Alec swallowed hard, pushing the memory aside. “Ready as I’ll ever be. What are the rules for today’s run?”
“Each team member collects a playing card at the designated points along the way. The team with the best hand at each stop wins a free round of drinks tonight. There are two stops up to today’s final destination and two stops on the way back tomorrow. But the weekend is really all about the bikes.”
Alec eyed Dylan’s cherry-red Ducati Monster, a motorcycle that looked as if two-hundred-mile-an-hour speeds were not only possible but inevitable. “How many do you own anyway?”
“Seven,” Dylan said. “But I’ve been looking at various Triumph TR5 Trophys for sale. Always wanted a bike like James Dean. You should come with me some time to check one out.”
Amused, Alec said, “Have you ever considered therapy for your obsession?”
Dylan’s smile nearly did Alec in. “Absolutely not.”
Fifteen minutes and several internal pep talks later, Alec followed Dylan to meet up with their three teammates at the starting line. With almost a hundred and fifty participants, the motorcycles took off in groups, the roar of the engines creating an impressive rumble. When their time came, Alec followed Dylan out onto the highway, enjoying the feel of his Harley. The motor purred like a contented lion since the tune-up. They quickly settled into a rhythm on the road, Dylan’s five-man team sticking close together.
Charlie, a redheaded, middle-aged fireman from Sacramento, took the lead. Following him was his brother Rob, a younger, slimmer, less hairy version of Charlie. After Rob came James, an accountant from Redlands who looked like…well, an accountant. He wore wire-framed glasses, and his personality was less boisterous than Charlie and his brother.
Dylan and Alec brought up the rear, riding side by side, the position comfortable. By now they’d learned each other’s habits well enough to anticipate the reactions of the other.
And despite Alec’s conflicted feelings, being back on the road with Dylan felt right.
By the time they arrived at the first stop of the day, the chilly temperature had dissipated, the sun glinting off the rows of parked motorcycles. In the center of a large field, a huge tent had been erected and filled with tables.
They parked, and Alec followed Dylan toward the makeshift rest area. The time spent on the road must have whittled away at Alec’s willpower because he couldn’t tear his gaze from Dylan’s ass. Surely Jacob Davis and Levi Strauss had specifically pictured Dylan’s form when they’d created blue jeans.
Mercifully, a voice pulled Alec from his traitorous thoughts.
“There you two are.”
Among the sea of leather and boots and riding chaps, along with those in racing apparel, Noah approached in a neon pink T-shirt. Dylan hadn’t been exaggerating. The words Drama Queen In Charge were plastered across Noah’s chest.
Noah gestured at the swarm of motorcyclists enjoying themselves. “What do you think?”
At one end of the large tent, a woman in an evening gown stepped up onto a small stage, picked up the microphone, and began to talk. The voice was definitely masculine.
Dylan stared at the drag queen. “I think—”
Piano music filled the air, and the performer began belting out “I Will Survive” by Gloria Gaynor. Five music-filled seconds passed before Dylan looked recovered enough to speak.
“Jesus, Noah,” Dylan rasped out.
Which, apparently, tapped Dylan’s ability to form words. So Alec responded to the overly innocent What? expression on Noah’s face.
“It’s a little much for a Saturday morning in the middle of nowhere,” Alec said.
The singer hit an earsplitting high note, and Dylan finally recovered from his apoplectic state. “There isn’t even any beer to dull the senses.”
“You know the rules,” Noah said. “You made them. No drinking during the run. And Destiny’s Bitch is one of the Bay Area’s hottest attractions.”
Dylan shot Noah a skeptical look.
But then Destiny’s Bitch hit another high note, and Alec silently thanked Noah for settling for plastic cups over glass. A server wearing a matching neon pink T-shirt and the words Little Minion passed by with a platter of appetizers delicately arranged. Noah reached out and snagged two.
Dylan’s dismayed look was almost comical. “What is that?”
“Today’s refreshment, donated by my favorite restaurant, is a thin slice of green apple topped with prosciutto and goat cheese and drizzled with honey.” Noah popped one into his mouth and held the other out to Dylan. “Try one. They’re delicious.”
Dylan stared at the offering with a hint of horror. “I gotta go talk to…to… someone.”
“You do that, handsome,” Noah said before turning to Alec. “Alec and I will catch up.”