Chapter One
Ryan pulled up in front of Andrew's house, a two story Victorian, and killed the
engine. It was a nice home, not too ostentatious, with cream colored vinyl
siding and black shutters. A cement walkway lined with newly budding flowers led
up to an ornate front door made of multihued glass.
For obvious reasons, Ryan opted to drive his truck, an older model Ford, instead
of his bike. It wasn't new and it wasn't stylish, but it would be a hell of a
lot more comfortable for Andrew than clutching his back on the hog. Then again,
maybe driving the truck hadn't been such a bright idea. The thought of Andrew's
arms around his waist, his groin pressed right up against his ass while the
engine rumbled and purred, vibrating underneath them, didn't sound so bad. It
sounded downright uplifting.
Snickering at his own corny pun, he pushed open the door and hopped out. He
strode up the walk, his head held hi ...
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