by Marie Sexton
Normal Enough
By Marie Sexton
A Wrench Wars Story
What is “normal”?
When Brandon Kenner shows up at Kasey Ralston’s garage with a 1970 Chevelle SS 454, Kasey is smitten by both the man and his car. But Kasey is hiding an embarrassing secret: his love for old muscle cars goes beyond what most would consider normal. His unusual fetish has kept Kasey isolated—estranged from his family and even distant from his coworkers.
But when Brandon figures out the hot mechanic’s secret, he’s not repulsed. In fact, he finds Kasey intriguing, and he’s determined to have him for himself.
Everything about Brandon revs Kasey’s engine, and he’s more than willing to get down and dirty with the charming man. What worries Kasey is what will happen after. Is there any chance of a future for them? In the past, expecting anything long-term has only led to heartbreak. But Kasey can’t help hoping that, despite Kasey’s fetish, Brandon will be the exception.
Table of Contents
Blurb
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Exclusive excerpt
Chapter 1
Don’t miss how the story began!
More from Marie Sexton
About the Author
By Marie Sexton
Visit Dreamspinner Press
Copyright Page
This one is for Jon.
With heartfelt thanks to Corey for suggesting the idea.
Chapter 1
KASEY KNEW he was in trouble the minute he saw the car.
It started out a day like any other at work. Camera crews were coming and going from the other side of Reggie’s garage, where the TV show Wrench Wars was being filmed, but here on the south side, Kasey and Tony worked in near silence, happy to stay out of the limelight. Deeper inside the garage, other mechanics argued and competed and wasted time. Kasey ignored them. He preferred to stay invisible. It was easier than trying to be friends, only to find he was the butt of their jokes.
Outside, the balmy summer weather had given way to blustering autumn, and the windows of the garage rattled in their frames with each new gust of wind. Kasey was glad he was inside.
“Ralston!” Kasey’s boss, Reggie, bellowed from the door. Reggie was one of those men who called everybody by their last name and rarely did it quietly. Everybody in the garage turned at the sound, first to look at Reggie, then to look at the person he was calling for: Kasey.
Kasey wilted under the weight of their attention, but replied, “Yeah, boss?”
“I need you,” Reggie said, lowering his voice to a normal speaking volume as he drew closer. “Got a customer outside who wants to talk to you.”
“Why me?” Reggie usually dealt with the customers. Kasey stayed in the back with Tony and did his work. He liked it that way.
“He wants someone who specializes in classic muscle cars. That means you. But he wants to make sure you know what you’re talking about. He’s not taking my word for it, and he’s not leaving his baby in any old dumb fuck’s hands. So get out there and convince him.”
Kasey hated talking to people. He hated trying to look them in the eyes. He especially hated the way they often made him feel small and stupid and weak. That was why he did his best to avoid the other mechanics and the Wrench Wars crew. But then he looked out the door and saw the car.
It was a 1970 Chevy Chevelle SS, if he wasn’t mistaken, and when it came to classic muscle cars, he rarely was. Whoever owned her had taken care of her, too. She was silver, with thick black stripes up her spoilered hood. In damn good shape, and probably worth upward of seventy-five grand. She was beautiful. Perfect. And she called to him in a way that made his skin tingly and his groin tight.
Kasey pulled on a lined, long-sleeve flannel shirt to guard against the wind, then glanced out the window to make sure the Wrench Wars team wasn’t nearby. No cameras in sight, so he pushed through the glass door into the parking lot.
He approached the Chevelle slowly, taking in her lines, anticipating the way her interior would look. When he finally peeked in the window, he wasn’t disappointed. Her seats weren’t faded and torn like so many old cars he saw. No. This one was as perfect inside as out. He itched to get in her, lean back in the seat, and let the car do her work.
“You the expert?” a man asked from across the car’s hood, shaking Kasey out of his reverie. It took all his willpower to take his eyes off the car and look at the owner. The man was taller than Kasey and well dressed, probably in his early thirties, with dark blond hair that seemed to ruffle just the right amount in the autumn breeze. He may as well have stepped straight out of a GQ ad, and Kasey fought the urge to run and hide. Reggie had told him to make the sale. Besides, the car was worth the awkwardness of this meeting.
“Guess I am,” he finally said.
“What’s your name?”
“Kasey.”
The man cocked his head sideways, looking skeptical. “How old are you?”
Kasey hunched his shoulders and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. “Twenty-four. Why?”
“I guess I expected an expert on classic muscle cars to be older. But no matter.” He leaned across the hood and held out his hand. He wore a suit, and his hands were so clean, Kasey was afraid to touch him. “I’m Brandon Kenner.”
The man’s smile unnerved him, as did his seemingly easy friendliness. Dressed in a fancy suit, yet he wasn’t looking down his nose at Kasey. Not yet, anyway.
Kasey forced himself to shake the man’s hand. Meeting new people was always awkward, and he was glad he had a legitimate excuse to break eye contact. The car demanded his attention.
“She’s a beauty,” he said. “Four fifty-four?”
“You got it. LS6.” Brandon came around to the front of the car, reached into the grill to pop the hood, then lifted it to reveal the V-8 engine. It was as clean as the rest of the car.
Kasey whistled in appreciation. “Where’d you get her?”
“Bought her at a show in Phoenix. Had her a few years.” Brandon smiled at him. “I’m a bit of a collector.”
Damn. Kasey shook his head, wondering at how much money it would take to collect cars. Not just any cars, either, but cars like this one. Of course, his father had collected cars too, but his had been nothing more than rusty heaps in the weed-strewn backyard, many of them resting on cinder blocks. It was in their dark, musty interiors that Kasey’s perverse secret had been born. But most of his dad’s cars hadn’t even run, and none of them had been as cherry as this Chevy.
“She’s mint,” he said to Brandon. “So why you here? She giving you trouble?”
“Not trouble, exactly, but she’s making a noise I don’t quite like.” He slammed the hood and nodded toward the body of the car. “Hop in and I’ll show you.”
Kasey’s heart began to pound. From the outside, he could admire the Chevy with the simple appreciation of any car buff, but the inside would be different. Being inside cars like this one did something to him—something that wasn’t normal, by most people’s standards. Still, he couldn’t avoid it. Brandon was already behind the wheel, looking out the windshield at him expectantly, so he opened the passenger door and climbed inside. He concentrated on Brandon rather than the car. That seemed the simpler way. It helped when Brandon started the car. Engine noise wasn’t a turn-on, thank God. It was a diagnostic tool and nothing more.
“Sounds fine to me.”
“That’s ’cause we’re idling.” Brandon depressed the clutch and shifted into first. “Let’s take it around the block.”
Kasey swallowed hard and did his best to concentrate on his work. It was difficult, but once he closed his eyes and focus
ed, it took only a moment for him to hear what troubled Brandon.
“There’s a bit of a knock, isn’t there?”
Brandon smiled at him, and Kasey knew he’d passed some kind of test. “Can you fix it?”
“Easy. Just timing. Don’t you have a timing light? You could do it yourself for free.”
Brandon shook his head. “I buy ’em, but I don’t know the first thing about fixing the things. When will it be done?”
“It’ll only take me a minute, once I get to it, but there’s a few cars ahead of you. Probably first thing tomorrow.”
“Good.”
They stopped at a red light, waiting to turn. They’d barely left the garage, and even though it was a short trip around the block, it was torture. Kasey rolled down his window and tried to concentrate on the cool breeze blowing by and the people walking down the street, but he couldn’t ignore the car. The slickness of the leather. The dark seductiveness of the dashboard. He shifted in his seat as they rounded the back of the block, hoping to hide his growing erection. It was ridiculous. It was a car, for fuck’s sake, but old cars like this always turned him on.
He sighed in relief when the ride ended. He pulled his shirt down over his groin and wiped a hint of sweat from his upper lip. He practically held his breath, anticipating his freedom as Brandon parked the Chevy.
“So,” Brandon said, turning to Kasey, “what time should I—” He stopped short, staring at Kasey, clearly amused, and Kasey had the distinct impression the man knew exactly what was going on in his passenger seat. “You okay?” he asked in a teasing voice.
Kasey’s cheeks burned. “Fine. We open at ten tomorrow. It’ll be ready then.”
He reached for the handle, desperate to escape the car and the laughter in Brandon’s eyes, but Brandon said, “Wait.”
Kasey kept his fingers on the handle and his eyes on the empty space between his knees and the dashboard. He imagined himself shrinking, turning small and ugly, his perversity somehow stamped on his forehead. At least his erection was gone. “What?”
“You like the car, huh?” There was laughter in Brandon’s voice, but somehow, no ridicule. Only curiosity. “I mean, it seems like you really like the car, if you know what I mean.”
Kasey ducked his head even farther. This was his worst nightmare come true. “I’m sorry. I’ll tell Reggie I didn’t know what was wrong with it. You can find somebody else—”
“Why would I want to do that?”
Was he serious? Kasey risked a glance at him and was surprised to find that Brandon didn’t look disgusted. If anything, he seemed intrigued.
“So, you find cars attractive? Is it, like, object sexualization?”
“No!” Kasey said, then immediately felt he’d reacted too forcefully. He shook his head, keeping his gaze on his feet. “No. It’s not like that. I don’t want to fuck the car. Or marry it, for God’s sake.”
“But there’s obviously something going on.”
Kasey’s cheeks burned in embarrassment. He nodded, hoping that would be the end of it.
No such luck.
“Well, what is it, then?” Brandon prompted.
Kasey debated. Maybe it would be better to lie. Maybe he could convince Brandon it wasn’t about the car at all. Somehow, though, he knew it wouldn’t work. The man was too perceptive, and Kasey’d never been good at deception. So he took a deep breath and blurted out his darkest secret. “Being inside certain cars turns me on.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably, squirming in the seat. Now that he was thinking about it again, it was only getting worse. Something about the smell of the worn leather and plastic and oil made him ache in the most erotic way. “A lot.”
A moment of silence, then Brandon said in a low voice, “That’s kind of hot, actually.”
Was he serious? “It’s not normal.”
Brandon laughed. It was such a sweet, open sound that Kasey found his embarrassment waning. “Define normal.”
“Uh—” Not getting a boner from a car. That was normal. But Kasey wasn’t sure how to say it without sounding crude, and judging by the way Brandon checked his watch, he was out of time anyway.
“Listen, I have to go. I’ll be back tomorrow morning to pick her up. In the meantime, you take care of her for me. And enjoy her.” He climbed out of the car and closed the door, then leaned down to smile at Kasey through the open window. “I mean it,” he said, winking. “Enjoy her, any way you want. Just don’t leave any pecker tracks on her seat.”
With that, he was gone, and Kasey sat there in that perfect, gorgeous car, wondering if it was possible to die of embarrassment.
THE REST of the morning passed in a daze. Kasey went home for lunch at noon. He lived in a trailer park that was small and safe, if not exactly clean. He even liked his neighbors—an older Latina lady on one side who had at least three cats, and a middle-aged, empty-nest couple on the other. Granted, he didn’t talk to them too much, but everybody was friendly. The rule of the park seemed to be “live and let live.” It was a motto Kasey appreciated.
The trailer itself was cozy and comfortable, and it provided plenty of space for him and Bandit, who greeted him joyfully as always, spinning wildly around his feet. Bandit was a blue heeler mix. Kasey had adopted him from a rescue two years earlier, and despite a few chewed-up shoes, he hadn’t regretted it once. Kasey was so busy greeting the dog, it took him a moment to notice the blinking light on the cordless phone that rested on his kitchen counter, indicating a new voice mail. His heart sank and he swore under his breath. He rarely received calls at all—which was why an old-fashioned landline suited him fine—and only one person ever left him voice mails: his brother, Richie.
Richie was the middle of his three older brothers. The eldest, Roger, had never shown any interest in Kasey. The youngest, Rod, had died two years before, shortly after their father’s death. Richie had been calling ever since, leaving him messages. Usually he didn’t say much. Just, “I’d sure love to hear from you, kid. Call me when you can.” But Kasey never took his calls, even when he was home, and he never called back. After years of being the outcast, he couldn’t bring himself to embrace Richie’s sudden desire to be a true brother to him.
“Fuck him,” Kasey said to Bandit, who thumped his tail on the floor in agreement. “We don’t need him.”
He left the light blinking.
Back at the garage, he quickly forgot Richie. All he could think about was Brandon’s car. The afternoon crept by, and Kasey spent every minute of it trying not to obsess about the Chevelle. She was gorgeous. Perfect. And he knew how good it would feel to lock himself in her shadowy interior and surrender to his arousal.
On his next-to-last car of the day, a boring old Honda Accord, Kasey stalled, taking his time, watching the clock, not quite able to admit what he was doing. He told himself he wasn’t bringing the car in yet because he didn’t want to attract the attention of the Wrench Wars crew. But that was only half the story.
“You okay?” Tony asked him at quarter till five.
“Sure. Why?”
“I don’t know. You seem a bit off today. Out of it, you know?”
“I’m fine.”
Tony nodded, wiping his greasy hands on a rag. “You wanna go for a beer after work?”
The mechanic bays were grouped in pairs. Kasey’s was on the end, which meant he had only one neighbor, and that neighbor had always been Tony. After nearly three years, Kasey had rarely exchanged more than polite pleasantries with the older man, yet that didn’t stop Tony from trying. Every so often, Tony invited him out to the bar for a drink, but Kasey always said no. He wasn’t so good with people. Hadn’t his daddy always told him so? He was even less stellar when it came to bars and crowds. He always figured he’d end up making a fool of himself and then his job, which had always been his haven, would suddenly become hell because he’d failed in front of Tony.
No. Better to keep his head down and his nose clean. That’s what his daddy had always said. “I’m running a
bit behind. Thought I’d stay late and finish up that Chevelle.” That’s why he’d been so slow fixing the Civic. He wanted time alone.
With a car.
How stupid and sick was that?
“Chevelle?” Tony asked. “That the old silver one that came in earlier?”
The old silver one. Kasey ducked his head to hide his smile. Tony was a good mechanic, but he wasn’t a true car enthusiast. “It’s not just any car. It’s a Chevelle SS 454.”
Tony grunted. “Whatever you say, man. You sure you don’t want that beer?”
“Maybe another time.” Although he couldn’t imagine ever taking the man up on his invitation.
“Suit yourself.”
Kasey waited, trying to hide his impatience, while Tony, Reggie, and the other mechanics turned off lights—all but Kasey’s work light, anyway—and locked the doors, then finally waved good-bye and left. Even then, after they were gone, Kasey stood there with sweating palms and a racing pulse, trying to decide what to do with the car.
Just fix it. Don’t be gross. Don’t be a freak. Fix the timing and go home.
But could he do that?
His hands shook as he pulled the car into his work bay. He turned off the ignition and climbed out to close the garage door, sealing himself and the treacherous Chevelle in silence. He stood staring at it, afraid and excited at the same time. She was a powerful temptress. Kasey wiped his palms on his grimy jeans. “Just fix it,” he said out loud. “That’s all you have to do.”
Once he set his mind to the task, it was easy, and like he’d told Brandon, it took him only a few minutes. And then the night stretched out ahead of him, rife with possibilities.
He shouldn’t. He knew that. He shouldn’t give in to his weird desires. It was unhealthy.
Then again, who was he hurting? The only person who could possibly object was Brandon, and he’d practically given him his blessing.
Maybe he could just sit in the Chevelle for a minute? Face the arousal she’d inevitably stir in him, then go home and masturbate in the shower like a normal guy.
