No, Alec simply looked pissed off.
They’d been on the spectacularly scenic road for an hour now, enjoying cooler morning temperatures and the scent of earth and all things green, yet Alec appeared no closer to relaxing than he had when Dylan arrived at his house. At first he figured Alec wasn’t a morning person, passing off the man’s one-word responses in the truck as a sign of not enough caffeine. Dylan had hoped getting out on the motorcycles would ease Alec’s tendency toward one-syllable replies. Once they’d gotten started, Dylan had coached Alec via the wireless headset. Alec, however, then chose complete silence.
Single word responses were apparently too much for him now.
Alec’s shoulders looked rigid as he steered through the turn, and Dylan sighed into his microphone. “You’re too tense.”
No response.
“You know,” Dylan said, lips twisting wryly, “in case you hadn’t realized, the wireless setup in our helmets works both ways.”
Dylan thought he heard something that sounded like an amused huff.
“Stop overthinking things and just relax,” Dylan went on. “The bike will turn more effectively if you’re not so stiff.”
“I’m trying.”
The clipped words were almost worse than the silence, and Dylan didn’t bother keeping his sigh silent as he followed Alec down the deserted, backcountry road. They came to a crossway and slowed to a stop, intent on turning onto a strip of road Dylan loved to go wide open on. In front of Dylan, Alec rested one foot on the ground and leaned slightly to adjust his mirror, and Dylan saw the potential fuckup in the making.
He opened his mouth to call out a warning, but Alec’s bike began to tip, and the words died, too late to do any good. Gravity and the weight of the Harley overcame Alec’s attempts to remain upright. The machine fell to the ground, taking Alec along and pinning his left leg under the bike.
Dylan pulled up beside him and stopped, flipping up his visor. “The bike feels especially heavy when she starts to tip.”
Alec didn’t respond. He simply killed the switch to the Harley, the engine dying, and removed his helmet. Dylan had dropped a bike a time or two himself in his early days, and he remembered wanting to crawl under a rock and hide from the humiliation.
Dylan pulled off his helmet. “You need some help picking her up?”
“No.” Alec slid his leg from beneath the Harley. “I’ll be fine.” He stood, refusing to look Dylan in the eye.
But something about the set of his shoulders and the firm line of his mouth told Dylan that Alec wasn’t embarrassed. Just like the day he’d pushed his bike into the garage, Alec accepted his limitations with a graceful dignity Dylan couldn’t help but admire. The same kind of lack of shame Alec exuded now. Nope, he definitely didn’t look humiliated.
But he sure as hell still looked pissed.
No doubt about it. Alec was mad at Dylan. They weren’t friends, so Dylan shouldn’t care, really. But for some reason he couldn’t explain, he did.
Dylan tucked his helmet under his arm. “You gonna spend all week making me pay for telling Tyler we’re fucking?”
Jesus. Twenty-four hours later and Dylan still couldn’t believe those words had shot from his mouth. Alec’s response consisted of a flicker of a frown as he brushed the gravel from his jeans and removed his jacket before tossing it aside.
Dylan sighed, a cool breeze ruffling his hair as the silence of the vineyards surrounded them. Might as well get comfy cuz he’d be here a while for sure. He flipped the kickstand down and settled back against the seat, watching Alec grip the Harley and pull, attempting to lift his motorcycle.
His technique sucked. No way would this end in success. But Dylan knew Alec wasn’t too keen on taking instructions at the moment. Dylan had spent the last hour and a half picking up on that big friggin’ clue.
Dylan waited patiently for the man to ask for help. The furrow between Alec’s brows and the firm set to Alec’s lips didn’t speak of him changing his mind anytime soon.
“Because if you’re intent on making me pay, just let me know.” Dylan hooked his helmet on his handlebar. “So I can plan ahead.”
Alec flicked a curious look in Dylan’s direction.
“Next time I’ll bring some music, so I won’t have to listen to you giving me the silent treatment,” Dylan said.
A ghost of a grin came and left Alec’s lips, and his gaze dropped back to his bike. Face set, Alec adjusted his hold on the motorcycle as if all he needed was a better grip and the bike would lift easily. And then he heaved with all his might. The tendons in his neck stood out, his biceps bunching as he strained. He didn’t have much bulk, but his lean frame held enough muscle to get the job done, if using the proper technique.
Alec ceased the futile attempt and propped his hands on his hips, finally meeting Dylan’s gaze. “It was an asinine thing to say to Tyler.”