“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 times.
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.