by Jayne Rylon
Quinn hoped so. He took a lot of pride in his work. “Yeah. My friend owns the shop in Middletown. Hot Rides. I work there.”
Technically he was the head mechanic and Gavyn had made him a partner when he’d given him shares of the business for his twenty-first birthday, but he didn’t intend to come off as a pompous asshole when this guy was clearly struggling. Hell, he’d been there before. It was only by the grace of his big brother, Roman, that he’d escaped as whole as he had.
“I’ve heard of the place. Definitely can’t afford it. Thanks, though.” Trevon’s hand paused its circuit over his head and said, “Maybe, if it’s not too much trouble, I could come by and buy a used cap. Maybe something I could modify and make fit, if you’ve got any junk parts hanging around.”
“You’ve got experience with that?” Quinn asked, impressed.
“Well, kind of. I do the best I can. Watch a lot of videos online and tinker until I get it right. I’ve been restoring this old thing since my grandfather…”
He trailed off and swallowed hard.
Quinn stared at the motorcycle from where he still crouched in front of it. He put his hand lovingly on top of the perfectly imperfect antique. No wonder Trevon was hanging on to it. Even in this condition, the Indian would be worth a small fortune to the right collector.
He should know, since he dealt with a lot of those daily at Hot Rides.
Quinn was surprised when Trevon plucked his hand from the motorcycle and used the connection to tug Quinn to his feet effortlessly. He wasn’t exactly scrawny like he’d been back when his mother’s boyfriends had taken their bad attitudes out on him. He didn’t hide in attics anymore to avoid confrontation or allow himself to be manhandled, either.
It was kind of hot that Trevon could overpower him like that. Probably because he didn’t seem like the kind of guy to abuse that strength. “What do you think, could that work out?”
“Sure. Let me get a tow truck over here from our sister shop. We’ll give you a lift to work and then you can come by afterward to see what we can do about the bike. It’s no big deal. Rebel is on his way back from delivering a hot rod this afternoon. He’s probably going to come right by here any time now.”
“I can walk it.”
Quinn knew that stubborn set to Trevon’s jaw well. A mixture of ego and embarrassment that didn’t solve any problems. He knew better than to argue directly. So he tried to be a bit more subtle when what he really wanted was to throw this man to the dirt and fuck the bitterness and resentment right out of him, leaving them both relaxed and happy.
“You could, but that would suck. I think the news said it was going to hit the nineties today. It’s no imposition, and I swear I’m not looking to get paid for it either. Bring some pizza with you after work and we’ll be cool.” Quinn shrugged one shoulder. The words flew from his mouth before he could think better of them. So much for Gavyn’s earlier advice about playing things safe. “Better yet, hang out and have a few slices with me before we figure out what’s wrong and how to fix it together.”
“Did you just proposition me?” Trevon raised a sexy brow. He didn’t take a swing at Quinn, though, so that was a good sign. Quinn had learned early to duck when he said shit like that. He should know better by now, considering that he’d been hitting on guys for nearly eight years. Sometimes it was worth the risk.
Life would have been easier if he’d been attracted only to dainty, meek women, or to guys who were significantly less ripped than this one. But hey, it wouldn’t be nearly as fun. His heart was pounding twice as hard as it had when he’d been shattering the speed limit a few minutes ago.
“No. I mean, not in the way you’re thinking. You don’t have to do anything you’re not into for me to offer my help. If you’re down, though, who knows what I’ll service after your bike?” Quinn smiled as if he hadn’t just offered to handle the guy’s dipstick.
The spark that flashed through Trevon’s lion eyes reminded Quinn of the fire that powered an internal combustion engine. Hot. Fast. And heady. So it shocked the hell out of him when Trevon backed up, shaking his head. “Sorry, man. I’m not into that.”
Like hell he wasn’t.
Quinn signed. If Trevon wasn’t ready to admit his desires to himself, it wasn’t Quinn’s job to force him into accepting them. He held his hands up. “Hey, no problem. But I’m calling the tow truck anyway. You can thank me later.”
Trevon sputtered as Quinn fished his cell from his pocket while tracking the other guy’s stare straight to the bulge in his well-worn, ripped, and grease-stained jeans. Not interested, my ass. He smirked as he punched the icon for one of his favorite contacts. After a single ring, a warm voice said, “Hot Rods garage. How can I help you?”
“Hey Amber! Can you do me a favor?”
His boss’s wife, who also managed their sister business—Hot Rods—chuckled. “Quinnigans. What’d you get yourself into this time?”
“Nothing yet.” He tried not to sound petulant. “Can you send Bryce over to Route 33 with the flatbed? Near that barn where Meep ran that time my brother was an idiot...”
None of them were about to forget that night. She’d know exactly where he meant.
“Are you okay?” Her teasing tone vanished. “Gavyn said you went out for a ride.”
“I’m fine. I didn’t wreck or anything like that. I found someone on the side of the road who could use a little help.” Quinn glanced up at Trevon, who was digging a trench in the rubble with the toe of his sexy-as-fuck leather boots, his hands fisted.
Quinn couldn’t help it. Like a magnet, he was drawn to the guy’s bad attitude and that pissed-at-the-world vibe Quinn had worn himself for long enough that he recognized it and wanted to take it away. Like the Hot Rods and the rest of his extended family—Gavyn and Amber included—had mostly done for him.
“Oh! Yeah, of course.” Amber would go out of her way for anyone she could help. None of them had led charmed lives, but they’d survived by sticking together. It was one of the things Quinn loved about his quasi-brothers and sisters. “Hold on, let me tell him.”
The phone muffled for a second as Amber must have tucked the receiver against her chest and radioed Bryce. She relayed Quinn’s location, then came back on the line. “He says he’ll be there in ten.”
“Thanks. I owe you one.” Quinn couldn’t help but smile as he realized he’d have a little more time to get to know this guy whom he’d definitely never seen before today. He glanced at his watch, then winced. “Will you tell Gavyn I’ll be a couple minutes behind schedule?”
“Call him yourself.” She snorted.
“No way. Come on. He’s your husband. He won’t get mad at you.” Quinn’s mouth slanted in a wicked grin as he remembered Gavyn’s earlier warning when he’d said something similar to his boss-friend.
“Okay, fine.” Amber laughed. “This rescue of yours must be pretty cute if you want to wait around with them for Bryce. It’s not like you to blow off work.”
“You have no idea.” Quinn had to stifle a groan. Then he wheezed, “Please.”
“Of course. Good luck, Quinnigans.” Amber made kissy noises as she hung up on him.
Quinn cleared his throat, jammed his phone in the back pocket of his jeans, then ambled toward Trevon, hoping the other guy couldn’t tell how excited he was about their chance meeting. Damn, his life must be pretty boring lately to get this fired up over finding a man on the side of the road, even one as studly as Trevon.
3
Trevon couldn’t believe his shit luck. First, his motorcycle died on the way to work. Again. Then he got rescued by the sexiest man he had ever seen outside of a magazine or the movies…including porn. He was cut and tattooed and had piercing blue eyes that made it obvious he saw right through Trevon’s faked disinterest.
Maybe it was adrenaline fueling his insane attraction to this stranger. Despite his frustration and the despair of knowing he was going to lose another job, his dick was doing its best to overcome his bad
mood and rise to the occasion. Of course, that only made him feel worse about himself and the direction his life was heading in.
Quinn, and all men, were strictly off limits.
Trevon rubbed the back of his neck. His impromptu massage didn’t do much to alleviate the knots there or the headache that was starting to cloud his judgment with pain. He couldn’t afford to do something stupid.
Thankfully, it really was only a few minutes before a giant tow truck—driven by an even more imposing man with dark hair and shoulders broad enough to look normal in that beast of a vehicle—pulled up beside them. When he opened the door, a black-and-white dog hopped down and raced over to Quinn.
The guy laughed and went to his knees in the dirt to humor the friendly animal. He smothered it in a hug, then petted it over and over until Trevon start wishing he had four legs and a cute bark.
“Trevon, this is Buster McHightops. Oh yeah, and Bryce.” Quinn’s eyes sparkled as he joked around with his friend, who mumbled and rolled his eyes at the dog and Quinn’s antics.
“Nice to meet you. I really appreciate you doing this.” Trevon stuck out his hand and shook Bryce’s. What the hell was up with the genetics around here?
While Bryce was also handsome as fuck, Trevon kept glancing back at Quinn. There was something more than a pretty face about the guy. It was like he couldn’t look away for long.
“It’s no problem at all. Shall we go? I heard you’re in a hurry.” Bryce and Quinn were already rolling the bikes up a ramp onto the flatbed and securing them. They obviously knew what they were doing, so Trevon ambled toward the passenger side of the tow truck.
It was going to be a hell of a ride in there with these two men.
Quinn jogged past and opened the door. He said, “I’ll get in first. I don’t mind being in the middle.”
Bryce poorly disguised a chuckle behind a cough, then climbed into the truck as he made some comment about sandwiches that Trevon was sure he must have heard wrong.
Bryce glanced over at his two passengers. If he noticed Trevon checking out Quinn’s ass as he climbed into the big rig, he was polite enough to pretend not to notice. The guy looked as ferocious as a massive black bear, even if he was acting more like a teddy bear instead.
Trevon eyed the spot on the bench seat that was left for him. Even though the truck was huge, so were the two occupants of the cab, especially with the addition of Buster taking up most of the floorboard. There would be no way to avoid pressing up against Quinn’s muscular thigh and brushing their arms together.
If it weren’t for his job, he would say fuck it and walk. A man could only resist so much temptation.
Trevon glanced over his shoulder, squinting as if he could figure out a way to fly through the forest to his job site, more than ten miles away.
“Fuck that, kid,” Bryce grumbled. “I’m already here. It’ll just take us a few minutes to get back to town. It’s hot as hell and you’re late, remember? I swear Quinn only bites if you beg.”
“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” Trevon swiped his hand over his mouth, put a hand on the frame of the door, then boosted himself inside. He perched on the edge of the seat, smacking the side of his knee when he slammed the door behind him.
Quinn didn’t bother to close his legs when the outside of their thighs pressed together. He probably had giant balls that needed plenty of room. Don’t. Think. About. That.
Trevon scooted over so that he was plastered against the door and window.
Bryce dropped a hand between him and Quinn. Out of the corner of his eye, Trevon caught the guy flicking Quinn in the ribs. Quinn whipped his head toward Bryce, who widened his eyes in a clear sign for “cut it out”.
Trevon finally released his held breath when Quinn tucked his knees together a bit. He gripped the door handle as if they were flying down a twisty mountain road at two hundred miles an hour rather than trundling toward town. Every dip and jolt caused him to bump into the rippling muscles of Quinn’s leg, arm, and side.
Quinn was grinning while Trevon tried not to flinch. It was either that or he’d make more of a fool of himself than he already had today.
“So where are we dropping you off?” Bryce asked as Buster McHightops curled up at Trevon’s feet.
“I’m part of the landscaping team working on the new golf course and the attached housing development off Henderson.” Or at least he hoped he still was.
“That place is huge.” Quinn whistled. “Fancy too.”
“Yup.” That single site would provide months of employment. It was hard labor, but as long as it was an honest living, he didn’t mind. Ninety days and he could be in a much better place than he was today, if he was careful. “I bet your job is a hell of a lot more fun, though.”
For the next few minutes, Quinn talked about how lucky he was to do something he loved. Trevon envied him. For lots of reasons. The shop. His friends. His freedom to look at a guy the way he was looking at Trevon—with heat, and desire, and intention.
Trevon might look, but he couldn’t ever have.
He tried not to be bitter about all the things life hadn’t handed him, considering some of the amazing stuff it had. They pulled up to the golf course construction entrance before he could remind himself of what those good points were.
Trevon gave Buster one last pat, smiled at Quinn, then hopped down from the tall truck and said, “Thanks again. I’ll be by as soon as I can to figure something out about my bike.”
“Take your time.” Quinn waved him off. “It’ll be safe at the shop until you’re ready. Call us if you need a ride.”
Trevon nodded, gratitude choking the rest of what he wished he could express. It had been a while since there had been anyone else on his side. Quinn’s support gave him the courage to face his boss. Speaking of the asshole…
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” asked Vance, the owner of the landscape company Trevon had been busting his balls for at minimum wage.
Trevon tugged his uniform shirt, which he’d mostly avoided getting too sweaty before the start of his shift, over his head then spun to face the guy. He hadn’t even had time to shut the tow truck door before Vance ripped into him. “You might as well take that right back off. You no longer work here, buddy.”
“Vance, I’m sorry.” Trevon pointed to his motorcycle on the back of the flatbed. “I had—”
“Yeah, I know. Problems with your bike. Same as every other time. Look, you’re a hard worker, but I have to have people I can rely on. I told you before, you were on your last shot.”
“These guys are helping me get the problem resolved, permanently. I won’t be late again.”
“I’ve heard that before. Next time it’ll be something else. No. You’re done. You’re fired. Get out of here.” Vance turned his back and walked away as if he hadn’t stolen the last shred of hope Trevon had for a better future. Without even his shitty job, he was done for. Sunk.
This had been his last chance.
And he’d blown it.
“Fuck!” he shouted at the sky and the blinding sun beating down on him.
“Come on, Trevon. You don’t need to beg that dirtbag to be his indentured servant.” Quinn’s kind, patient voice held a note of simmering anger. On Trevon’s behalf? “Get in the truck. We’ll go fix your bike so you can find someplace better to work instead.”
Absolute humiliation and shame washed over Trevon. His most desperate moment had been witnessed by a young, sexy, successful man. Precisely what he needed to make it even more horrifying. Maybe this was a nightmare.
He pinched himself.
It hurt. Though not as bad as the rest of his life was going to after this.
“He’s right. You don’t need this shit. Get in,” Bryce said. “Come with us.”
Trevon wished he could muster enough pride to turn them down. To tell them he’d be perfectly fine and mean it. But…he couldn’t lie like that. So with slumped shoulders, he flung himself into the tow truck and shut the door, quietl
y this time. He stared out the window at the receding job site until it vanished, just like his prospects of getting his life together.
As if he could sense the utter misery and devastation eating Trevon from the inside, Buster climbed into his lap and laid his head on Trevon’s thigh with a whimper. Trevon kept himself from imploding by scratching the dog behind his ear.
What the hell was he going to do now?
Take these guys up on their kindness, fix his bike, then try again to make things right for the people depending on him. That’s what. That was the only option he had.
4
Quinn ached for Trevon. He wanted to hug the guy and tell him things would be fine. Maybe kiss the shit out of him until he perked up. But from the stormy look on Trevon’s face, Quinn figured there was more to his story. Stuff that might not be as easy to fix as a busted distributor cap.
Quinn’s appointment was routine maintenance, something he’d never really considered a luxury until he saw what Trevon was dealing with over in the next bay. Maybe it had been a few years too many since Quinn had started being pampered. He’d begun to lose touch with reality and forget how harsh the world could seem when you were struggling to survive.
Maybe some of his boredom lately had been a serious case of first-world problems.
Quinn felt guilty. How had he lost track of where he’d come from so easily?
The least he could do was help Trevon get over a few of the speed bumps in his path, like Roman and Tom and the rest of the Hot Rods had done for him. He set the fuel filter he’d just removed down on a pile of rags and looked over at Trevon as he took the new one out of its box.
The guy had removed and disassembled the Indian’s distributor, the spark plugs, and the surrounding systems. He had everything laid out in neat rows on the bench nearby and was cleaning each component, piece by piece. He was fast and efficient. For someone who supposedly had no official training or apprenticeship, he knew his way around his bike.
