by River Jaymes
The Backup Boyfriend
River Jaymes
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Copyright © 2013 River Jaymes
Cover art by the Killion Group
This book is a work of fiction. All characters in this novel are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ISBN-13: 978-0-9912807-0-4
Table of Contents
The Backup Boyfriend
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
About the Author
The Backup Boyfriend
Chapter One
Not far from Alec’s intended destination, his motorcycle stalled at the stop sign, and the elderly lady behind him gunned her vehicle, flipping Alec the bird as she roared by. Nothing like being insulted by a retiree before being left to eat her dust. Literally. Alec coughed as exhaust fumes and grit hit his face.
Clearly a cosmic bitch slap for ignoring the expert’s advice and purchasing this bike.
An impulse buy triggered by a hellacious morning, sure. But being forced to push his classic—translation, old—Harley Davidson into said expert’s garage? Not exactly a stellar start to a relationship with Alec’s new-to-him motorcycle or his recently formulated plan to put the past behind him and get a life.
One that didn’t include Tyler, his ex-boyfriend, at every turn.
A fresh wave of determination hit. Motivated, Alec raised himself up on his right leg and heaved his entire weight down on the kick start. The motor sputtered half-heartedly before dying, and two more tries produced the same results. Stumped, Alec frowned at the mound of metal between his legs.
“She’s a fickle one, all right,” a voice called out.
Alec’s lips quirked at the suggestion he take the machine’s uncooperative nature personally, and he sought the source with his gaze. In the front entryway of a metal building, beneath the words Adams’ Vintage Motors printed in red, a man leaned against the doorjamb.
Dylan Booth.
Over the phone the mechanic’s husky voice had slid over Alec like warm oil, but Alec’s imagination hadn’t done Dylan justice. Sporting grease-stained jeans and a black T-shirt, he had clean lines and classic good looks. Arms crossed, he appeared relaxed. Laid-back. But the keen eyes were alert, quietly assessing. On the inside he had to be laughing his ass off at Alec’s self-induced predicament. Alec tried to care, but failed.
The current humiliation paled in comparison to today’s news about Tyler.
The thought of his ex-boyfriend left Alec gripping the throttle with determination. After one more failed attempt at starting the motorcycle, he grunted in disgust and dismounted. Fortunately Dylan Booth kept any further comments to himself as Alec pushed the bike up the driveway, although the man had every right to be giving Alec hell.
“Nice to finally meet you in person.” When he reached Dylan, Alec flipped the kickstand down and removed his helmet, grateful for the cool breeze. Striving to remain composed, he said, “I’m Alec Johnson.”
The mechanic slowly wiped his hands on a rag as he stepped closer, the late afternoon sun reflecting off the greenest eyes Alec had ever seen.
With an air of reluctance about him, the mechanic stuck out his hand. “Dylan Booth.”
Grease stained the whorls of Dylan’s fingerprints. Fresh abrasions lined the top of his knuckles, as if he’d gotten into a fight with one of his vehicles. Alec reached out to shake Dylan’s hand, and the rough calluses caught Alec by surprise.
Interesting. His experiences, such as they were, involved men like himself, those whose list of post-nominal letters reflected the cost of an overpriced education. For a brief moment, his life to date felt way too tame, and he had to force himself to let go of Dylan’s hand.
Alec shaded his eyes from the sun, feeling awkward, because now he had two reasons to feel self-conscious. “I decided against the starter bike you recommended.”
“I can see that.”
Alec waited for Dylan to add what the hell were you thinking? Or serves you right, having to push your motorcycle into my garage.
“I suppose Noah described my purchase as idiotic.” Alec smiled grimly as he mentioned the mutual friend that had referred Alec to Dylan, because one of Noah’s many missions in life included being the buddy that kept Alec humble.
“I think I heard the phrase ‘dumb-ass decision,’” Dylan replied.
Alec knew Noah would never use those words. Dylan on the other hand…
His discomfort growing, Alec shifted on his feet and tried to lighten the mood. “He also claims the M.D. after my name stands for Massively Deluded.”
Of course, when the personal life sucked, delusion held a certain appeal.
One beat later, Dylan’s lips curled slightly in understanding. “Sounds like Noah.”
Alec let out an amused huff. No friend of Noah’s was safe from the man’s opinions. Clearly Dylan had been on the receiving end as well. Unfortunately, Noah was friends with Alec’s ex-boyfriend too. In fact, Tyler’s presence touched every aspect of Alec’s existence. His social circle. His professional life. They even worked at the same clinic.
Alec fought the familiar anxious tightening in his chest. The mechanic remained silent, and Alec realized the guy was waiting for the point of today’s visit.
“Since you’re the local expert on classic Harleys”—Alec gestured at his new purchase—“I hope you know a little about this particular machine.”
“1964 Harley-Davidson FLH Duo-Glide. Last year they made this style.”
Dylan’s demeanor loosened instantly, and he stepped forward to run a reverent hand across the Harley’s seat, caressing the leather. His palm traveled up the fuel tank before coming to a rest on the handlebar, affection in his gaze. And in his tone.
For a moment Alec considered suggesting Dylan get a room.
“They were used as police vehicles in the ’60s,” Dylan said.
Alec’s eyebrows shifted higher. “Really?”
“I see the previous owner removed the windshield.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
Christ, Alec.
He owned the vehicle. Had bought and purchased the motorcycle. He should be more familiar with its history. Then again, he should also be able to turn the damn thing on.
“Instead of removing the windshield,” Alec said, “they should have fixed the kick start.”
Dylan shot Alec a look he couldn’t interpret. A reprimand for going against his advice to choose a newer model? A dressing-down for purchasing a vintage bike he couldn’t start?
“This baby is a little complicated. Like most women, she has a few quirks to be aware of. Especially when she’s cold.” Dylan crossed to where the large garage door gaped open. “Got a few things to finish before I close, so what can I do for you?”
Alec couldn’t decide if the man was dismissing him or not. He probably wanted nothing to do with a newbie and his ill-advised purchase. Alec had no right to ask, but he did anyway.
Desperate time
s.
Desperate measures.
“I was hoping you could give my Harley a tune-up sometime before Friday,” Alec said.
Dylan tugged on the chain, lowering the metal door with a squeak. “I’m booked every day this week.”
Disappointment flared, and Alec forced himself to go on. “When is your soonest available appointment?”
“I can put you down for the first of next month.”
Next month.
Better than an outright no, but Alec fought the pressing sense of urgency and eyed the recalcitrant bike. Not that Alec had pictured himself riding carefree through the streets of San Francisco in less than seven days. But, at some point in the next week, Tyler would return for the boxes he’d left behind. When his ex spied the Harley in the garage, Alec needed the motorcycle to run like a well-oiled machine. Or, hell, at least start.
“Any way you could squeeze me in sooner?” Alec said.
“Sorry, but I’m already behind as it is. Did you have her inspected before the purchase?”
Inspected? Alec sent Dylan a blank stare, which was probably answer enough.
Good God, this whole situation made Alec look like a moron.
Dylan paused in his efforts, the metal grating sound coming to a brief, blissful end just in time for Alec to hear Dylan let out a barely audible sigh. “Did you at least get the maintenance history on the bike?”
“Uh…” Alec scratched the back of his neck. “It was kind of an impulse buy.”
“Candy, gum, and porno magazines are impulse buys,” Dylan said drily. “Not motorcycles.” Dylan’s grip remained on the chain. And, although he sounded patient, the skeptical amusement remained firmly intact. “Especially a vintage one.”
Just like I told you, the man didn’t say.
Alec hoped he didn’t sound defensive. “I did quite a bit of research a while back,” he said. The day Tyler had walked out of their home for good, actually. “But this morning I found out…”
That my partner of two years has a new boyfriend.
Is dating a hottie.
That I’ve been replaced, after only fifty-six days…
Alec cleared his throat. “Today I found this for sale online and went and wrote the owner a check.”
Dylan rubbed the faint stubble at his chin and stared down at the bike. “As impulse buys go, I suppose it could have been worse.”
“How so?”
“Coulda bought the mechanically challenged Yugo.” The reproof in Dylan’s gaze went down easier with the hint of humor in his eyes. “On the plus side, Yugos had rear window defrosters.” He hiked a brow meaningfully. “Mostly to keep your hands warm while you pushed the bastard to the nearest garage.”
The indirect reference to his less-than-impressive motorcycling debut brought a grin to Alec’s lips. “Now you’re mocking me.”
“’Course not.”
“Are you sure?”
Clearly amused, Dylan went on. “If I wanted to mock you, I’d mention that a Yugo doesn’t require skills with a kick start.”
Alec let out a bark of laughter, surprising himself with the sound. He hadn’t felt much like chuckling lately. Dylan resumed the noisy task of lowering the garage door, clearly locking up for the evening. But something in the man’s demeanor felt approachable.
“Mind if I ask you a few questions?” Alec said.
“Fire away.”
“Right.” Ill-advised purchase or not, he needed to get back to the business of his goals. “So the bike tries to stall every time I stop. I have to keep my hand on the throttle to keep it running. Any suggestions on what I might be doing wrong?”
“Sounds like your carburetor needs adjusting. Just take a flat-head screwdriver to the fuel intake valve and—”
After scanning Alec’s face, which most likely reflected his completely clueless state, Dylan dropped his hand from the chain, the massive garage door still halfway open. “Never mind. Won’t take but a few minutes. How about I do that for you now?”
The tension in Alec’s shoulders eased a bit. “That would be really helpful.”
Dylan crossed back and righted the Harley, flipping the kickstand with a flick of his foot. As he pushed the bike inside the metal building, Alec followed behind, the position allowing him to freely study Dylan’s form.
He guesstimated Dylan to be six two or so, two inches taller than Alec. His sandy hair was closely cropped on the sides, and the thick wayward strands on top looked more rebellious than messy. With each tiny adjustment in Dylan’s position, the black T-shirt stretched tight across a broad back and his biceps, which were as well defined as the rest of him. With every shift of his thighs, his quadriceps lengthened and bulged slightly beneath his jeans.
No ogling the straight man, Alec. No ogling any man, period.
Alec pulled his gaze away and concentrated on his surroundings. The garage smelled of a mix of motor oil, exhaust, and dust. Several motorcycles lined the wall to the right.
“I really appreciate this,” Alec said as he trailed behind Dylan.
“No worries.”
“I’m just glad I didn’t have to push the bike uphill for eight blocks. It weighs a ton.”
“About six hundred and fifty pounds.”
“You’re kidding me.” Alec came to a stop, the impulsive nature of his purchase hitting him all over again. “I had no idea it was that heavy.”
Dylan shot Alec a questioning look, as if he couldn’t fathom anyone being so uninformed about their vehicle. Normally Alec didn’t make a move without a serious amount of research, a habit that used to drive Tyler crazy.
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.”
