The Backup Boyfriend

by River Jaymes

  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.

  Chapter Two

  “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 th
e 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.”

  “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…