“Have you and Tyler decided on a fundraiser yet?” Dylan called out.
“Maybe. Jack Davis sits on the board at Charity Regional Hospital. He’s invited us to a Tigers’ game to tempt us into teaming up for a bachelor bid, with Noah in charge.”
Dylan gripped the doorway of his bedroom and leaned around to stare at Alec. “Are you friggin’ kidding me?”
The pained look on Alec’s face was almost comical. “I wish.”
“Man, I shudder at the thought of Noah acting as MC at a bachelor auction.”
Alec chuckled, and Dylan grinned at the laugh lines around Alec’s eyes. Dylan’s grip eased on the wood trim. Good, awkwardness gone. Finally, progress.
“Are you going to put yourself up for bid?” Dylan asked.
The look on Alec’s face sent Dylan’s stomach into a tailspin.
Damn, what a way to shine a spotlight on the ticking time bomb between them.
Referencing Alec’s bachelor status had been a moronic move on Dylan’s part. The oblique reference to their dead-end relationship went over like gut-splitting laughter at a funeral. Dylan totally owned the blame for this one. He should have known that, to Alec, a commitment took priority over a good time. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have spent two years trying to make things work with Tyler. He held babies as if he liked them, for fuck’s sake. But, for some reason, Alec had decided being with Dylan for a while was worth putting his significant-other goals on hold.
Making Alec unhappy sucked. In fact, the look on Alec’s face now was kind of crushing.
Shit.
Dylan pushed the turbulent thoughts aside and escaped into his bedroom, blindly rifling through his dresser. His fingers fumbled as he randomly selected a clean shirt and jeans. No getting out of his plans gracefully now.
“I’ll shower at your place after I work on the Harley. Next stop”—he avoided Alec’s gaze as he exited the bedroom and swiped his keys from the kitchen counter—“the garage and my tools.”
Though at this point, why bother? The universe had mucked with his plans from the beginning, and Dylan had sabotaged the rest with his dumb mouth.
Jesus, Alec was right about him.
He really didn’t know when to shut the fuck up.
~~~***~~~
Still numb from Dylan’s question, Alec trailed behind the man as they headed outside and down the stairs, the sun almost an afterthought in the late-afternoon sky.
And where in the grand scheme of things had he thought he could sleep with Dylan and keep everything simple? If Dylan didn’t mind Alec selling himself for a date to the highest bidder, then why bother sticking around?
Christ, Alec. You’re being as melodramatic as Noah.
Dylan had asked him about participating in a charity bid, not signing up for a dating service. Alec shoved his hair behind his ears. He needed a major attitude adjustment, feeling completely off kilter.
Because the moment he’d entered the apartment, his heart had suffered a strange kick.
He ached at the thought of Dylan coming home to such a stark environment. Tan walls, threadbare carpet. The furniture looked like rejects from a second-hand store. There’d been no attempt to decorate. No color. Nothing personal. The kitchen didn’t even look used except for the motorcycle part sitting on the scarred dinette table.
Frowning at the disturbing memory, Alec followed Dylan into the garage through a side door. And then Alec stopped short, too stunned to move as he stared at the scene.
While the no-frills apartment clearly bordered on depressing, this space, however, was a thing of beauty. Tools filled two of the four walls, as well organized as Dylan’s shop. Seven motorcycles were lined up along the middle of the room, each carefully covered. The eighth had the chain removed, now lying on the drop cloth beneath the bike. Colorful license plates filled the free walls in an artistic design. One side of the garage contained a table with a small TV and a patio lounge chair—more comfortable looking and certainly newer than any of the furniture upstairs. There was even a mini refrigerator.
Not only did Dylan work in a garage, he practically lived in one as well.
The years Dylan had spent on the streets had left a bigger hole than Alec had first thought. No wonder the idea of a real relationship wigged Dylan out. He barely knew how to live in a home.
Alec couldn’t decide which hurt worse, his head or his chest.
Hoping to recover from the turmoil, he headed for a rack of what looked like memorabilia. Antique helmets, saddlebags, and a few things Alec couldn’t identify lined the shelves.
“Looks like you spend most of your time at home down here,” Alec said.
Dylan stopped at a shelf and picked up a small set of tools shaped like tiny crowbars, all easily fitting into his palm. “Most of my waking hours anyway.”
Alec mulled this over as he ran his hand over an old helmet.
Dylan glanced at Alec and stuck the tools in his back pocket. “That belonged to my dad.”