The Backup Boyfriend

by River Jaymes

  “Hey!” Dylan shot up in his seat.

  Was his protest due to the accusation being false or because Noah had shared the truth? Alec tried hard to pretend the answer didn’t matter.

  “Okay, so you’re not quite the manwhore,” Noah said to Dylan, and Alec’s shoulders eased. “During the week, I practically have to drag you out of that garage of yours. But on the weekend, all bets are off. You’re with a different woman every Friday and Saturday night, Dylan. You can’t even commit to one make of motorcycle, for chrissakes.”

  Alec let out a huff, amused by the words, until Noah’s focus shifted again.

  “And you…” he said to Alec, and Alec’s muscles tensed for battle. Noah stood and began to pace as he went on. “You are just getting out of a two-year relationship—a relationship you were mourning just weeks ago. And now you’ve gone and hooked up with Dylan?” Noah came to a stop in front of Alec. “Could you get any more idiotic?”

  Probably not.

  “Give me a minute,” Alec said drily. “I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

  Dylan chuckled again, and Noah frowned at him. “This isn’t a laughing matter.”

  Clearly struggling to restrain a smile, Dylan rubbed his chin and glanced at Alec, probably hoping for a bit of solidarity while dealing with a seriously worked-up Noah. But Alec was too busy getting lost in the green gaze and remembering the wild look on Dylan’s face as Alec pounded into him from behind.

  He still couldn’t wrap his mind around the sight.

  Several seconds ticked by, and Dylan’s eyes grew dark, dropping to Alec’s body. The drag of his gaze was like a physical touch, stealing Alec’s breath. And, for one insane moment, he thought Dylan was going to cross the room and haul Alec back to the bedroom.

  Christ, he was still worn out and buzzed from this morning. Noah was right. Dylan’s libido clearly operated at full throttle.

  Alec was trying to decide if that was a good thing—or bad—when Noah stepped into his line of vision, blocking Alec’s gaze.

  “Stop the eye fucking, you two.” Noah turned to face Dylan. “Dylan, are you bisexual?”

  The words knocked the breath from Alec, and Dylan looked thrown by the question.

  His answer was slow in coming. “No.”

  Noah planted a hand on his hip. “Are you interested in a relationship?”

  This time there was no pause on Dylan’s part.

  “Hell, no,” Dylan barked.

  Alec’s chest grew tight, and Noah shot him a see-what-I-mean? look before turning back to Dylan. “Why don’t you go make coffee while I chat with Alec?”

  “Gladly,” Dylan said.

  Alec relaxed a fraction, feeling relieved. Knowing Noah, Alec didn’t want Dylan to hear what came next. Once Dylan was gone and the sound of puttering drifted in from the kitchen, Noah addressed Alec.

  “I know you, Alec.” Noah took a step closer. “You think because you managed to wring all those noises from Dylan’s mouth that, somehow, he’s in to you.” Noah’s expression had morphed from ticked off to concerned.

  Alec bit back the groan, preferring a wrathful Noah over the sympathetic one. And Alec certainly didn’t want to touch on the fact that his friend was right. After this morning’s round in bed, Alec had begun to imagine a future that included dating Dylan.

  You knew this would happen.

  Using both hands, Alec raked his hair from his face. “I really don’t want to talk about this right now.”

  “Too bad.” He steadily met Alec’s gaze. “You know as well as anyone that a good proportion of men’s orgasms—whether they’re gay, straight, or chock-full of angles—are brought about by their right hand.”

  When had this discussion turned to masturbation?

  Noah stuck up his palm as if displaying Exhibit A in his case against Alec. “I don’t know about you, but I regularly get off to something that I have absolutely no attraction to.”

  Alec almost winced at the words. Christ, no mystery where this topic was headed.

  Noah went on. “Essentially we’re all just a bunch of walking hard-ons in search of the big O. And Dylan is no different. Dating is one thing, but you do not need to be jumping into bed with anyone just yet, much less Dylan. Not when you’re already carrying around enough baggage to rack up a five-hundred-dollar charge on Delta Airlines.”

  Baggage? Alec opened his mouth to protest.

  “No, seriously, Alec.” Noah’s face was grim. “You’re a mess. Not to mention a hopeless romantic. Before you shacked up with Tyler—a move I was against from the start, if you remember—you fell in love with every one-night-stand who managed to convince you to sleep with him.”

  Having his past thrown at him so aggressively had Alec raising his hands in surrender. Having said past illustrate the very point Alec had tried to make to himself before sleeping with Dylan was painful. “Okay, okay. I get what you’re saying, all right?”

  Alec knew he’d screwed up big time. He didn’t need his friend to beat him about the head with the idea.

  Noah apparently didn’t care. “And I know Dylan even better than I know you. He’ll seek out the pleasurable activity without a second thought. And you, my friend, are incapable of fucking a guy for fun and keeping your heart out of the way.”

  Alec struggled with the need to close his eyes, refusing to share that his heart might already be involved.

  Prolonging the end will only make this worse.

  Alec dropped his hands to his sides. “Fine,” he said before turning and heading off.

  “Where are you going?” Noah asked.

  “To the kitchen.”

  “What for?”

  Alec kept walking, his feet feeling a hundred pounds each. “To tell Dylan goodbye.”

  ~~~***~~~

  As the stainless steel coffee machine sputtered out the last drops into the carafe, Dylan scanned the room containing white tile, mahogany wood, and enough gadgets to supply a kitchen store. Dylan knew the dude liked to cook, but seriously. Somewhere in this well-stocked kitchen there had to be coffee cups. After several tries, Dylan managed to find the right cabinet and filled a mug. He propped his hip against the counter and sipped the black brew, enjoying the scent and the much-needed shot of caffeine.

  He was just wondering if Noah was done raking Alec over the coals—and whether it was safe to return to the living room—when Alec entered the kitchen, his bare feet silent against the floor.

  Noah’s presence had allowed for zero time to discuss the happenings in Alec’s bedroom, and the low-grade tension now made Dylan uneasy. Without a word, he reached into the cabinet with the mugs and filled a second cup, passing the coffee to Alec.

  “Thanks,” Alec said, adding cream from the refrigerator.

  The man seemed to be having trouble meeting his eyes.

  Damn, this wasn’t what Dylan wanted.

  “I didn’t mean to—” Dylan began, just as Alec said, “I shouldn’t have—”

  They both fell silent, and Dylan raised his coffee in Alec’s direction. “You first.”

  “Noah’s right. Last night was a mistake.”

  Annoyance started its engines low in Dylan’s gut. He wasn’t sure why Alec’s statement ticked him off so much. Yes, he’d had the same thought. Yes, he was now feeling more awkward and antsy than a prostitute at Sunday mass. And, okay, so they were just now starting to sort through the consequences of their actions. But, damn it…

  Dylan refused to regret his choices.

  “I think we should take a breather,” Alec said.

  Dylan frowned in confusion. A breather?

  “I mean…” Alec rubbed his eyes. “I think we shouldn’t see each other for a while.”

  Dylan set his mug on the counter with a clunk. “Why not?”

  Holy Christ on a stick, now he sounded like a clingy woman.

  “Come on, Dylan. Things are weird enough. I don’t think continuing with the one-on-one motorcycle lessons is a wise move.”

&
nbsp; Dylan massaged his forehead, ignoring the headache blooming in the background. “Why don’t we just chalk the whole thing up to some Guys Gone Wild thing and pretend the night never happened?”

  “You can do that?”

  Heck, no.

  “Absolutely,” he said instead.

  The flash of emotion in Alec’s eyes was brief but still managed to twist Dylan’s gut into knots. Great, now the vulnerable look on Alec’s face was courtesy of Dylan, not Alec’s ex. And the knowledge didn’t sit well.

  “Maybe in a couple of months we can see where we are,” Alec said, but Dylan got the distinct impression Alec had no intention of following through. “But, for now, I think it’s best if we don’t see each other.”

  Alec was giving Dylan the brush-off. Politely, of course. But still a brush-off.

  An unfamiliar sensation crept up Dylan’s spine. Hunh, so this was how it felt for a woman when he reminded them that one night was all he’d agreed to. In the future, he’d have to remember how much it sucked to be on the receiving end.

  But, for some reason, Dylan wasn’t ready to give up. “What about the poker run?”

  Dylan wasn’t sure why, but he really wanted Alec around for the fundraiser.

  “Maybe next year I’ll sign up to participate,” Alec said.

  Fuck. Bad enough this was the fifth anniversary of the run. Now the event Dylan had been looking forward to for weeks felt less and less like the much-needed distraction he’d require to survive Rick’s birthday without going bonkers.

  Still, even though sleeping with a guy didn’t threaten Dylan’s masculinity, acting like a clingy, psychotic girlfriend sure as heck would.

  “Okay, man. If that’s what you want,” Dylan said. He studied Alec’s blue eyes before moving his mug to the sink. “See ya around.”

  Without looking back, Dylan headed out of Alec’s house.

  Chapter Eight

  Two weeks later, Dylan parked his motorcycle in front of the Front Street Clinic.

  Jesus, he was turning into the clingy, psychotic girlfriend.

  But, damn it, he wasn’t stalking Alec. After days of no contact, Dylan was simply dropping by to ask if Alec had changed his mind about the poker run. Man to man. Friend to friend.

  Nothing girly about that at all.

  He dismounted, pausing before he flipped the kickstand down. The neighborhood skirted the edges of questionable, so he pushed his bike up the walk, grateful he’d driven his beater Yamaha instead of something he valued more. A large RV was parked on the side street, the words Mobile Medical Unit in red lettering on the side.

  After a few seconds of deliberation, Dylan left his motorcycle along the right side of the building’s walkway and pulled open the front door. Done in basic, boring gray, the office just met the standards for functional. Scuffed linoleum. Basic furniture. The walls were blank other than a few posters proclaiming the importance of using condoms.

  Dylan passed through the empty waiting room and headed for the utilitarian front desk. A middle-aged lady sat in front of a computer, her salt-and-pepper hair pulled back. The baggy sleeves of her scrubs flapped at her shoulders as her fingers flew across the keyboard.

  Without even looking up, she said, “Can I help you?”

  “I need to speak with Dr. Johnson.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “Uh, no,” Dylan said. “Can you tell him Dylan Booth is here to see him?”

  Her fingers finally stopped clacking away on the computer, and she shot Dylan a lethal look she’d probably spent years perfecting. Dylan adopted his most charming smile. Unfortunately, she was less than impressed.

  She peered around his shoulder before returning that fierce gaze to his. “The walkway isn’t a parking lot.”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s a walkway.” When Dylan simply blinked in confusion, she continued as if participating in a spelling bee. “W-A-L-K—”

  “I know how to spell walkway,” Dylan said drily.

  Man, the dragon lady was one tough customer.

  He smiled again. “If you’ll just speak with Dr. Johnson—”

  “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to make an appointment.”

  She returned her focus to her computer with more concentration than a Friday afternoon at five o’clock deserved. Either she was an overly dedicated employee or she was intentionally giving Dylan the brush-off. Heck, much more of this and his ego would start taking all these rejections personally.

  Dylan leaned his elbows on the counter. “Just tell Dr. Johnson his boyfriend is here,” Dylan said and had the distinct satisfaction of watching Dragon Lady’s expression freeze.

  The sight was definitely worth the risk Alec would consider Dylan the backup boyfriend that wouldn’t go away.

  “What did you say your name was again?” she asked.

  His grin grew bigger. “Dylan Booth. D-Y-L—”

  “All right. All right.” Dragon lady pushed her rolling chair back from the desk. “No need to be a smartass.” She waved her hand at the empty waiting room consisting of a dozen plastic chairs and end tables with piles of magazines. “Have a seat.”

  Dylan shot her his most charming smile. Again. “Thanks.”

  She lifted her eyes heavenward in a what-a-piece-of-work expression.

  Fifteen minutes later, Dylan fidgeted against the hard seat. He’d done a lot of thinking lately and come to the conclusion that, for the first time in his life, he had regrets. Or more accurately, one very big regret. Which was a strange feeling after a long-standing commitment to living in the present—because screw the past. She was a done deal. And screw the future cuz she was a fickle bitch.

  No getting around the truth though. He’d messed up royally. As much as he’d enjoyed the life-altering sex, he’d found he missed Alec’s company more, enough that he’d trade in the un-fucking-believable memories just to have Alec back in his life.

  As someone who appreciated good sex and happily spent most of his downtime alone, the thought was friggin’ disturbing.

  “Dylan?”

  Dylan looked up and did his best to keep the groan from escaping. How many conversations was he gonna have to suffer through before he spoke with Alec?

  Tyler stood in front of him. His smooth, black hair just reached the tops of his ears, and the man looked watchful, all emotion carefully barricaded behind those iced-gray eyes.

  “I’m here to see Alec,” Dylan said.

  Well, duh, no shit, Sherlock.

  A small smile briefly flickered across Tyler’s face. “I guessed as much,” he said. “I know the relationship started out fake. But you two looked pretty serious by the end of Noah’s party.”

  Dylan had already decided not to dwell on that particular memory.

  Tyler’s dress pants, necktie, and button-down shirt looked crisply professional. And, for the first time, Dylan studied Tyler’s athletic build. The dude clearly took his training seriously. Dylan could appreciate why Alec had hooked up with his colleague. But, try as he might, Dylan couldn’t fathom why Tyler had moved out. And while Dylan preferred living alone, sharing a house with Alec must have been awesome.

  “I assumed you and Alec had called things off,” Tyler went on.

  Dylan shifted in his seat, hating the perceptive nature of Alec’s ex. “What made you think that?”

  “His usual good mood has taken a leave of absence.”

  And while Dylan felt bad about Alec being unhappy, on the other hand…

  Thank God Dylan wasn’t the only one suffering here.

  “We had a—” Dylan frowned. How to explain the BFF break-up? That wouldn’t be girly. Not at all. He cleared his throat before going on. “We had a bit of a disagreement. But I’m here to fix that.”

  And if Dylan was absolutely honest with himself—something he’d avoided more aggressively than usual of late—part of him wondered if Tyler was the reason Alec didn’t want to be Dylan’s friend anymore. Because reconciling with his ex would
be tough with the backup boyfriend turned one-night-stand hanging around.

  Dylan’s frown grew deeper.

  “Are you sure fixing the relationship is wise?” Tyler asked.

  No, he wasn’t fucking sure of anything, except that none of this was any of Tyler’s business. “Yeah,” Dylan said. “I’m thinking it’s a brilliant plan.”

  “I think you have the potential to really hurt him,” Tyler said.

  Dylan let out a snort of…something. Annoyance, maybe, at Alec’s ex. Or maybe the sound reflected general confusion directed at himself. “That’s a surprising claim coming from the man whose leaving made Alec so miserable.”

  Tyler didn’t flinch, and Dylan met his gaze out of sheer stubbornness.

  “You can’t possibly understand why I really left. In fact”—a chill entered Tyler’s tone, matching that infernal, unflappable gaze—“neither would Alec.”

  What the heck did that mean?

  And after a sharp nod of goodbye, Tyler headed out the front door, clearly done with this uncomfortable conversation. Another ten minutes passed as Dylan waited. Should he leave? Where was Alec? Maybe he didn’t want to see Dylan, and this was a passive-aggressive way of telling him to get lost.

  Growing antsy, he picked up a People magazine and flipped aimlessly through the pages. Voices drifted from up the hallway. In kakis and a pullover, Alec rounded the corner, holding a little girl’s hand, a tired-looking, middle-aged woman at his side. The sight sent Dylan’s eyebrows climbing.

  Alec’s gaze met Dylan’s, and Alec sent him a slight nod. But his full attention remained on the small family. The kid bounced on her feet, occasionally swinging on Alec’s arm. But he calmly kept talking to the mother, completely unconcerned he was being used as a swing set.

  Finally, Alec shook the woman’s hand goodbye and ruffled the kid’s head. The little girl giggled in response, and Dylan noticed the pleased crinkles around Alec’s eyes. The same crinkles he’d gotten every time he’d fired up the Harley.

  Dylan’s chest gave a ridiculous twitch at the memory.

  After showing his patients out, Alec approached Dylan. “Martha said my boyfriend was here to see me.”

  For the life of him, Dylan couldn’t remember why he’d thought seeing the Dragon Lady’s reaction took priority over fearing the clingy girlfriend label with Alec.