Former physical therapist and reluctant loner Ian Bowen has spent the three years since his grandfather’s death searching for a man to inspire him to park his Harley—without much hope of finding him. Terrible ideas are one of Ian’s specialties so when he shows up for a Toy Run in Oregon and finds ice instead of rain, he’s not surprised. Ian meets Ed Gonzalez, another loner with a pile of toys lashed to his bike, and a few beers at the end-of-the-run party turn into an invitation to Ed’s for homebrew. Instead of a hot hookup, the unseasonable cold renders Ed immobile with pain. Before Ed can get to his meds, Ian massages Ed’s pain away, allowing him a restful night’s sleep and creating intimacy neither wants to lose. Ian thinks two men have to follow certain rules to be together, but Ed’s prepared to show him how wrong he is.
This is the Second Edition of a story previously published under the pen name Charley Descoteaux. Content has not been updated substantially.
- 4 To Be Read lists
Publisher: Independently Published
Heat Level: 3
Romantic Content: 5
Ending: Click here to reveal
Character Identities: Gay
Protagonist 1 Age: 26-35
Protagonist 2 Age: 36-45
Tropes: Hurt / Comfort, Interracial Relationship
Word Count: 8000
Setting: Portland, Oregon
Languages Available: English
IT WAS a terrible idea, riding north. For the same five hundred miles I could be in Vegas or San Diego—but terrible ideas were sort of my specialty. Besides, if it all went to hell, I’d just keep moving. Another specialty.
I backed up to the curb, killed the engine, and sat leaning against my pack. Hours early, again. It’s not easy to arrive fashionably late when you have nowhere else to be. I flipped the helmet visor up, and glare from the fog and mist made me want to flip it back down. It was dark when I left Ashland two hundred and fifty miles ago. I missed full dark, but by then the only dark to be found was somewhere over the Pacific. As it was, I could almost see the reflection of the floodlight bouncing off my helmet. Being black didn’t help that thing. Being wet probably didn’t either, but that was what I got for riding into Oregon in December.READ MORE
A growl in my stomach kicked the rest of me into gear. A moment later my two-ton helmet sat where my ass had been, and I headed toward the truck-stop diner, leathers creaking like my knees would be by the end of the day if it didn’t warm up. Birds know what they’re doing, flying south for the winter.
Every head turned when the bells hanging on the front door slapped against the glass. The smell of toast and coffee and the warm air were welcoming enough. They watched me every step of the way, the redheaded stepchild coming in after curfew. They were half right.
I nodded to the man sitting beside the only empty stool at the counter and shrugged my jacket off before easing onto it. The stool on the end—things were looking up already. He nodded back and extended his hand.
I grabbed a menu from the holder in front of me, but my stomach had gone from rumbling to shivering. In the space of one handshake, eating became less important than getting out from under his gaze. It usually took a lot more than a pair of dark eyes for me to give up my full name, but those weren’t just any eyes. So brown they were almost black, and full of the promise of rough sex.
Or an ass kicking. Hard to tell. Knowing things like that was not a specialty of mine.COLLAPSE
“A lone biker with a pack of toys travels to Oregon to join a group of bikers at a truck stop diner and deliver presents to children hospitalized over the holidays. If that isn’t enough to make a reader go “Awwww,” I don’t know what is.”