing. “He was pissing me off,” he said, hating that he felt so defensive. “How the heck did you spend two years with that asshole?”

He frowned as he watched Tyler arrange the boxes in the back of his SUV.

“He’s not normally an asshole.” Alec rubbed his forehead. “I think seeing you in our—
my
—driveway really threw him for a loop.”

Dylan pointed at the blond-haired boyfriend helping Tyler load the Range Rover. “Like flaunting his new piece of ass is any easier on you?”

Seriously, what was
wrong
with him today?

Dylan dropped his arm and reined in his anger. The ex returned to the garage, alone, and Alec attempted to appear unaffected by his presence—a spectacular fail. Dylan hoped the good Dr. Johnson excelled at his work, cuz he sucked at starting motorcycles and picking up the pieces after a failed relationship. And he really sucked at pretending he was okay around his ex.

Dylan shot Tyler a huge smile, determined to make the man uncomfortable, if such a thing were possible. Maybe then Tyler wouldn’t notice how miserable Alec looked.

“Need any help with those last two?” Dylan asked.

“No, I’ve got them,” Tyler said.