Suncoast Society
Real or Not
Brett didn’t want to leave Kodie. Deep in the closet, Brett attended grad school and even dated the daughter of his father’s business partner in an attempt to satisfy his father. Unfortunately, it leaves Brett feeling empty—unless you count loneliness and regrets.
Kodie tried moving on from his broken heart, including relocating to Brooksville, Florida, starting a career building custom motorcycles, and changing his name. Except no one can replace his first love. Now, gO! Network wants to make a TV show about his shop. It’s a special kind of hell to find out his new PR contact is none other than Brett.
Alcohol and desperation are a volatile combination that leaves both men realizing there is no other future other than being together. Except Brett’s ex doesn’t want to go away, and tries to leverage the truth for her gain. Will they risk ending Brett’s career—and possibly jeopardizing Kodie’s show—for another chance at happiness?
Genres: Alternative (M/M, Gay), BDSM, Contemporary
Length: 31,270
REAL OR NOT
Suncoast Society
Tymber Dalton

Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
Real or Not
Copyright © 2018 by Tymber Dalton
ISBN: 978-1-64243-576-4
First Publication: December 2018
Cover design by Harris Channing
All art and logo copyright © 2018 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
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PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
DEDICATION
For Hubby, and for Sir. He knows why.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Tymber Dalton is the wild-child alter-ego of author Lesli Richardson. She lives in the Tampa Bay region of Florida with her husband (aka “The World’s Best Husband™”) and too many pets. Active in the BDSM lifestyle, the two-time EPIC award winner and part-time Viking shield-maiden loves to shoot skeet and play D&D with her friends. She’s also the bestselling author of over one hundred and fifty books and counting, including The Reluctant Dom, The Denim Dom, Cardinal’s Rule, the Suncoast Society series, the Love Slave for Two series, the Triple Trouble series, the Coffeeshop Coven series, the Good Will Ghost Hunting series, the Drunk Monkeys series, and many more.
She loves to hear from readers! Please feel free to drop by her website and sign up for her newsletter to keep abreast of the latest news, snarkage, and releases. You can also find all of her Siren-BookStrand releases under all four of her pen names on her author page on the BookStrand site.
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Author’s Note
This is book 87 in the Suncoast Society series. You do not have to read all the books before this one to understand the plot or characters—most of the books in the series are standalone.
The events that happened at the house in the Croom motorcycle park are covered in Out of the Darkness and Many Blessings (Coffeeshop Coven series).
And Ryan Ausar still refuses to stay in his own series. (Serieses? Seriesi? Eh, pushy damn characters, anyway.)
Some of the other characters in this book appear in or are featured in previous books in the Suncoast Society series. While most of the books in the Suncoast Society series are standalone works which may be read independently of each other, the recommended reading order to avoid spoilers and to not miss any backstory can be found on the Suncoast Society series page, along with character information and other trivia, on my website at:
http://www.suncoastsociety.com
TABLE OF CONTENTS
REAL OR NOT
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
REAL OR NOT
Suncoast Society
Tymber Dalton
Copyright © 2018
Chapter One
“Son of a bitch!” Lincoln sucked on his wounded left hand. The wrench had slipped on him, and now his first two knuckles were scraped bloody.
And it was only 8:05 in the morning.
Motherfucking Mondays.
“You all right, chief?”
Lincoln turned to where his shop foreman, Buddy, was staring at him from over the top of another chopper he was working on, which sat on his workbench.
“Yeah, I’ll live.” He flexed his hand and headed across the shop, to where they kept the big first-aid kit. It wasn’t a bad injury—he’d had much, much worse over the years—but he didn’t want to risk it getting infected.
With the luck he was already having today—starting with walking out of his house that morning to discover he had a flat tire, and that his battery was dead in his truck because he’d stupidly left both map lights on somehow—he didn’t want to go for a hat-trick.
“Maybe you should use the gloves Avery got for you?” Buddy called after him, a smile in his voice.
Lincoln raised his right arm and flipped Buddy a bird without looking back, which earned him a deep belly laugh from his friend and head mechanic.
“Hey,” Buddy shot back, “wouldn’t do for the big-shot to show up at that shindig this weekend looking like he stuck his hands in a fucking blender.”
Lincoln grunted a noncommittal response so he wouldn’t have to admit Buddy was right.
Except he hated using gloves for fine work like this, because it made it nearly impossible to feel what he was doing. Yes, he used nitrile and protective gloves when he needed to, but this was an assembly, so it wasn’t filthy, and it wasn’t like he was trying to protect his hands from sharp edges, like working with sheet metal.
But he hadn’t expected his hand to slip with the wrench as he tightened a bolt that was in a slightly awkward place.
Fuck.
He scrubbed his hands clean in the sink next to the bench where the first-aid kit was mounted on the wall, dried them with paper towels, and then dug peroxide out of the kit. After running some of that over the skinned knuckles, and following that up with alcohol for added insurance, then he sprayed liquid bandage over them, blew that dry, then added a little more for good measure.
&
nbsp; With that done, he put everything away in the first-aid kit…
And grabbed a pair of nitrile gloves to wear under the protective gloves he dug out of his toolbox.
Motherfucker.
He shot Buddy another glare as he stalked back to his bench—which made Buddy cackle—and got back to work. This was a custom build they would be unveiling in three weeks, and it needed to be done right. He’d just found his wrench, had the closed end fitted over the head of the offending bolt, and was about to try again when the shop’s intercom buzzed to life.
“Linc, phone call, line one,” Avery said. “And before you swear at me, it’s the network guy, Ryan Ausar, so yes, you have to take the call.” She closed the intercom link before he could respond over the two-way speaker system.
“Motherfucker.” He dropped the wrench onto his workbench and once again stalked across the shop. Hell, at this rate, it wouldn’t even take him an hour to make his Fitbit’s daily step count goal just from walking back and forth.
He stiff-armed the swinging door on his way into the front office area and didn’t even bother looking around as he headed for his personal office, where he kicked the door shut behind him. He hated being interrupted when he was working in the shop, especially on the tail-end of an important build like this, and Avery knew that. That’s why he left his cell phone on his desk. Anyone who needed to get hold of him for an emergency knew to call the office and have Avery give him a message.
Lincoln didn’t even bother pulling his gloves off. He dropped his six-four frame into his office chair and reached for the desk phone, where the button for line one was blinking. After lifting the receiver to his ear and propping it between his cheek and shoulder, he took a deep, slow breath and let it out before hitting the button.
“Lincoln Kirk.”
The only thing Lincoln really hated about dealing with the guy was how the man’s smooth British accent and green eyes made his cock stand up and tango. “Good morning, Lincoln. Ryan Ausar here. Terribly sorry to interrupt your day, but I wished to discuss the PR firm arrangements with you.”
Cradling his throbbing left hand against his chest, Lincoln leaned back in his chair, already hating this conversation. “Are you sure I need a PR firm? We already have an employee dedicated to our website and social media accounts. She’s doing a great job.” This was something he’d balked at ever since the man had first brought it up a few weeks ago.
“And I certainly don’t mean to disparage her skills in any way,” Ausar said. “She is obviously very talented to have built your reputation and social media presence the way she has. But the network wishes you to have a multi-pronged approach. As you start making personal appearances, and more televised interviews, we wish to ensure the branding is consistent across all platforms. Having someone used to dealing with our network will facilitate that. Your person, of course, will stay on, but she will work in conjunction with the PR team the network is paying for.”
Those last five magic words were what smoothed Lincoln’s hackles the most. “Obviously,” Ausar continued, “Opal knows you better than our team will, and she will play an important role in coordinating our approach to this. We will need her specialized knowledge, in fact, to make this a successful partnership.”
“Well, okay. Good. Because I’m not firing Opal.”
“We would never ask you to fire her. In fact, she seems to be a very charming woman. I’ve already told the producers I want to see footage of her, as well as of Avery, in the show. Any employees, of course, who wish to be part of the process.”
Lincoln relaxed even more. He still couldn’t believe this was happening, that gO! Network actually wanted to make a show based around him and his shop. It was exactly the kind of big break he’d longed for, and part of him still wondered if this was some sort of elaborate prank.
Except…it didn’t seem to be.
It also terrified the fuck out of him.
Fortunately, Ausar didn’t want to talk very long, and by the time Lincoln got off the phone with him, Linc would be hard-pressed to even tell anyone exactly what they talked about.
Except that someone from the PR company would be contacting him to arrange a face-to-face shortly, probably before the big cocktail party this coming Saturday in Miami. If not, Lincoln would definitely be meeting them at the cocktail party, which Ausar basically said without saying it that Linc’s attendance was not only mandatory, but that the dress code was formal.
Fuck.
He emerged from his office and walked over to Avery’s desk. “I have a job for you.”
She swiveled her chair and smirked up at him. “Do tell, boss man.”
He flipped her off. The only reason he let her get away with that shit was because she was like a second mom to him, despite her only being ten years older than his own thirty-four.
She was also his other best friend, next to Buddy, and had been his first employee. Well, and Avery’s husband, Tom.
“I need a damn tux. Before Friday. One that actually fits me.” He shrugged, rolling his broad shoulders for emphasis. “So however soon that needs to happen so that it…you know, happens.”
Her gaze dropped to his feet, to his work boots, then slowly scanned him until she met his gaze again. “How are we defining ‘tux,’ boss? Because are you talking black tie, or tails, or white tie, or what?”
He grumbled. “I don’t know. He just said formal dress.”
“He, who?”
“Ausar. The network guy. For the thing on Saturday in Miami. Why aren’t you guys going with me, again?”
She rolled her eyes at him. “Because we told you, doofus, you’re the pretty boy. Having people watching us do our normal jobs is different than getting gussied up for a party when nobody even knows who the heck we are.”
“Lucky me.”
“I’ll call Ausar back and clarify and get you an appointment to get fitted. You’ll probably have to drive down to Tampa, if I can’t find a decent place nearby.” She was already reaching for her phone.
“Whatever. Just handle it, please?” He headed back to the shop and winced when he flexed his left hand without thinking. His hands were sweating in the nitrile gloves, and he wanted to rip them off, but he needed to finish this part of the build first.
He was already nervous as fuck about this bike’s reveal. The tank and fenders were delivered by their paint guy on Friday and looked like absolute perfection. The powder coat came out gorgeous on the frame and other parts, the chrome was spotless, and he couldn’t wait for it all to go together. Dark, metallic greens and blues in a dragon theme. The fenders and tank were painted to look like dragon scales, and they’d made clawed feet that fit over the forks on the front wheel, and which had been chromed.
The profit wasn’t even the issue at this point, although, yes, they were making money on it. They’d clear ten grand once it was delivered.
More importantly, it would be part of a photoshoot for a custom bike magazine, and filmed for promos for the network.
How is this my life?
And a pretty damn good life it was turning out to be, too.
If only he wasn’t lonely as fuck.
* * * *
By three o’clock, Avery had made Lincoln an appointment at five with a formal wear rental place over in Spring Hill. Avery had already taken care of picking what style tux and shoes to rent for him from their website, but they needed to measure him. Fortunately, he could shower there at the shop, meaning he didn’t have to run home first to Ridge Manor and grab a shower before changing into shorts and a T-shirt and heading over to Spring Hill from their shop in Brooksville.
As he drove west on State Road 50 toward his appointment a little after four, he let his thoughts drift.
I can’t believe we’re actually going to have this kind of recognition.
It was totally worth the aggravation of being paraded around in a tux for a bunch of rich network people and other special VIPs in Miami this weekend. His wasn’t the only new sho
w this special cocktail party would tout, but apparently his was the flagship show of the upcoming season. In four weeks, a full production crew would be showing up to shadow them full-time for several months. They’d already had several shorter filming sessions for promos, and another smaller film crew would be covering the unveiling of the dragon bike.
No, like hell would he ever fire Opal. Opal, Avery, and Buddy were the reason they’d landed this opportunity in the first place.
He’d just thought Opal had been screwing around with a video camera her brother had loaned her, shooting stuff for Instagram and Facebook.
She’d actually been filming him in the shop in secret for weeks, with Buddy and Avery’s help, before she spliced everything together and sent a demo tape to the network in response to an open call.
Next thing he knew, Ryan Ausar himself had shown up with a cameraman and a producer to talk to them in person and see the shop.
And now…
Now, not only was he—and the shop—going to make a lot of money from appearing on the show, but also from related marketing, merchandising and licensing deals, but it would also elevate their status in the bike world.
Opal’s brother, who was an independent filmmaker, had put Lincoln in touch with an attorney out of Sarasota who handled IP, trademark, and entertainment law, and had helped him ink a deal that meant they’d finally be able to expand the shop and add more mechanics. He already had those guys lined up, friends who’d worked with him part-time for several years.
He already had the land, too. The building he worked out of sat on three acres just east of Brooksville, and they currently only used half of the existing building. He’d only been able to re-roof the front half of the former warehouse building, and finish it so they could air-condition the office, showroom, and shop area, and not sweat their damn balls off in the summer.
Real or Not Page 1
