A Guy Like Grant
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#7 in Kindle Store > Kindle Short Reads > One hour (33-43 pages) > Gay & Lesbian
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Grant Faustito is ready to put his years of hard work to the test, and the contest where he can lay it all on the line happens to be at his favorite yearly event, Biketoberfest. He is more than prepared for the week in Daytona Beach—or so he thinks.
Casey Bunker’s never been to a bike week before, and he’s excited about his first one. When he runs into the sexy older biker on the way there, he’s thinking there might by yet another first for him to try.
Talk about the perfect storm—combine one hot biker, a chance of a lifetime, and a hurricane in the mood to whip some trouble, and Grant may have just about as much as he can handle.
As soon as Casey climbed off his bike, he noticed. How could he not? The man easily topped out at a couple inches over six feet, carrying lots of meat on him. Not too bulky, which Casey appreciated, but not a scrawny man either. Oh, far from it. This guy had some strength to him. His salt and pepper hair placed him in his forties at least, older than Casey normally sought out, but damn, this guy deserved the time of day. He was gassing up a huge dually that had seen lots of miles. A plain white enclosed trailer was hitched to the battered truck.
This called for a closer look. Casey finished topping off his bike’s tank and glanced around. His buddies were still in the convenience store, probably hitting on the clerk if she was a D cup or larger. Good, a few minutes to spare. He replaced the nozzle, shoved the receipt in his front jeans pocket, and strolled over to the dually on the far side of the pumps.
“My, what a huge truck you got there, mister.”
The man turned around and raised a questioning eyebrow.
Casey cringed to himself and thanked god his buddies weren’t there to hear that come-on. “I mean your actual truck.” Not better. “The one you’re gassing up.” Getting worse. “You know what? Have a good day, and I’m sorry for bothering you.” Casey turned to walk away.
“Should I say the better to pick you up with?”
That deep voice demanded Casey stop mid-turn. He glanced back at the stranger, and they both laughed. Casey’s laugh might’ve been a bit higher, a tad sharper than Grant’s, but it was good.
“A cheesy retort like that should be followed by something in the way of…you can pick me up with that beast but can you handle me?”
The stranger chuckled again, lower this time. “My retorts match the lines they follow.” He stopped and appraised Casey up and down. Casey did his best not to puff out his chest or, god forbid, pose for the man. “So tell me, who am I following in this conversation?”
He offered his hand and his best genuine smile. “My name’s Casey Bunker.”
The older man’s hand engulfed his, calloused and sprinkled with fine salt and pepper hair that matched the thick waves brushing his forehead. It was a hand that popped Casey’s interest, specifically in one area. He matched the strength the man gave him in the shake but didn’t try to one-up him. He had a feeling there were few areas in which he could one-up this guy.
Just like all good things, the touch ended sooner than he wanted.
“And who might be picking me up?”
“Well now, my birth name is Grant Faustito. My friends seem to prefer calling me Faus.” He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture when Casey opened his mouth to question him. “They use last names most of the time, and got tired of saying mine completely. Lazy bucks, if you ask me.”
“Ah. Well, Grant, it’s nice to meet you.” He stood there and tried not to literally twirl his thumbs. When the seconds of silence seemed too long, he tried to fill them. “So those duallies use diesel fuel, right?” And flunked yet again.
Grant finished with the nozzle and hung it back on its cradle. He turned his back to Casey slightly when he recapped his gas tank. “And here I thought your next question would be if I came here often.”
“That question wouldn’t do me any good considering I’m just driving through. I’m heading to Daytona Beach and Biketoberfest. Finally got my bike up and running and…um…yeah.” Casey gestured to where he left his bike and blushed again. He couldn’t remember the last time he had this much trouble talking to someone. Then again, he couldn’t remember the last time he wanted to talk to someone so bad.
“Biketoberfest, huh?” Grant chin-nodded to Casey’s motorcycle. “That’s a Ninja, right? What was wrong with it that you had to get it up and running?”
“Yeah, 2002 Ninja 250EX. Not a flashy type of bike to be going to Daytona with, but it’s mine and, well, yeah. The clutch cable went out on it. I took it to the shop and thank god the mechanic was an honest sort. He told me that I could just buy a cable and DIY the job myself and save a pretty penny.”
Casey rubbed the back of his neck with his sweaty palm, not sure how to continue the conversation at this point.
“A mechanic that doesn’t try to bleed you dry? Lucky you.”
Casey looked at Grant’s clear blue eyes and smiled again. “Getting luckier by the moment.”
“You don’t say?”
“Yo, Casey, whatcha doing over there? You ready to roll? We’ve been shut out by the clerk and her bouncy friend, already filled up on gasoline and caffeine. Time to ride, bro!”
Maybe Casey spoke too soon. He turned to see his two buddies slapping each other playfully and laughing as they headed toward him and Grant. It was too late to head them off too. Casey saw the sparkle in Sean’s eyes when he glimpsed Grant.
“Hey, who’s the pops you made friends with?” Sean laughed.
The guys reached his side and Frankie stood a little too close to Casey for comfort. “Dude, Casey, you and me have gots to talk.”
Casey glared at the last man on the planet he would willingly talk to. The only reason the dipshit was even with them this week was because Sean was dating his younger sister, Lita. “Yeah, I highly doubt that, Frankie.”
He turned to Grant and prayed that his face conveyed his unhappiness for the interruption. Best to put feet between them now though, before these two made complete asses of themselves and him.
“It was really good talking shop with you, hope to see you around.” In front of Frankie and Sean, and against his better judgment, he leaned over and squeezed Grant’s arm in a quick goodbye. It might have been a stupid move that would definitely get him razzed, but it was well worth it to feel the muscle there. Did he imagine it flexed a little under his grip? If so, that was fine with him.
“Come on, guys,” he said quickly and hurried back to his Ninja.
“Don’t forget the roads are dangerous with Biketoberfest going on. Helmets are a smart idea.” Grant’s concern for his safety, or safety in general, made him smile. But he didn’t dare turn around and answer.
“Hey, old timer! This is fucking Florida, no helmet law. You worry about controlling that thing you’re driving and we’ll worry about what’s between our legs.” Frankie lowered his voice for just Sean and Casey as he added, “I hate it when four-wheel drivers feel the need to protect us bikers.”
“Technically his truck has six wheels, Frankie.”
“Fuck you, Sean.” Casey heard both of them cutting up and growled under his breath.
He picked up his pace and straddled his bike before he knew it. Glancing over at Frankie, who was putting his sunglasses on, he flicked him off, and revved his throttle. He didn’t even wait to see if the other two were ready before peeling out of the gas station heading east.
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