“Sounds like a plan.”
The backup boyfriend situation had gone unresolved, but Dylan decided to simply appreciate the ease in the tension. Once out on the road and following Alec again, Dylan twisted the throttle. With a roar, his motorcycle shot forward. He spared a brief glance at Alec as he pulled up beside him on the highway lane. Although the man’s moodiness was gone, unfortunately Alec still traveled ten miles an hour under the speed limit. Dylan had been chafing all day, longing to hit the throttle on the straightaways.
“How about a race?” Dylan said into the mike.
“Are you kidding me?”
“No.”
After a split-second pause, Alec said, “If you don’t want to continue the lessons, just say so. No need to try and have me killed.”
Even over the wireless headset, Dylan could hear the wry amusement in Alec’s voice. Ah, the good Dr. Johnson was well and truly back from his sulk. A grin spread up Dylan’s face.
“Now that you’ve finally relaxed, your technique is solid,” Dylan said. “And, dude, getting you killed would be a bad plan. Noah would never let me hear the end of it. That alone is incentive enough for me to keep you alive.”
Alec’s laugh echoed in Dylan’s helmet, bringing them another step closer to their initial easygoing interactions.
Feeling encouraged, Dylan said, “Sure I can’t convince you to a race on the straightaway? There’s no traffic. Little chance of getting hurt. And I’m not talking about high rates of speed. I was thinking more along the lines of actually reaching the speed limit.”
A pause, and then, “How far?”
“Just to where the bridge crosses the road up there. Think you could handle that?”
After a few seconds of silence, Alec leaned forward and twisted the throttle, pulling ahead of Dylan before responding. “If I die, I hope Noah hounds you for life.”
Dylan chuckled and increased his speed. As the trees whizzed by at increasing rates, the wind whistled past Dylan’s helmet. His motorcycle revved beneath him, sending a familiar vibration he found comforting.
He loved this stretch of open road. This was where Dylan came when life got tough. Nothing soothed like the achievement of speed and eating up the ribbon of highway in front, the blur of scenery disappearing behind. Out here there were no disappointments.
Nothing to be taken away.
In a way, it was nice to associate the stretch of road with a good memory, replacing so many bad. Dylan maintained his position just behind Alec and to his right.
“Looking good,” Dylan said.
“Feeling good.”
They passed beneath the bridge, and Dylan eased up on the throttle, following Alec as he pulled onto the side of the road and parked. Alec removed his helmet. Cheeks flushed, eyes shining, the man sent Dylan the kind of smile that seemed to bubble up from the toes and escape with a burst.
“That was fantastic,” Alec said.
Alec’s enthusiasm pulled another grin from Dylan. “I knew you’d enjoy a little speed. So…” Dylan hooked his arm across his handlebar. “We good now?”
For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why the answer felt so important.
Alec leaned back on the seat of his Harley, looking fit, easy, and relaxed. “I don’t think ‘good’ is a word that should be used in reference to you,” Alec said drily, the words eased by the light in his eyes. “But we’ve definitely reached a truce.”
The acute flush of pleasure left Dylan feeling strangely on edge, but he chased away the doubts and clapped on his helmet with a grin. “Then prepare to be schooled on the finer points of steering on the way back.”
~~~***~~~
A week and a half later, Alec steered the Harley into Adams’ Classic Motors, the lumpy rumble bouncing off the concrete floor and metal walls of the building as he parked inside. Crouched beside a motorcycle, grease smudging his arms and coating his hands, Dylan had his fingers buried in the decrepit looking vehicle’s insides. Alec killed the Harley’s motor and waited for the sound to die, muscles tense.
You just came to ask him about his plans for tomorrow, to invite him along for a beer and to catch the game on TV. Friends do that sort of thing all the time.
Even though Dylan had clearly enjoyed the daily lessons, so much so he’d continued well past Alec’s need for instruction, uncertainty over their connection left Alec hesitant. The relationship felt like friendship, but Dylan was a hard man to read.
But the thought of watching tomorrow’s football game alone bordered on depressing.
Alec pushed the feeling aside. “That’s a Triumph TR5 Trophy you’re working on. The kind of bike driven by James Dean,” Alec said. “Doesn’t get any cooler than that.”
Hands still buried, Dylan raised his brows. “I’m surprised you recognize the make.”