Gas or Ass

by Eden Connor

  I ticked through the possible explanations; pheromones, normal curiosity, a desire to explore the forbidden. But I knew it was his dominance that I both hated and craved. His absolute knowledge of my body, and the way he took control of it, softened my will to resist. I didn’t reach any conclusions, other than accepting I was in over my head, and possibly possessed by something I might never fully understand. The thing, whatever it was, had a pre-set expiration date, so why worry?

  A wizened old man in a tan windbreaker and a John Deere cap sat down next to me. His grin was friendly, so I smiled. “Lee Haney. You must be Dale Hannah’s new stepdaughter. Shelby, is it?”

  “Yes. Nice to meet you.” His wrinkled hand felt like paper when he shook mine.

  He leaned his elbows on the wooden benches behind us and crossed his ankles. “First time at the track, huh?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, sugar, if you got questions, I been hangin’ out at racetracks since I was five years old.”

  My head spun from wrestling with unanswerable questions, so I asked about the mysterious numbers drawn on the car windshields. He explained dial-ins, which was what I gathered Caroline and Colt were working on tonight. “A driver has to know how long it takes his vehicle to cross the finish line, because they often race slower or faster cars. The faster one’s handicapped at the start line. Now, part of that time’s determined by the car, but the rest—”

  Colt had the Mustang on the start line now. I watched the light tree system count down to green. When the car shot forward, the front tires lifted off the ground. Those moments riding with Caroline were vivid in my mind as he rocketed toward the finish line.

  I gasped, studying the time that flashed on the big board. His 9.72 seemed nearly impossible, given the forty-six-year age difference between the Mustang and his sister’s Dodge.

  Other cars took his place while he and Caine fiddled under the hood. Then he circled the oval and lined up again. My heart flew alongside, and when the 9.41 flashed, I jumped to my feet and clapped.

  “I wanna do that,” I confessed to my companion, sitting down a bit too hard on my sore bottom.

  The old guy chuckled and patted my knee. “Someone just got bit by the speed bug. My job here’s done, I reckon.” I turned to frown, puzzled by the statement. He jerked his head toward the track. “Caine sent me over. Said he figured you’d have questions.” He tipped the cap on his head. “Nice meetin’ you, Miss Shelby.”

  He was halfway to his feet when I stopped him. “One more question?”

  “Sure.” He took his seat again.

  “Their dad works for NASCAR, right?”

  He nodded, but began to smile. “Honey, I know where you’re goin’ with this. See, back in my day, anyone could run in a NASCAR race, if’n he had a car and the entry fee. But NASCAR’s changed a lot. The purses got bigger, but so did the costs. Colt coulda scrapped for sponsors, but he couldn’t afford the kind of engineering team it takes to win nowadays. He had a spot driving for a big team, but I think he made the right decision when he turned that down.” He gestured toward the infield. “Him and Caine rebuilt that car from the ground up. That ain’t no show car. It’s doin’ what it was born to do, which is run like a scalded dog.” He shrugged. “No team, no boss, just his brother, him, and the rush that comes from puttin’ the hammer down. It’s pure.”

  “If he’s not doing it for the money, then it must be for love?”

  “Exactly.” His brown eyes gleamed with humor. “I know Dale thinks Colt walked away from that spot because he believes Colt’s afraid to rub fenders in a pack of fifty cars, all runnin’ flat-out a two hundred miles an hour, but Dale, well, he’s an oval-track man. He just don’t get the thrill of racin’ in a straight line, is all.”

  Down in the infield, Colt pulled the Mustang onto the grass. A different car eased up to the start line. Caine raised the hood again. Colt got out of the car and scanned the grandstands until he caught sight of us. He and my new buddy exchanged a wave. He began jogging in our direction. My breath caught, watching his golden muscles ripple under the lights.

  “Takes a smart man to make money to feed his addiction rather than tryin’ to squeeze his money from his addiction,” my friend confided. “Ain’t got nothin’ to do with fear.”

  I grasped what the old man was trying to say. The car Colt built had challenged Caroline’s fancy new car, and it’s modern engineering. In a race where she had the lower time, he’d get the earlier start—by a mere fraction of a second—and he’d probably beat her.

  “Hell of a time you just ran, Colt.”

  “Hey, Lee.” Colt drew up at the wall. “Shelby bored to tears yet?”

  Lee chuckled and cut a look toward me. “Somethin’ tells me that while she was sittin’ here, some gasoline done seeped into her blood.”

  Colt raised his brows. “Is that so?”

  I nodded eagerly, swept away by the smile my agreement earned me.

  “Might as well see if we’re gonna keep her in the family. I’ll ask Mason if he’s willin’ to hang around, if that’s okay?”

  He leaned back and propped his elbows on the bench behind ours. “I don’t mind leavin’ the track open a bit, since it’s you askin’.”

  Only Caine, Colt, Caroline, and Brandon remained in the infield when Colt led me to the Mustang. I had a sense of what he’d invested in the old car now. I took getting behind the wheel more seriously than I’d likely have done, had I driven the car before my chat with Lee.

  Caine leaned in from one side, Colt from the other. They pointed out each gauge and told me what it measured. I adjusted the seat and ran my hands along the top of the wheel. “Just focus on watching the light and getting a clean start,” Caine yelled. “Speed don’t matter if you get disqualified for leaving the line early.”

  Colt hooked a finger underneath my chin, turning me to face him. “I’ve already put four cans of gas in this car tonight. You know the rule, right?”

  I nodded. “Gas or ass.” When he grinned, I couldn’t resist adding,” I got money for my birthday, you know.”

  “And don’t think I won’t take it.” He clapped his helmet on my head. “But I’d rather have that sweet ass.”

  My first time was a disappointing 17.59. The guys nearly fell over themselves laughing. But I had a sense of the distance now, and had worked out that not all clutches were created equal. Caroline’s clutch worked more smoothly and took less pressure to depress. This one had more... I didn’t know the term, but it was different.

  Undaunted, I circled and lined up again. Tuning out their merriment, I eyed the starting lights. When I got green, I knew I’d gotten off the line better. The way my vision blurred everything into a long tunnel was less scary this time, but another fifteen-second run pissed me off.

  “One more,” I begged Colt, eyeing the sagging gas gauge with disbelief.

  Caine sighed. “Last one, Shelby.” He lifted one of the red gas containers they’d stopped to fill on the way. “Ought to get you two more runs, the way you’re drivin’. After that, we’ll have to tow the damn thing to the closest station.” He swung the can toward Colt. “You put it in. Let me talk to her,” he yelled.

  He wedged his shoulders through the window. “Close your eyes.”

  I lowered my eyelids. He brushed my nipple and slid his hand down my torso. Unhooking the four-point racing harness between my thighs, he went straight to my clit. Rubbing the nub in a circle, he demanded, “Feel that throb?” I nodded. “Now, remember how it felt when I bit this little button?”

  “Yes.” He pressed harder with his finger. The throb between my legs intensified.

  “That’s the feeling you’re chasing. This car’s just one big cock, a one-ton, driving piston and you’re ridin’ it. Feel it, Shelby, feel the engine in your pussy. Let your senses tell you when to shift. Let your body fly and your foot will follow on that gas pedal. If you hit ten seconds, it’ll feel like hard foreplay. If you break nine, you’ll come. And if you do,
I swear to God, I’ll make Colt lick you clean.”

  No wonder Brandon had issues with Caine, if this was how he’d ‘worked with’ Caroline.

  He refastened my harness, then slapped the roof. “Now, go! It’s like flyin’ and havin’ sex all at once, if you do it right.”

  I loosened my grip on the shifter and depressed the clutch and the gas pedal to the floorboard. The light changed and I let the clutch out. The car leaped forward. With Caine’s words pounding in my head, my pulse raced, and I was too damn horny to hold back. By the halfway point, I’d already worked through all four gears. Nothing left to do but mash the gas. The line flashed by and I pumped the brakes. The big gold numbers said 12.92. I had to gasp for breath as the sensations coursing through my body caught up with the breakneck speed at which they’d hammered me.

  I circled to the start line again, determined not to quit until I either earned that orgasmic number nine, or ran out of gas. Brandon and Caroline were seated on Caine’s lowered tailgate. Caroline hooted, then cupped her hands around her mouth. “Go, Shelby. You can do it!”

  My confidence level soared, but my time was 14.36 on the next run.

  I slapped the wheel in frustration, growing more annoyed when Colt drew his finger across his throat.

  I ripped the strap from underneath my chin and slung the helmet into the passenger seat. My legs barely held me when I got out of the car.

  Brandon shouted, “Damn, Red, a thirteen-second run? In that car?” My heart soared, then fell, as I realized his words were sarcasm.

  Ignoring him, I turned to Caroline and muttered in her ear. “That ‘winner gets head’ rule makes so much more sense now.” She laughed, but I pulled back with a scowl. “I can’t figure out why my last time was so slow.”

  “Adrenaline,” Caine explained, slinging gas cans into the back of his truck. “Gave you the shakes. You’ll learn to control it, in time.”

  “Let’s go,” Caroline begged. “I’m starving.” She and Brandon slid off the tailgate.

  “Not a bad run a’tall, Miss Shelby.”

  I whirled to see Lee hobbling in my direction. “Thanks, I guess, but it’s a long damn way from a nine-second run.”

  “I think you hooked her, Lee.” Caine laughed.

  I sought out Colt. He shook with laughter. “Hooked her? Look at those eyes. And her cheeks are glowing.” He pinched one cheek and winked. Very big brother-ish. I recalled how well Lee knew Dale and appreciated Colt’s caution.

  “Reckon we gotta keep her now.” Caine jumped over the side of the truck and gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Thanks, old man.”

  I rode in the Mustang with Colt, still vibrating with excitement. He motioned Caine abreast of the Mustang at the end of the dirt drive. “Gotta get gas.” He huffed and cut me a look. “I know they wanna go somewhere and eat, but Macy stocked the fridge, right? I’m more interested in getting reimbursed for the gas back at the house.”

  ***

  When we walked through the door, a phone was ringing. It wasn’t my ringtone. Colt and Caine both glanced at their phones and shrugged. I followed the sound through the house, but it stopped before I figured out where it came from.

  Caine called out the choices for dinner, standing in the open refrigerator door for so long, my mother would’ve scolded. We settled on a casserole. I’d just put the dish in the oven when the ringing started again.

  I dashed through the den and down the hall. If neither of the guys knew about it, I figured it had to come from Mom and Dale’s room. I flipped on the light. A gift-wrapped box rested in the center of the king-size bed. The ringing ceased again, but I spied my name on the card.

  I blinked back tears when I unwrapped a phone identical to Caroline’s. What disturbed me was how many missed calls were logged. Racing to the den, I explained to the guys the need for them to be quiet, then doubled back to my bedroom.

  “Shelby?” I heard the tears in Mom’s voice.

  “I’m fine. Calm down. Took me forever to find the package. Every time I got close, you’d hang up. I was starting to think I was hearing things.” I tried to laugh off her concern. “And I was listening to music with my headphones, I think, when you started calling.”

  “Oh, baby,” she sobbed. “Where are your brothers?”

  “Uh, they poked around under the hood of one of those old cars out back. Now we’re waiting for the chicken casserole to heat up.” She’d never know how much I’d left out in between.

  “Such a horrible birthday. And it’s an important one. Shelby, I’ll never forgive myself for this.” She burst into tears, giving me the choice of consoling her or staying quiet and trying to pretend my birthday was about me after all, and not an event she usually went all out for to make herself feel better about her bad choices.

  The weight of being the daughter of a single mother never felt so heavy as it did right then. Kids with two parents didn’t have a clue. Everything in her life centered around that moment she’d made the choice to keep me. The weight of the unspoken contract she’d foisted on me dragged me to the floor. I was supposed to be worth all the things she’d given up since. I’d been good, not because being a good student and not a promiscuous, troubled teen was some virtue I aspired to, but to keep her from feeling any regret about keeping me.

  All the birthday parties of the past danced in my mind as I leaned against the side of my bed, poorly-attended events where she always wore that faraway look that I thought meant she was thinking about how much better her life would’ve been if she’d made a different choice. Some kids say it’s an unselfish decision, to be raised by a single mom. I’d say the opposite. It’s the most selfish thing in the world, to have a baby at sixteen, then spend the next eighteen years in a delicate dance with poverty, all the while forcing me to validate a decision that had always been out of my hands.

  The rage I’d suppressed for the last week flared to life.

  “I’m fine, really. But you tell Dale, we’re buying crab legs that’d make an elephant jealous.”

  I took a selfie after I got her off the phone. Or rather, after Dale got her off the phone by taking it out of her hand and giving me a list of stuff he wanted his sons to do. “Happy birthday, Shelby.” I sensed my mother had moved away when he lowered his voice. “Get out of your room, hon. Go find some trouble. Now, I know you’re new in town and don’t know where to look, but Colt, in particular, makes a damn good tour guide. I told those boys not to ignore you, but you gotta meet ‘em halfway, sweetheart.”

  While I figured out how to set the image as my screen saver, I made a decision. I was done living just to excuse my own existence.

  Chapter Eight

  To my surprise, Caine cleared the dirty plates and forks off the bar. While I watched, he rinsed them in the sink and stuck them in the dishwasher. “Uh, Dale said something about getting started on the Barracuda this week?”

  He nodded, but darted a look over his shoulder and raised his brows. Hands came down on my shoulders and I realized he’d been looking at Colt.

  “Wow, the ‘Cuda?” Colt drove his thumbs into the tense muscles in my neck. “Dad won that car in race a couple of years back.” His laugh made me relax more than the massage. “Some dude with more money than sense ran his mouth at the track one night. When he said he’d race for the title to that car, Dad just about dragged me out of the ’69 Shelby and burned that guy’s ass. Him and his 2012 Mustang were still in spittin’ distance of the start line when Dad hit fourth gear. How often have we begged to fix it up, you reckon?”

  Caine shrugged, slamming the dishwasher door upright. “Buncha times.”

  “That damn car’s worth a fortune,” Colt continued. “That body style ‘Cuda only had a two-year production run, from 1970 to 1971, and they only made eleven convertibles with the Hemi engine.”

  As usual, the jargon meant nothing to me. I seized on one word. “It’s a convertible?”

  Caine crossed the small kitchen. Leaning his elbows on the bar, he ducked down s
o I could see him underneath the cabinets that hung overhead. “See, now, that’s a woman for you. The very thing that makes that car so damn valuable is it’s one big drawback, far as I’m concerned. All that air, swirlin’ into the back seat? Just adds drag.”

  I batted my lashes and grinned like a monkey eating an orange. “It’s a convertible.”

  He lifted his hand to cup my cheek. Stroking my face with a thumb so calloused, it felt like sandpaper, he smiled. “It’s a convertible. A purple convertible, at that. Someone I know sure seems fond of that color.”

  I felt stupid for the burst of warmth I experienced because he’d happened to note the preponderance of grape-colored things I owned while he’d lugged them into a trailer.

  “Time to pay the piper, Shelby.” Colt’s announcement caused Caine to pull away. My palms turned slick, making me lose my grip on Colt’s hand when I followed him into the den. He shoved the coffee table aside and sprawled on the sofa.

  “Caine, take her clothes off.”

  Caine moved in behind me. His hands snagged on the silky knit when he slid his palms down my hips and gripped the hem of my cotton shift.

  My panties still lay in the student parking lot, so Colt’s hungry gaze met no barrier when his brother whipped the dress over my head. Caine brought his hands to my breasts. I knew by then that Caine didn’t seduce, he wrung sensations from my body. The hard pinch he gave my nipples made me whimper. My heartbeat echoed in my clit, and I’d swear that Colt heard the sound, because he dropped his eyes to focus on the spot.

  “Spread your legs,” Colt commanded. I forced my feet apart, with some help from Caine’s nudging boot.

  He spread me beyond my center of balance, forcing me to lean against his chest. Colt straightened and bent forward. He slid a finger through my folds. Withdrawing, he held the gleaming fingertip up. “Already wet? That’s my good little slut.”