by A. E. Wasp
“Excellent.” Bryce slid off the stool, a little less steady on his feet than he had been. He could drink beer all night, but whiskey went right to his head. “Hey, what do you mean ‘figure some stuff out?’”
Isaac muttered something under his breath. “You’ll know if you do.”
Bryce shook his head and smiled. “Okay, then. And if you’re ever in Colorado, look me up.”
Two a.m. found Bryce sitting by himself at an empty table, hovering at the border between sobriety and drunkenness.
Isaac had cut the music off about fifteen minutes earlier with the last call. Busboys cleared the last of the tables and stacked chairs around the few remaining patrons as they sucked down the last of their drinks and made desperate last-ditch attempts not to end the night alone.
Isaac sat down next to him, a glass of whiskey in one hand, and a glass of water in the other. “Friends ditch you?” he asked.
Bryce shook his head. “Nah. I just wasn’t ready to leave yet. They’ve got early practice. I’ve got…nothing.”
“You’ve got a big day tomorrow. New life starting.” He slid both glasses in front of Bryce. “Figured you’d want one or the other of these by now.”
Bryce considered. He’d already had more to drink than he’d had in years. The habits of a lifelong athlete kept him from overindulging in anything that would affect his performance. But that was all behind him now, right? Temporarily, he reminded himself. As soon as he was back up to fighting-strength, it was back to the grind for him.
He pulled the glass of whiskey towards him. “I don’t even really like this stuff,” he said, sipping the amber liquid. “But I kind of like it at the same time. Make sense?”
“Makes perfect sense.” Isaac wiped up a spill of beer with an already crumpled napkin. “So,” he said, watching the paper soak up the liquid, “do you need a ride home?”
“I can just grab a cab.”
“Let me give you a ride home. Might be the last time I see you.”
Bryce frowned. “Don’t say that. I’ll be back.”
“I know.”
Bryce looked at Isaac’s face. He was smiling, but his eyes looked a little sad. Why did Bryce feel like something important was passing him by? “You sure you want to give me a ride?”
“Can you wait fifteen minutes while I finish up?” Isaac reached for Bryce’s whiskey and finished the last bit.
“Of course.”
“Okay, then.”
The mist had turned to rain by the time Isaac pulled into the covered parking garage for Bryce’s building. He stopped the car near the elevator.
The bright lights of the garage felt like knives in Bryce’s eyes after the soft darkness of the night.
“Home sweet home,” Isaac said, putting the car into park.
“Hmm,” Bryce answered, eyes closed against the glare. He couldn’t seem to bring himself to open the door and get out. It was warm in Isaac’s car, a good song played quietly on the radio, and he could smell something dark and spicy.
Isaac shifted to face Bryce, one arm over the back of the seat and the scent intensified. It was his cologne, Bryce realized. “You smell good,” he said, turning to Isaac with a smile.
Isaac shook his head and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You pick now to do this? You’re killing me, Bryce. Shouldn’t you be getting out of the car now?”
Bryce frowned. He was pretty solidly drunk, but that didn’t seem to be the main impediment. There was a lassitude in his arms and legs preventing him from moving. “Probably.”
“Do you ever think about not coming back?” Isaac asked softly.
Bryce snorted. No one else had asked him that, but even if they had, he would have told them they were crazy.
Hockey was all he knew, and besides, how could he walk away from the kind of money they were tossing about for his new contract? His mom and siblings and nieces and nephews depended on him. The team needed him.
“Nope,” he lied. “I’ll be back sooner than you expect.”
Bryce patted Isaac’s hand and studied his face, something he’d found himself doing all night. There was something different about Isaac tonight. “I’m sorry we never hung out,” Bryce said. “I know it’s really late, and you’re probably tired, but do you want to come up?”
Isaac shook his head and laughed. “No offense, but not even if you weren’t shit-faced. You’re a hunk o’man alright. But you’re not my type.”
“What?” Why wasn’t he Isaac’s type? He was good looking, muscular. “Why not?”
“Don’t get your panties in a twist, babe. I’m sure there are lots of men willing to take you home and show you what you’ve been missing.”
“Damn right.” Wait. Was that something he wanted?
“But we’re friends,” Isaac continued. “And I’m not gonna be the one to light your lamp for you.”
“Light my lamp?” He must be drunker than he’d realized. He had no idea what they were talking about anymore. “Wait. Is that like a gay thing?”
Isaac laughed, throwing his head back.
Bryce couldn’t help but smile back at him. Happy Isaac was hard to look away from. “Yeah, it’s a gay thing,” Isaac said wiping tears from his eyes.
“You’re gay. I remember.” Bryce frowned. “But I’m not gay. Right?” That’s what he’d told Robbie. Then why hadn’t he been able to stop thinking about it all night?
He’d found himself staring at Robbie, searching for some sign he might have missed. Some sign of gayness, if that was a thing. If he found it in Robbie, maybe he could understand what people saw when they looked at him.
Isaac smiled and patted him on his arm. “What you are is drunk, and tired, and flying out in the morning. I think you should go to bed.”
Bryce leaned his head back against the seat. “Yeah. You’re right.” Lifting his head back up was hard. It felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. “Thanks for everything.”
“No problem, man. You have my number.”
Bryce smiled. “Yeah! I do!”
Isaac chuckled. “You do. Give me a call when you figure some things out, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Now get the hell out of my car.” Isaac pushed him. Bryce didn’t even sway, and Isaac shook his head. “Stop showing off. I know you’re a big muscly manly-man. Get out.”
Bryce popped the door open. “Thanks again.”
“Sleep tight, Bryce. Good luck in Colorado.”
“Night.”
Chapter Four
DAKOTA
Dakota slumped in the saddle of his Harley Road King and stared at the red taillights of the brand new Toyota 4Runner in front of him. He wished he had the ability to make the vehicle explode with the power of his mind. Or at the very least make it get the fuck out of the way. He didn’t want anyone to get hurt; he just wanted to ride fast up a twisty mountain road. Was that too much to ask?
With all the stress in his life right now, a nice long motorcycle ride was just what he needed. The aspens blazed gold against a perfectly clear blue sky, and the road up to Rocky Mountain National Park should have been light on tourists on an October Sunday afternoon.
Should have been. Wasn’t.
Judging by the way this idiot in front of him was puttering seven miles an hour below the speed limit up the twisting mountain roads, there was a least one tourist left.
He couldn’t see the person behind the wheel, but he was going to assume it was a little old lady. Grandma didn’t even have the damn sense to pull over and let Dakota pass.
Maybe she wasn’t a tourist. The SUV had temporary Colorado tags. He bet she was a new transplant. She’d probably read one too many ‘10 Best Places to Retire’ article in the AARP magazine, moved out west, and got herself an SUV for carting the grandchildren around during the winter.
Dakota gritted his teeth and took a few deep breaths, trying to enjoy the feel of the bike between his legs and the road rolling out beneath him, no matter how slowly it might be rolling.
About a half mile ahead, after the next curve, the road straightened out and widened into two lanes; he would pass her there. He may be upset, angry, and confused, but he wasn’t suicidal. Besides, he was headed all the way up to Trail Ridge Road today, trying to get one last ride in before it closed for the season. Fifteen minutes extra wasn’t going to kill him.
As Grandma came into the hard curve to the right, she swung wide, crossing the yellow line.
Holy crap.
Dakota slowed the bike to put more space between them and held his breath until she completed the turn safely. Okay, now he had to see what Grandma looked like. She was a menace. Jesus Christ, if anyone had been coming down the mountain…he didn’t even complete the thought.
The road widened, and Dakota shifted gears to pull up next to Granny and give her a death glare. Not that she’d be able to see it through the helmet, but she’d feel it. Deep in her soul.
He swung around the left side of the bright red SUV, turned his head, and the world slipped into slow motion.
Granny was actually a smoking-hot giant of a man with his hands clenched so tightly on the wheel, Dakota could see the whites of his knuckles through the window.
Not-Granny turned and looked at Dakota, his dark, gorgeous eyes wide. The guy filled the SUV, his head almost brushing the roof. His biceps were the size of Dakota’s thighs. Holy shit. Maybe Dakota should offer to give him the driving lessons he so obviously needed.
Dakota swung around in front of the 4Runner and gave the guy a last look in his rearview. Good luck with the driving, he thought. Try not to kill anyone.
As he pulled away, there was a pop Dakota could hear through his helmet, and the guy’s eyes opened even wider. Dakota had a quick second to marvel at how dark his eyelashes were before the SUV slewed sideways off the road.
Holy crap.
Screeching to a halt, Dakota turned his bike across the road to block any oncoming traffic and watched helplessly as the guy yanked the steering wheel in completely the wrong direction to control the skid.
The SUV slid on the dirt, spun around, and ended up with its rear end sticking into the road and its front end facing a drop-off. The only thing keeping it from plunging down the short but steep bank to the river was a lone pine tree wedged against the grill. The rear driver’s side tire was shredded; the sidewall completely blown out.
Dakota parked the bike safely and ran over to the SUV. “Are you okay?” he asked, hoping the guy could hear him over the heavy metal screaming from the speakers. Dakota was a little afraid to touch the 4Runner.
The guy said something and with shaking hands pushed his long dark hair back from his pale face.
“I can’t hear you,” Dakota said knowing that the guy couldn’t hear him either. He mimed rolling down the window.
Tall, dark, and incompetent did as he was told, and the music blaring from the speakers almost blew Dakota’s hair back. “Shut the music off!”
“I don’t know how,” the guy admitted. “It’s brand new. And I’m afraid to move.” His hand trembled on the steering wheel. Standing this close to him, and given how hard the guy’s hand clenched the steering wheel, Dakota could see that his biceps were huge. Everything about him was huge.
Dakota mentally smacked himself. Now was not the time to be checking this guy out, no matter how hot he was. Which was very. The guy was terrified. Considering how hard Dakota’s heart was pounding just from watching the skid, he wasn’t surprised.
“Is the car gonna fall?” the guy asked.
Dakota’s eyes flicked to the front of the 4Runner, gauging the strength of the tree, the slope of the ground, and the weight of the SUV. “I think you’re fine. Just back it up a bit,” Dakota yelled over the music. He tried to smile reassuringly. The guy didn’t look particularly reassured.
Putting his foot on the brake, the man gently pushed the gearshift into reverse. The SUV slipped a little on the loose gravel and dirt, slewing sideways from the pressure of the ruined tire, and the guy slammed the brake pedal. The 4Runner lurched back and forth, sliding even further sideways.
This guy really was a terrible driver. He looked so scared, Dakota wanted to comfort him. “Hey. Hey, guy,” Dakota said loudly. That fucking music was making him insane. “What’s your name? I can’t keep calling you guy in my head.”
“Bryce.”
“Okay, Bryce. Here’s what we’re gonna do.” Bryce looked like he was one second away from a freakout. Dakota held up his hands and spoke in low, quiet tones, treating Bryce like a skittish horse. “Put the car back in park.”
Bryce looked the at gearshift and frowned. “Oh. Sorry. I don’t drive a lot.”
“I kind of figured that. Okay. Now put the parking brake on.”
Bryce looked over between the seats, then back at Dakota.
“It’s a pedal on the floor.”
Bryce shook his head, his long brown hair sliding across his cheeks. An adorable blush replaced the pallor. “Right. Of course. I knew that.” Bryce’s leg shifted as he stomped down on the parking brake, his quad looked like it would burst out of the black brace that ran from just above his knee to mid-calf.
Dakota gingerly opened the door. The SUV didn’t so much as rock. So far, so good. “Hop on out.”
“You think it’s safe?”
“You’re fine. It’s fine.” Dakota held out a hand. “Come on.”
Bryce ignored Dakota’s outstretched hand and lifted his leg with both hands, wincing as he shifted sideway and lowered it to the ground.
“You okay?” Dakota asked trying to think what he would do if this giant started to fall. Maybe he could at least break his fall and keep his knee from getting hurt worse.
“Yeah. I’m good.” He pulled himself the rest of the way out of the SUV.
Dakota tilted his head up to meet the guy's eyes as he brushed by him. He didn’t really look okay, but Dakota would deal with that after he got the 4Runner taken care of.
“Great,” Dakota said and slid behind the wheel. “Now get out of the way.”
The first thing he did was shut off the radio. “What are you listening to? It’s awful,” he said out the window. “I think the car blew a tire in self-defense.” Throwing an arm over the seat, Dakota looked out the back window and skillfully maneuvered the car to a safe spot on the shoulder of the two-lane road.
He gave the blown tire a quick glance as he walked over to where Bryce rested against a low split-rail fence.
The big man held out his hand to shake. “Thanks, man. I owe you one. That was fucking terrifying.”
Dakota took his hand. It was strong, calloused, and trembling. “Not as bad as the way you took that last turn,” Dakota said. “You could have gotten killed if someone had been coming the other way, you know. Or killed someone else.” The words spilled out of Dakota before he could stop them.
“I know. I’m so sorry. I don’t have a lot of experience driving,” Bryce admitted.
“At your age?” The guy had to be a few years older than Dakota, closer to thirty than twenty.
Bryce blushed again. It really was adorable. Guys who looked like they could hold Dakota against the wall while they fucked him should not be able to look adorable.
“I’ve lived in cities most of my life,” he explained. “I don’t get a lot of opportunities to practice. Plus, I was t-boned by some moron running a red light when I first got my license. I stopped driving for a long time after that. It still makes me nervous.”
“Well, you picked a hell of a road to practice on.”
Bryce looked stricken. “Oh, God. I should have stayed at the hotel. I just needed to think, you know?”
Dakota gave a laugh and pointed his finger at his motorcycle. “Yeah, I know. That was my goal, too. Driving is a great way to clear your mind.”
“I’m so sorry.” Bryce stared at his shiny new SUV. “Should we call a tow truck?”
“Just to change a flat?” Dakota asked.
“What if that’s no
t all that’s wrong with it?”
Dakota shrugged. “Sure. Call Triple A or whatever.” He looked pointedly at the high canyon walls surrounding them on either side of the road. “Do you have cell service?”
Bryce checked his phone. “Damn it.”
Dakota considered the options. The easiest thing to do would be for him to change the damn tire himself. It would mess up his plans, but, for some reason, he wasn’t in a hurry to leave this guy. “Do you know where the spare is on this thing?”
Bryce raised one eyebrow and gave him a sheepish half-smile.
Dakota couldn’t help but return the smile. “You’re right, stupid question.”
Bryce might be a menace to society on the road, but he was sexy as hell. He looked like he’d stepped out of a porn video. That may possibly have had something to do with the reason Dakota wanted to linger.
Dakota didn’t normally go for beards, but Bryce’s neat brown beard only emphasized the strength of his jaw and the plushness of his mouth. He wondered if it would take both hands for him to reach around Bryce’s biceps.
Okay, enough lusting, get to work. “Do you have the user’s manual?”
“That I know. It’s in the glove compartment.”
Bryce watched quietly as Dakota located the spare and the tools he needed to change the tire. He whistled when he saw the shredded remains of his tire. “That’s a pretty serious flat. What causes something like that?”
Bending down to fit the crossbar into the bumper, Dakota caught a whiff of the guy’s cologne. He smelled as good as he looked.
“Defective tire. You are damn lucky that didn’t happen somewhere else on this road.” He stood up, shaking his head. “I keep flashing back to you taking that last turn too wide. If it had blown then, fuck, I don’t want to think about it.”
“Me neither. Trust me.” Bryce put his hand to his chest. “I feel like I’m going to have a heart attack.”
Dakota snorted a laugh and finished lowering the spare from underneath the SUV.
Bryce frowned. “What? You think my near-death experience is amusing?”