Although the words were benign, the tone in Noah’s voice created a fist of tension in Alec’s gut. Fortunately, Noah remained silent as Dylan headed off, threading his way through the crowd. Unfortunately, Alec didn’t tear his gaze away from Dylan’s ass fast enough.
Noah stared at Alec without saying a word, and, despite the cool breeze, heat crawled up Alec’s back. He forced himself to remain calm and stuck his hands into the pocket of his jeans.
“Dylan asked me to make a fifth for the team. So in a way,” Alec said, “it’s your fault I’m here.”
Noah simply shot him a look that screamed bullshit.
“We’re just friends, Noah.”
Noah’s expression didn’t budge.
Alec tried again. “Nothing else.”
Noah finally let out a scoff. “There isn’t a gay man in the world who wouldn’t want more than that from Dylan Booth. Probably a few straight ones too.”
Alec tipped his head, a thought suddenly occurring to him. All this time he’d assumed Noah’s chastising words were in response to the potential for Alec getting hurt. Now he wondered who, exactly, Noah worried about the most.
“Does that include you?” Alec asked.
“Oh my God.” Noah tipped back his head and let out a loud laugh, nixing Alec’s previous thoughts. “Are you jealous?”
“No,” Alec said, although a part of him considered the possibility. The two men were clearly tight. And Alec wasn’t so delusional as to deny his burning curiosity about Dylan Booth. Alec suspected Noah knew more about Dylan than he let on. “I’m not jealous. But I thought maybe you were.”
Noah huffed out a breath. “I’m too familiar with Dylan to set myself up for that kind of heartache.”
Heartache.
Before Alec could process his thoughts, Dylan wandered back in their direction, looking a bit more relaxed now that Destiny’s Bitch was taking a break. Alec stared vacantly into the crowd and half-heartedly listened as Dylan began to discuss tomorrow’s route.
Was Dylan hoping for more between the two of them? So far he’d stayed true to his promise, keeping his hands to himself. In fact, he looked so unaffected that Alec had begun to reconsider Noah’s morning-after speech. Had Alec been “the hand,” a convenient way for Dylan to get off? Maybe Dylan had simply had a moment of bi-curiosity.
An ache set up camp behind Alec’s heart. He watched Dylan take a swig from his plastic bottle, a drop of water sliding down Dylan’s neck and settling into the dip at the base of his throat. A perfect fit for Alec’s tongue. He shook his head to rouse himself out of his stupor.
What was wrong with him? Dylan didn’t appear to want him anymore. Alec wasn’t supposed to want Dylan.
Christ, why had he agreed to come today?
Redheaded Rob sidled up to Dylan’s side with an appetizer in hand. “Anyone know where can I get more of these apple thingys?”
Noah eyed Rob up and down before sending the man a brilliant smile. “I’d be happy to show you.”
“Fantastic,” Rob said with a grin.
Alec watched Noah escort the man away and forced his gaze to remain on the two men, despite Dylan’s disturbing proximity.
“Should we warn Rob that Noah will probably hit on him?” Alec said, finally risking a glance at Dylan.
“Nah.” Grinning, Dylan studied the two men as they disappeared into the crowd. “Why ruin the surprise?” With barely a glimpse in Alec’s direction, he went on. “Let’s go get our playing card.”
And, as he followed Dylan, Alec focused on the crowd around him. He needed to stop searching for the return of The Look. He needed to stop wondering if it would reappear in Dylan’s eyes.
More importantly, Alec needed to figure out what he’d do if it did.
Chapter Nine
Turns out, Alec had no reason to worry how he’d respond to the return of a Dylan who stared at Alec with that familiar heat in his gaze. The day ended much like the start, with a fiery sun lingering just over the horizon and nothing resembling desire appearing in Dylan’s eyes.
In fact, he’d almost disengaged completely.
The restaurant patio brimmed with bikers, and chatter and laughter and the clatter of cutlery filled the air. Alec had laughed when Dylan pretended to weep with relief when they smelled barbecue being served to the participants—the fleeting sign of humor from Dylan the first since the morning.
Their five-man team had eaten dinner while debating the day’s best bike sighting. Oddly, Dylan stayed out of the friendly argument, silently focusing on his food instead. And there was something obscene about the way Dylan wolfed down his barbeque. Watching Dylan lick the sauce from his lips and fingers constituted a form of torture. Fortunately, with the dinner dishes mostly cleared, they all sat around the table sipping their beers while Dylan’s friends told stories about past poker runs. The conversation was a welcome distraction from the finger porn and the almost withdrawn look on Dylan’s face.