“Tyler’s a great guy and a fantastic physician. Almost too dedicated to his patients if you ask me,” Noah continued. “But he’s always so…coolly detached. I swear if his pulse got any lower, we’d have to have him declared dead.” He lobbed a look at Alec. “I never thought he was right for you.”
Christ, how had his friend known the truth while Alec had remained so oblivious? When Dylan had opened his mouth and lied about their relationship, Alec’s first instinct had been to deny, deny, deny. Mostly because he knew how much further the lie took him from reconciliation.
Yes, he understood they were over, and he had too much self-respect to cling to someone who’d so obviously moved on. But a small part of him kept thinking if Tyler came back, then Alec hadn’t really spent two years being so wrong…
A smile crept up Noah’s face. “I’d like to see Tyler jealous too. In fact, nothing would entertain me more than watching Dylan ruffle the Ice Man’s implacable feathers.”
“Then I’ll simply skip the party,” Alec said.
“You can’t,” Noah said calmly. “I planned it specifically for you and Tyler.”
Dylan shot Alec a confused look, but Alec was too mentally exhausted by the idea of an evening with Dylan, Tyler, and the new boyfriend in the same room to explain its origins. Noah, on other hand, was a perpetual energy machine.
Noah’s enthusiasm showed in his voice. “The Front Street Clinic is receiving the humanitarian award from the Bay Area Council on HIV.”
“And…?” Dylan asked.
“And I’m throwing a party to celebrate,” Noah said as if the answer should be obvious. “Tyler and Alec and I worked our asses off getting that clinic up and running. A one-hundred-thousand-dollar check earmarked for our housing project and a tacky plaque inscribed with Alec’s and Tyler’s names should be celebrated in style.”
Alec glanced at Noah. “You could cancel the party.”
“But I bought enough caviar for a hundred people,” Noah said. “What would I do with such a large order of fish eggs?”
“Donate it to a local food bank?” Alec suggested hopefully.
“Goodness, no,” Noah said, as if Alec had announced they should all eat gazpacho with their fingers. “The order is coming from Caviar House and Prunier in London. This demands a palate that can appreciate quality.”
“Quit pretending to be a snob, Noah,” Dylan said.
“Hon, I’m not pretending.”
For once, Dylan was right. Noah was mostly show. Alec had long suspected Noah’s claim of chasing straight men bordered on being a huge exaggeration.
Questionable sexual conquests aside, Noah used to serve on the Bay Area Council on HIV, which is how Alec had met him. When Alec and Tyler had first envisioned a clinic for the homeless, Noah had worked tirelessly behind the scenes to ensure they had adequate financial support. The man’s energy was amazing, if not exhausting.
“Well, if you’re not canceling the party, I’m going,” Dylan said.
Noah narrowed his gaze at Dylan. “This isn’t your beer-and-a-bucket-of-chicken-wings kind of affair. You up to the task?”
“Definitely,” Dylan said.
“Seven o’clock, two weeks from today,” Noah said. “My place.”
“I’ll be the one in the leather dog collar,” Dylan said.
Noah laughed, Dylan grinned, and Alec let out a groan.
Christ, this was going to be a disaster.
Chapter Four
The next morning, after days of typical non-stop fog, the wet blanket had lifted, and the rising sun celebrated by stretching streamers of pink and orange across the sky. Dylan had been itching to hit the road since he’d parked his and Alec’s motorcycles on the trailer behind his truck and driven them east toward Livermore Valley. Two such beautiful bikes deserved a kick-ass route, and Dylan had chosen accordingly. The wine country’s rolling, vineyard-covered hills offered the perfect place to practice Alec’s skills. Dylan had unloaded the bikes with anticipation, but so far, the ride hadn’t lived up to his expectations.
In fact, the trip kinda sucked.
As Dylan followed behind, they headed over a patch of rough road, and Alec’s Harley shook like a washing machine on spin. Dylan bit back the words crowding his throat. He hated sounding like a broken record. But he’d dragged his butt out of bed before the ass-crack of dawn on a Sunday to give Alec the promised lesson, and, bloody hell, he had every intention of following through.
No matter how moody the student.
“Dude, I told you,” Dylan said into the microphone in his helmet. “You need to relax your grip and let the front wheel adjust to the terrain. That’s what it’s supposed to do.”
Instead, Alec’s hands seemed to tighten around the handles. Dylan could practically see Alec’s knuckles bleeding color from the effort. Frustration pierced Dylan in the gut, mostly because he knew the man wasn’t nervous or uncomfortable or acting out of defiance.