“No.” Dylan sent his friend a huge grin. “I prefer a sure thing.”
When the quarterback got sacked on the big screen hanging over the bar, Alec let out an exuberant groan. The dismayed Tiger fan to Dylan’s left slapped the counter, jostling his beer in the process. Dylan slid his mug and his stool an inch closer to Alec’s. Although Dylan preferred pro ball to college, he had zero regrets about coming tonight.
Watching Alec’s reactions was almost as entertaining as the game itself.
At halftime, Dylan turned to Alec. “How did starting the Harley go this morning?”
“Got it on the first try.”
Alec’s satisfied little-boy grin brought an odd flush of pleasure through Dylan’s chest. Alec had grown much more adept at turning over his motorcycle, with an eighty percent success rate of getting her going even when cold. Just like their backcountry race, every kick start of the Harley brought a flare of excitement and satisfaction to Alec’s eyes.
And why was the sight so fucking amusing?
Probably because most of Dylan’s serious biker buddies lived fairly far away. Outside the occasional trip to a rally or an organized run, Dylan’s contact consisted of the rare phone call and a meet-up once, maybe twice, a year.
Dylan paused and then tossed out the idea that had been churning in his head for the past several days. “You should come on the poker run with me,” Dylan said. “Plenty of awesome bikes to see.”
Alec let out a skeptical snort. “I’ve owned my motorcycle a little over two weeks. I’m not exactly a pro.”
“Don’t need to be. The weekend is all about fun.”
The doubtful look on Alec’s face grew bigger. “I’d hate feeling pressured to keep up.”
“No pressure, man,” Dylan said.
Alec tapped his fingers on the counter. “I think I better pass.”
The pretty brunette waitress set down two more beers and took the empty chicken-wing basket away, and Dylan sent her a nod of thanks before turning back to Alec. “Let me know if you change your mind. As I said, lots of awesome bikes to drool over.” Dylan cocked his head as he went on. “You never did tell me why you chose your Harley.”
Alec crossed his arms. “It was an impulse buy. I’d spent some time doing research, thinking I’d choose a duo-sport because I wanted something light enough to pick up. You know”—Alec’s lips quirked as he took a bite of his French fry—“in case I fell over or anything.”
Dylan played dumb. “Now who’d do a lame-ass thing like that?”
Alec laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Since the first lesson, Dylan had learned that a smiling Alec was good. A laughing Alec? Even better. Alec’s refusal to participate in the poker run left Dylan feeling vaguely unsatisfied. Clearly he’d have to work on the guy and get him to change his mind.
But before Dylan could decide how to make that happen, or why he cared so much, his cellular buzzed, and he pulled the phone from his back pocket. He eyed Noah’s incoming number and groaned, letting the call go to voice mail.
He pointed his iPhone at Alec. “This is why I need you to say yes.”
Alec tipped his head in confusion.
“To keep me from killing Noah at the poker run,” Dylan went on.
“And you thought that would provide me with incentive?” Alec said drily.
A chuckle escaped before he could stop it. “This year Noah volunteered to be in charge cuz I want to actually enjoy myself instead of running around taking care of last-minute details. Unfortunately, he’s been driving me friggin’ crazy.”
He never should have let his friend volunteer to head up the annual run this year. For some reason Dylan had yet to explain, the fifth anniversary of Rick’s death seemed… significant, for lack of a better description. Although he appreciated Noah stepping up to the plate, Dylan was beginning to have regrets.
Serious regrets.
“At least Noah’s organized,” Alec said.
“Yeah, but his attention to detail is driving me batshit crazy.” Dylan’s lips twisted in a mix of irritation, amusement, and affection—the standard reaction triggered by his friend.
From Alec’s earlier response, no doubt he felt the same way.
“And Noah didn’t know how much work the event involved, so he’s been a queen bitch about the whole thing,” Dylan said.
“I’m not surprised you two have vastly different ideas about how the weekend should play out. Noah’s as gay as they come, and you’re”—Alec waved in Dylan’s general direction, clearly struggling for the right words—“very much not.”
Amused by Alec’s description, Dylan licked the hot wing sauce from his fingers and wiped his fingers down his jeans. “I sure as hell don’t spend as much on clothes.”
“He does give the Kardashians a run for their money.”
“How the hell would you know that?”