He frowned as he watched Tyler arrange the boxes in the back of his SUV.
“He’s not normally an asshole.” Alec rubbed his forehead. “I think seeing you in our—my—driveway really threw him for a loop.”
Dylan pointed at the blond-haired boyfriend helping Tyler load the Range Rover. “Like flaunting his new piece of ass is any easier on you?”
Seriously, what was wrong with him today?
Dylan dropped his arm and reined in his anger. The ex returned to the garage, alone, and Alec attempted to appear unaffected by his presence—a spectacular fail. Dylan hoped the good Dr. Johnson excelled at his work, cuz he sucked at starting motorcycles and picking up the pieces after a failed relationship. And he really sucked at pretending he was okay around his ex.
Dylan shot Tyler a huge smile, determined to make the man uncomfortable, if such a thing were possible. Maybe then Tyler wouldn’t notice how miserable Alec looked.
“Need any help with those last two?” Dylan asked.
“No, I’ve got them,” Tyler said.
“I don’t mind.”
“No need to trouble yourself.”
“No trouble at all. I’m feeling pretty motivated,” Dylan said. “Cuz the sooner you leave, the sooner Alec and I can get back to that sex swing.”
Tyler paused in the midst of picking up the remaining boxes. “Alec doesn’t have a sex swing.”
The grin that hijacked Dylan’s face was huge. “He does now.”
Man, he’d really rolled out of the evil side of bed this morning.
Alec sounded defeated. “You just don’t know when to shut up, do you?”
“It’s a gift,” Dylan said.
Or a curse, depending on the day.
For a brief moment, the unflappable Tyler looked uncertain, less sure of himself. Good, let the bastard have doubts. Finally, Tyler shook his head, the unruffled expression returning as he held the last two boxes in his arms.
“Guess we’ll see you both at Noah’s party,” Tyler said as he passed by.
Dylan’s grin returned. “Looking forward to it.”
Chapter Three
Thirty minutes later Alec blew out a sigh of relief when he heard the beep, beep, beep of the combination to the front keyless entry of his home, and Noah swept inside with a flamboyant flourish. A tightly wound bundle of energy in a compact five-foot-ten-inch body, he looked casually dressed, but Alec knew the outfit by Hermes had cost a fortune. Noah’s lean frame sported a long-sleeved, cashmere T-shirt and fitted black jeans.
Alec just hoped the man had brought his powers of persuasion along.
Noah closed the door and paused, assessing Alec and Dylan where they sat in the living room. “I need a Bloody Mary.”
“It’s only eleven o’clock in the morning,” Alec said.
Though, God knows, after Tyler’s visit and Dylan’s maverick mouth, Alec felt the need for a drink too.
“Yes, a bit of the hair of the dog and all that,” Noah said as he smoothed a black strand of hair from his forehead. “Couldn’t this have waited until a better time? Like next year?”
Alec said firmly, “No.”
The first thing Alec had done after Tyler left was call Noah and insist he come over. Normally Alec would have taken pity on his friend, but this time Noah’s hangover-fueled protests went unheeded. Alec needed him to talk some sense into Dylan. Besides, it was only fair. Noah was the one who had sent Alec to Dylan in the first place, and Noah had neglected to mention the man was insane.
Alec would have remembered such a description.
Noah crossed the living room toward Dylan, where he stood at the minibar, mixing the Bloody Mary.
“Remember, Noah,” Dylan said, “this afternoon’s meeting about the poker run can’t run any longer than forty-five minutes, tops.”
“I’ll do my best.” Noah accepted the drink with a murmured thanks. “But I can’t make any guarantees.”
Dylan pointed a finger in Noah’s direction. “Don’t make me pull out a timer.”
“Deal,” Noah said. “As long as you don’t make me drink alone.”
Dylan obligingly pulled a beer from the tiny refrigerator, and Alec got the distinct impression the mutually tolerant pattern of interaction had been forged ages ago.
“I saw last week’s blog,” Noah said to Dylan. “I have to say, your post was inspiring.”
Surprised, Alec glanced at the mechanic. “You have a blog?”
“Yep.” Dylan twisted the top off his bottle with a hissing pop. “About vintage bikes.” He flipped the cap between his fingers, and it hit the stainless steel garbage can with a ping, plopping inside.
Noah grinned as he watched the procedure. “That never fails to amuse me,” he said, turning to Alec. “Isn’t he just the butchiest thing you’ve ever seen?”
Instead of answering, Alec addressed Dylan instead. “What do you write about?”