Page 17 of Fire Me Up (Front Range Motorcycle Collective #2)

Dylan

G ael knelt as he unhooked Bacon’s carrier from the rack I’d built in my sidecar.

His fingers worked the buckles with careful precision, muscles flexing under his t-shirt in a way that made my mouth go dry.

He murmured something to the orange furball, who blinked back with typical feline indifference.

Three weeks ago, I’d never have pictured myself planning a day trip with a hot firefighter and his cat, but here we were.

I was trying not to be stupidly excited about it, but it was a losing battle.

“Almost ready?” I called over, snapping the saddlebag closed and looking around for my keys. I patted my pockets, frowning. Didn’t I just have them? I spun around, looking on the ground next to the motorcycle to see if I’d dropped them.

Gael looked up with that smile that did dangerous things to my insides. “Keys are sitting on your motorcycle seat. And Bacon’s being cooperative. He must be excited to hike.”

The plan had always been for Gael to ride in the sidecar with Bacon, but for the entire ride I’d fantasized about what it would be like to have him ride pillion instead—pressed against my back, thighs gripping mine, arms wrapped around my waist. The intimacy of sharing a seat, feeling every shift of his body against mine as we took the curves.

But I’d chickened out and suggested the sidecar, telling myself it was safer for Bacon.

This was just hanging out. Two guys who occasionally fucked, taking a day trip together. Nothing romantic about it. Definitely not a date.

Gael straightened up, wincing as he adjusted the weight of the cat backpack on his injured shoulder. I was at his side before I even realized I’d moved.

“Let me help with that.” I reached for the strap, fingers brushing against his collarbone. “Is your shoulder still bothering you?”

“Only when I do something stupid like try to put on a fifteen-pound cat backpack by myself.” He laughed, but I caught the tension around his eyes.

I adjusted the straps, redistributing the weight away from his injured side. Being this close to him was a special kind of torture—breathing in the scent of his cologne, feeling the heat radiating off his body.

“Better?” I asked, stepping back before I did something stupid like kiss his neck.

“Much. Thanks.” He rolled his shoulder experimentally. “My knight in shining motorcycle leather.”

“Shut up.” I flipped him off, but couldn’t help smiling.

The hike started easily enough, a gentle trail winding through pine trees. Spring sunlight filtered through the branches, dappling the path ahead. I’d chosen this spot carefully—not too challenging with Gael’s injury, but secluded enough to feel like we’d escaped the city.

“So,” Gael said after we’d been walking for about ten minutes, “is this what you do with all your gay sex students? Pack a lunch, take them hiking, bring a cat along for supervision? Feels a hell of a lot like a date, Dylan.”

“It’s not a date.” I said it too quickly, too defensively. “Just two friends hanging out on my day off.”

“Friends who fuck.”

“Exactly.” I nodded vigorously. “Educational fucking between friends. Very common.”

Gael laughed, the sound echoing through the trees. “Right. And you planned this whole excursion because...?”

“Because I had a day off.” I shrugged, aiming for casual, because he definitely didn’t need to know the truth: that I was getting a little obsessed with him. “And the weather was nice. And maybe I wanted company.”

“Company,” he repeated, eyebrows shooting up.

“Yeah, company. You got a problem with that?”

“Not at all.” His grin widened. “I’m flattered to be your company of choice when the weather’s nice. And also when you want to fuck.”

Bacon meowed from his backpack, batting at the mesh window with one paw.

“I think he wants to walk,” Gael said. “Mind unzipping the window so he can hop out? Just hand me his leash. He’ll jump down when he’s ready.”

I stepped closer, sliding the big zipper door on the back of the backpack open. Bacon stuck his head out, and I couldn’t resist giving him a little chin scratch. I reached inside, careful not to let Bacon escape, and extracted the leash.

“Here.” I handed it to Gael, our fingers tangling together longer than necessary.

“Thanks.” He held my gaze, something warm and teasing in his eyes.

I backed off, and watched as Bacon jumped confidently down from his perch. The cat immediately sat down and began grooming himself, completely uninterested in exploring.

“Some adventure cat,” Gael laughed, tugging gently on the leash. “Come on, buddy. Let’s get some exercise.”

Hiking with a cat wasn’t like hiking with a dog.

Bacon stopped constantly—to investigate a leaf, to bat at a stick, to stare judgementally at a rock.

Our pace slowed to a crawl, but I found I didn’t mind.

Normally, the slow pace would have driven me crazy, but today I was finding it gave me more time with Gael, more chances to watch him.

“This way,” I said, veering off the main trail onto a narrower path. “There’s something I want to show you.”

Bacon darted ahead of me as if he’d picked this route, and Gael followed. “You’re not luring me into the woods to murder me, are you?”

“If I wanted to murder you, I’d have done it when Bacon knocked over my entire socket wrench set.”

“Fair point.”

The trail opened up to a small clearing beside a creek, where water tumbled over moss-covered rocks in a series of mini-waterfalls. It wasn’t grand or spectacular—just a quiet, pretty spot most hikers missed.

“This is my thinking spot,” I admitted, feeling unexpectedly vulnerable. “I come here when I need to clear my head.”

Gael looked around, taking in the clearing with appreciative eyes. “It’s beautiful. Thanks for sharing it.”

I shrugged, embarrassed by his sincerity. “Seemed better than sitting in a coffee shop.”

“That also sounds like a date,” Gael said, a smile making his lips twitch.

“Fuck off, I don’t date.” I unloaded my backpack, pulling out a lightweight blanket and spreading it on a patch of soft grass. Then came containers of food—sandwiches, fruit, chocolate chip cookies I’d baked that morning in a fit of nervous energy.

“A picnic?” Gael’s eyebrows shot up. “You packed us a whole picnic?”

“It’s just food.” I busied myself arranging everything, avoiding his eyes. “We’re hiking. People need to eat when they hike.”

“Uh-huh.” He set the carrier on its base, and secured the door open, so Bacon could come and go as he pleased, holding the leash while the cat investigated my picnic blanket. “And I suppose you bring elaborate homemade picnics on all your non-dates?”

I flipped him off. “Just sit down and eat your damn sandwich.” I pulled out a small bottle of wine, then dug through the backpack, frowning. “And… I forgot the corkscrew.” I blew out a frustrated breath, then looked up to find Gael laughing.

“Don’t laugh. I’m forgetful sometimes. Though I swear I had it.” I dug through the bag again.

“I’m not laughing because you forgot the corkscrew. The only thing that matters is spending time with you. I’m laughing because you packed wine for a hike that you keep vehemently insisting is not a date. Wine.”

My cheeks were hot as I quickly put the wine back in the bag.

He was right. It did feel like a date, and that was a little terrifying.

But I hadn’t been able to focus on anything but picking him up since I’d bolted awake at the ungodly hour of five in the morning, so who could blame me for killing the time with a little preparation?

That’s all it was, right?

Gael settled beside me on the blanket, close enough that our knees touched. He took a bite of his sandwich and groaned with pleasure. The sound sent blood rushing to all the wrong places.

“This is amazing,” he said. “Did you make these?”

“Yeah. It’s nothing fancy.” I focused on my food, trying to ignore how his approval made something warm bloom in my chest, even as worry surged about my growing attachment.

“Uh huh, like how that cat carrier rack in your sidecar was just simple welding.”

“If you know how to weld, those things aren’t a big deal,” I lied, cheeks heating.

“All I’m trying to say is that you’re a sweet and thoughtful person, Dylan. There’s no reason to be embarrassed by it.”

As we ate, Gael’s flirting grew bolder. His hand on my knee when he laughed at something I said. His shoulder pressing against mine as he reached for a cookie. His fingers lingering when I passed him a water bottle.

Each touch felt deliberate, electric. I tried to play it cool, to act like this was all part of our casual arrangement, but inside I was a fucking mess.

I packed up the remnants of our lunch, watching Gael zip Bacon securely into his backpack carrier.

The cat had curled into a tight orange ball, dead to the world after a snack of cheese from our sandwiches.

Gael’s movements were careful, almost reverent, his broad hands gentle as they tucked the sleeping cat in.

Those same hands had been all over my body, desperate and demanding.

The memory made my cock twitch in my shorts.

“He’s out cold.” Gael turned to me, leaning back on his hands, his legs stretched out in front of him. “So.”

“So?” I raised an eyebrow.

“I was thinking.” He bit his lower lip, eyes never leaving mine. “I might need a little more classroom experience with the sex stuff.”

Heat shot straight to my groin. “What kind of experience did you have in mind?”

“Well,” he said, shifting closer until his knee pressed against mine, “I think I need more practice with my oral skills. My technique could use some fine-tuning.”

I nearly choked. “Right here? In the woods?”

“There’s nobody around for miles. Just us and a sleeping cat. Perfect classroom environment.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m a dedicated student.” His hand landed on my thigh, fingers tracing idle patterns that inched higher with each circle. “Very eager to improve.”