Fuck. He hated being right.
Needing time to regroup, Dylan said, “We can talk over dinner. I’ll just snag a beer and go wash up before we eat.” He pulled open the refrigerator door and grabbed a bottle, escaping into the garage.
“I’ll finish the salad,” Alec called after him.
Heart hammering at a stupid rate, Dylan stood and stared blankly at his wall of tools, wondering how he’d gotten himself into this predicament. Questions clogged his thoughts and left him unsure what to do next.
As far as Dylan could figure, Alec had wanted to have this discussion for several days. Dylan, being the friggin’ coward he was, had never encouraged Alec to share his thoughts. Only one possibility made sense. The man was going to ask him to move in, for them to live together like a couple.
Jesus.
Dylan didn’t know which to do first, laugh at the absurdity of his situation, panic, or give the idea serious consideration. The thought of laying claim to half of Alec’s bed held a definite appeal, and for more than just the obvious advantages.
Dylan took an insanely embarrassing amount of pleasure in sleeping next to Alec. In fact, Dylan had come to hate waking alone. He craved the heat and loved the feel of skin on skin. Wrapping himself around Alec, or vice versa, came as naturally as breathing.
But he sure as hell didn’t want to be someone’s significant other.
He pushed the conflicting feelings aside and headed for his Indian Blackhawk parked next to the workbench, which had tools spread out across the top. He picked up an Allen wrench and absently rubbed his thumb along the metal tool, his head swirling.
“Thirty more minutes till dinner,” Alec said as he entered the garage. “Maybe we should talk now.”
Dylan tensed, still unprepared for the possible discussion.
The look returned to Alec’s face, and he stepped closer. “Dylan—”
“My old air compressor finally died today.” Heart wedged in his throat, Dylan turned and knelt at the motorcycle, running his finger along the chain as if testing the tension. He should have bolted for home, like ten minutes ago. “I had to buy a new one.”
There was a two-second pause before Alec responded. “From what you’ve said, the event was well overdue.” He sounded hesitant now, almost guarded.
Dylan fought to remain calm, at least on the outside.
“Yep,” Dylan said. “It got to the point where fixing the sucker cost more than purchasing a new one.”
“Dylan,” Alec said. “I—”
“I meant to ask you earlier. How’s Tyler?”
Dylan kept his eyes on the bike. Clearly he’d gone off the deep end if he was asking about the ex to dodge the conversation. Dylan suppressed the scoff threatening to escape. Next he’d be calling and inviting Tyler over to share their meal, just to delay the inevitable.
“He’s fine,” Alec said. “Noah’s still giving him shit. And he’s bummed Logan can’t make it to awards ceremony.” He cleared his throat. “Which reminds me, there’s something I want to ask—”
Alec’s cellular rang, and Dylan gripped the chain and closed his eyes, grateful for the delay, his mind scrambling. How would he avoid the discussion without pushing Alec away? Dylan glanced at Alec from the corner of his eye as Alec answered with a hello.
Immediately Alec’s expression fell. “Hi, Mom.” He turned, his profile facing Dylan as he went on. “I told you, that’s not necessary.”
Dylan could just make out a female voice droning over the phone, and he pretended he wasn’t straining to hear the words. Now he was sorry they’d been interrupted because, while he might be a complete chicken shit about discussions involving the future, he hated seeing Alec upset.
Alec’s lips grew tight. “I know, it’s just—”
The words died as his mother’s voice continued, and Alec stepped away from the table—away from Dylan—and began to pace. Dylan watched Alec walk back and forth. A few more minutes passed as the telephone conversation continued, and the tension in Alec’s shoulders never eased. Unfortunately, Alec’s mumbled one-word answers gave no clue as to the topic.
Alec finally said goodbye and slipped his phone into the pocket of his khakis, heading back to Dylan. “My mother.”
“Yeah,” Dylan said with a small smile, hoping to cheer Alec up. “The ‘hi, Mom’ was kind of a giveaway.”
Alec didn’t go on, and Dylan gnawed on his lip. Should he let the moment pass? Employ an evasive maneuver and bolt for home, as planned? Or should he ask Alec about the phone conversation? In the end, Dylan couldn’t ignore the dejected look on Alec’s face, the eyes bleeding vulnerability.
Not when the expression made Dylan’s chest ache.
“What’s up?” Dylan asked.
Alec met his gaze. “My parents are still planning on coming to the awards ceremony.”
“Well, hey, that’s good, right?”
Alec rubbed his forehead with both hands as if to scrub away his worries. He seemed unsure of his answer.