“It looks like there’s enough for two,” Blaine said after a minute of surveying the wok, turning just enough to take his forefinger to dab at the remnants left inside the sauce bowl. “Mmm. Needs more brown sugar.”
“It’s fine,” Alec said tersely. He and Blaine were so in sync with one another that he didn’t doubt Blaine could tell that Alec had cut back on the brown sugar in lieu of an extra workout. Alec just kept the reason for the absence to himself. “Alexa, turn down the volume.”
Blaine’s unexpected arrival had interrupted a Keyes-equals-sexy-time playlist that his Echo had been playing. He’d been in full-on fantasy mode. Lost in his head about the possibilities of Keyes. Alec had conjured up the most delicious image of him and Keyes on his back porch, dancing to “Havana” by Camila Cabello. Fuck, that song was sexy.
In Alec’s fantasy, their movements were fluid and hot. Lots of alcohol involved, barely any clothing—his big weakness was a man who loved showing off a broad naked chest, firm flat stomach, and emphasized that sexy man V with unbuttoned jeans that hung low on slim hips. Mmm. Made it easier to slide his palms down the back of those jeans and enjoy the bare skin of each perfect ass cheek. He imagined them both fighting for the lead. Keyes, the strong, self-assured alpha. Alec considered himself all those things too. They would have a rousing time deciding how their eventual bedroom activities turned out. No doubt he’d submit to any and every idea the biker could come up with.
“Where’d you go?” Blaine’s hand waved in his face, zapping him from his daydream and bringing him back to reality.
Alec looked over at his annoying friend. In the replay of all the possibilities, he’d completely forgotten Blaine stood next to him. “I got a few hours’ sleep then went to get the tires changed.”
“No, right now. You zoned out.” The smell of burned soy sauce caught his attention at the same time a plume of smoke rose from the wok. Quickly, he removed the pan from the stovetop, vigorously stirring, hoping to salvage the crispy little vegetables.
“No, I didn’t,” he denied. Except, he totally had.
“It’s the biker. I know that look. He didn’t rob you. You’re here in one piece, so that means he came back for you. What happened after that?” Blaine asked, reaching for the hot vegetables. Grabbing a thickly sliced carrot, he bounced it from hand to hand until he popped the still steaming orange wedge in his mouth and chewed it down. “You think that makes it all right to fuck him. No, wait. You did fuck him. Did you bring him back here? No wait, you got a room. No, no, no, you went to his grungy garage and fucked him over the bike. That’s it, right?”
“Stop trying to live vicariously through me. You want a biker, go find your own. Besides, nothing happened. I think you might have been right—he’s straight,” Alec lied, keeping his face neutral. Keyes was his and only his. He didn’t want to share him with anyone. Not yet. He ignored the needling in his gut pointing out that Alec didn’t truly know the man’s sexuality. All he had to base his opinion on was the slumming it comment. A straight man would have cut him off right after the coffee date suggestion, made it clear he liked women. Instead, his got his rejection by way of a class distinction remark. Keyes had to be gay or bi.
“And that means nothing to you. You have to be shot down way more times to stop pursuing what you want.”
“Why are you here?” Alec asked irritably, tossing the pan and the spoon on a cooled burner before facing off with his buzz-kill of a buddy.
“I’m going home tomorrow,” Blaine said, completely unfazed, taking a long swig of his beer.
“Home where?” he asked, trying to get a better understanding. Blaine’s family was much like his—nobody really worked. The daily grind was for peasants, which included Alec apparently since he put in long hours at the office every day. Blaine had never held a job in his life. He owned homes all over the world and only came to North Texas as moral support for Alec. Going home could technically mean leaving Alec’s house to drive back to his high-rise in downtown Dallas.
“Back to New England. I tried here, but this whole area’s whack. And what sucks even more is watching you become something I don’t even understand, but I gotta let you do you. You’re determined to fall flat on your face one way or another. You’re self-destructive.”
“I am not!” he countered defensively.
Honestly, he was totally self-destructive. No news there. So old news, Alec went back to the pan, dumping the contents into a bowl filled with rice noodles.