by Jayne Rylon
Well, shit. James really didn’t need his spouses to be any more worried about him than they already were at the moment. Or for something awful to happen so they could say I told you so. Or worse, if his recklessness caused them to take time and attention away from their work to look after him when he’d already left them a man down. Damn it.
“Not like I’ve got anything better to do.” James shrugged. “Thank you.”
He jammed his hands into his pants pockets, strolled inside, and let his eyes adjust. At least there was plenty of eye candy to keep him entertained at the Hot Rods garage. It brimmed with sexy cars and the sexier people working on them.
Alanso had an engine in pieces, each doodad laid out meticulously on a canvas drop cloth so he could service it. His husband, Eli, was assisting him in between filling out some kind of paperwork on a clipboard. Their wife, Sally, wore a hooded white suit covered in speckles of a rainbow of colors that obscured the curve of her growing baby bump as she washed out paint buckets. Bryce reclined on a low board with wheels, then scooted under a heavily modified antique truck on a lift, rejoining his buddy Kaige, who was banging on something while cursing creatively.
James angled toward the last bay, where Carver was fussing with a piece of leather interior and his man, Roman, was installing what looked to be custom lights on a sick olive-green antique auto with exaggerated fins. James had never thought much about cars, but he had to admit, these would impress just about anyone.
He eyed the flat expanse at the lowered rear of the car as he waved to Carver. Hanging out with him and Roman was always comfortable and casual, which wasn’t all that typical for James, who wasn’t butch enough to fit in with most people’s expectations for a construction worker…or even a guy in general. Carver was built similarly to him, if an inch or two taller, and was comfortable letting Roman take the lead in their relationship. Being slender and short didn’t keep him from kicking ass in the garage or the occasional bar fight in their slightly shady past, though.
Roman and Carver were probably the most likely candidates for James, Neil, and Devon’s new besties outside the crew now that they were settling here in Middletown permanently.
Sure, all the mechanics were polyamorous like the Powertools, but something about Carver made James feel less like an oddball in the midst of some seriously macho dudes and kickass women. Carver’s unbreakable bond with Roman reminded James of how things had been between him and Neil before they’d met Devon, and gotten lucky enough to have relationship lightning strike for the second time in their lives.
After all, Roman and Carver had been in a relationship for almost as long as James and Neil had been, plus they enjoyed front row seats to the Hot Rods group sessions. Toss in Roman’s “little” brother Quinn, who was bi and married to both a man and a woman…well…they understood each other and their complex relationships like few other people could. Spending more time with them and the rest of the open-minded people who worked at the Hot Rods classic car restoration and Hot Rides motorcycle garages was one of the definite perks of the recent shakeup in their lives.
James laid his hand on the shiny trunk and thought about hopping up on it to shoot the shit with Roman and Carver while they worked on the fancy vehicle, which definitely did not have any scratches or even a speck of dust on it, for that matter.
“You’re not about to sit on there, are you?” Roman shot James one of those unmistakably Dom-type glances that made him squirm a bit. He barely stopped himself from responding, “No, sir.”
“Guess not.”
Roman scolded, “For Christ’s sake, it’s a one-of-a-kind, non-production 1951 Buick LeSabre concept, boy. This car spawned twenty years of record sales and launched an iconic aesthetic. Show some respect or I’ll put you over my knee.”
James put his hands out in an if-you-say-so gesture. It wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever been threatened with. Especially not if Neil and Devon were there to watch.
He turned, planted his palms on the tool bench opposite it instead, and hopped, scooting his ass back. James kicked his legs, swinging them idly in front of him as he leaned onto his hands, arms locked straight, and observed the mechanics. There was still plenty of room to spare both on top of the workbench and between it and Roman and Carver’s project. Sometimes it paid to be the smallest guy in the room. Roman never took his eyes off James, not looking the least offended about James’s second-choice perch.
In fact, his approving nod and wicked grin seemed to imply he enjoyed it being decorated with man-flesh.
“Settle down there, Barracuda, or you’ll make me jealous,” Carver teased as he traipsed in between them, laughing. He turned to James with a twinkle in his eye. “Just kidding. I don’t blame him for looking. You are hella cute.”
Roman growled. He impressed James with his reaction time, grabbing Carver and drawing the shorter man to him for a kiss that had James wishing Devon or Neil were handy. Roman didn’t hold back, completely possessing his partner. His mouth opened wide as he thrust his tongue into Carver’s mouth and dipped him backward over an arm that was ropey with bunched-yet-trim muscles streaked with grease. Carver went liquid in his man’s arms, letting him take whatever he wanted and enjoying every moment.
Whew. They were hot as hell.
“Oh, now you did it, James.” Alanso followed the chiding with something in Spanish that his thick Cuban accent made sound even naughtier than it probably was from where he was elbows-deep in his rebuild.
“Work now, play later.” Eli snorted with a shake of his head.
“Maybe it’s time for a pre-smoke break, if you know what I mean,” James joked. “I can go hang out with Tom and Ms. Brown for a while if you need to take care of some private business.”
He was going to miss those spontaneous interludes with the crew. He couldn’t count how many times they’d been in the middle of a job and someone had started something and next thing he knew…
James shook his head. He couldn’t think of that now or he’d be walking funny until Neil and Devon got home from their sites that evening. Or maybe until the Powertools kids went to bed and the whole crew could spend some quality time together.
Thank God for the industrial lock Joe had gotten permission to install on the door to the finished basement they’d claimed as their play area.
“Do you see this mess?” Kaige popped his head out from beneath the vehicle he was working on with Bryce. “If we take that kind of break, we’ll be here until we reopen Monday morning.”
“Are you sure you have time to look at my car?” James winced. The last thing he wanted was to impose. “It’s just a scratch…”
“It’s not. Hush.” Bryce tossed a rag in James’s direction, which Bryce’s wise old dog Buster McHightops tracked with his eyes while Bryce and Kaelyn’s son’s pup Professor Puddin’pop charged after and tried to destroy with adorable snuffles and exaggerated head thrashing. “Besides, you guys are doing so much to help us out right now, one baby car repair is nothing in comparison to the Hot Rods expansion project. I can’t wait until we have more room to spread out.”
Not that James was personally contributing on that front either.
“Speaking of, I’m going to walk over there in a bit and see how Joe’s doing. How do you like what you’re seeing of your new digs so far?” James wondered. One of his fellow Powertools, Joe, had been busting his ass for months to transform the site into a perfect, much bigger home for his cousin Eli and the rest of the Hot Rods gang than their current apartment above the garage. The project had already changed the crew’s lives and Joe was determined to have equally as big an impact on Eli and the rest of the Hot Rods. “You know if it’s not perfect, there’s still time to change a lot of the interior finishes and tweak stuff.”
“That’s not what Joe said.” Sally waved one of the paintbrushes she was cleaning. It seemed like she’d recently finished free-handing lettering on the dope black delivery truck from the twenties or thirties parked at the rear of the
garage. “He told Eli that if he couldn’t make up his fucking mind he was going to charge him double for every scope rework.”
James snorted as he angled toward Eli. That sounded like Joe. Of course, he wasn’t serious. “Yeah, right. Don’t let him fool you. Your cousin is a giant softie.”
“I don’t need to know about his junk.” Eli grimaced.
“Oh! Not that part of him. That’s not soft at all.” James practically purred, intentionally antagonizing the shop owner while mentally reviewing their schedules to figure out what time the crew would be home and if they should order pizza instead of wasting time cooking dinner and cleaning dishes before they could act on whatever steamy vibe the Hot Rods were steeping James in simply by existing.
The familiar, natural intimacy in the group made him miss his time with the crew all that much more. Fuck. Before he could think better of it, he let his feelings fly.
“Carver, what would you do if you didn’t work together with Roman or the rest of your gang anymore?” James asked bluntly. Because neither of them was traditionally manly, he got the feeling that Carver had learned early on—like James had—the value of loyalty and people who would watch your back no matter the circumstances.
“Wow, that’s a tough one. I mean, this is all I know how to do. And I like to eat. Plus someone’s got to pay for the new place. So…if it came down to it, I guess I’d still do this but on my own. It wouldn’t be nearly as awesome as it is now, though. These dumb fuckers make Hot Rods more than just a job. It’s another home. The only decent one I really ever had. It’s part of me.” Carver flashed him a sad smile. “Sorry. That’s the truth, though I don’t think that’s going to help you out.”
“Yeah.” James sighed. Maybe he really did need to suck it up and try crewing again. “I guess I should just quit bitching and help out on Devon’s sites or Neil’s. Whoever needs help for the day, right?”
“Or you could be a kept man.” Roman tipped a wrench in Carver’s direction. “I kind of like the idea of my man cooking dinner for me and lounging naked in bed, resting up for when I get off work.”
“You barbarian.” Carver snorted.
“I can’t do that.” James shook his head. “People already think of me as a wimp. I might not be some kind of over-testosteroned muscle man—”
“What’s wrong with that?” Bryce flexed, making everyone crack up.
“Sorry. You know what I mean, right?” James tipped his head and Bryce nodded, smiling. He’d only been busting James’s balls, which actually made him breathe easier. He wasn’t treating him like he was fragile or any different from the rest of the guys.
This wasn’t so different from what James had before, hanging out with these guys. Maybe he could fit in here somehow.
“I’ve got something to contribute, somewhere. I just don’t know where or doing what yet.” James rubbed the back of his neck as if he had a chance at eliminating the perpetual knot there by smooshing himself from the outside instead of fixing whatever the hell had broken on the inside. “I have to figure out what I want to do from here, and before it makes me crazy.”
“Don’t try to force it,” Eli suggested. “You’ll find the right thing. Give it some time. It’s been, what, less than a month since you got here?”
In some ways it felt like forever. James didn’t like the sensation of drifting when he’d had a purpose for so long. It reminded him of the time before he’d found the crew. His whole life had blossomed at the end of the long, frigid winter that had been his childhood and adolescence. A time he didn’t even like to think about now.
“Yeah, I guess.” James shifted then slid from the tool bench. He had to do something, anything, before his memories of his sister’s tormented eyes—after nights spent with their relatives when their parents were absent again—and dread overwhelmed him. He reached for something comforting in its familiarity. “I’m sure you’re right. So for the moment, I’m going to pass the time by reconditioning these. What kind of savages are you guys, letting these chisels get so rusty and dull?”
“You hear that, Carver?” Eli teased. “James is going to polish your tools. You lucky bastard.”
James bent over the tool bench, well aware of what his ass looked like in his tight jeans. Over his shoulder he said, “Someone hand me some sandpaper.”
With a whistle, Roman complied.
It was cathartic, getting lost in the rhythm of grinding the metal down, clearing away the oxidation, honing the edges, and making each tool bright, shiny, useful, and new. He wished he could do the same for himself as easily. If only there was some formula to follow, he could put in the elbow grease and get it done. Hell, he’d hammer it out all at once. Apparently his mind and heart weren’t so straightforward.
James kept working at it until there wasn’t anything left to buff away. The background banter of the Hot Rods helped him keep his mind from obsessing over darker thoughts while he worked. And when he was finished, he lined up each of Carver’s chisels in size order in their leather holder, then oiled the outside of the case and tied it neatly closed, eyeing the rest of the messy and well-used implements that could use his attention next.
When he turned around, Carver and Roman were staring at him.
“What?” James glanced away, placing the case exactly parallel to the edge of the bench, damn near an inch border on both the side and bottom, his fingers itching to start in on organizing the ratchets tossed haphazardly in a pile nearby.
“I’m kind of embarrassed about the rest of this stuff now.” Roman slung a rag over them.
“You guys use these things constantly. It’s hard to take time out from actual paid jobs to do maintenance.” James shrugged. “I like making them shiny and perfect again. Ready to use. I don’t have much else going on. I’d be happy to run through the your workstations and take care of the rest of them in the garage too over the next couple of weeks in exchange for the work you’re doing on my car.”
“I have a better idea.” Eli ambled over from where Alanso was grinning in their direction. “Why don’t you come work with us? We’re always needing help with stuff like this and repairing the machinery. Seems like that would be a breeze for you.”
James wasn’t the sort to have a big head, but Eli was right. He could do that in his sleep. It was fine to keep his hands from being idle when he was in flux, but not something he would look forward to doing every day. “I appreciate the offer, really. While the company would be excellent, I’m not sure refurbishing tools would have me jumping out of bed every morning.”
Eli grunted. “Damn. Our loss, but I can understand that.”
Roman teased, “I wouldn’t be excited about leaving your bed any morning either. Hell, with Neil and Devon to snuggle up with and roll over on…”
“Hey.” Carver snapped a rag at Roman. “What am I? Used motor oil?”
Roman chuckled. “If you’ve already forgotten how I feel about you, maybe we should take the lunch we skipped and lock ourselves in the breakroom for an hour.”
“I just cleaned that table!” Kaige glared. “Make sure you disinfect it before I eat on it next. Or at least let me watch for my efforts.”
“That would just be torturing yourself. Unless Nola will be home sooner than usual.” James glanced at the clock. There were still a few hours left in the day, even for people who worked a straight forty-hour week, which none of his crewmates nor their entrepreneur friends at Hot Rods and Hot Rides did very often.
He figured business owners were the only people willing to put in a million hours a week to avoid working for someone else. And he didn’t blame them. After being, sort of, his own boss for so long, he didn’t think he’d do well taking orders from someone that wasn’t Mike or Neil or Dave or Devon. He had an awful lot of criteria for someone without a specific plan.
James wiped his hands clean, then sighed. He didn’t want to waste the peace that had come from doing something beneficial and familiar for a bit. “Well, I think I’m going to go check
out Joe’s progress and offer to help him if he needs me, unless there’s anything else I can do for you all?”
“Nah.” Eli jerked his chin toward the expansion site. “I’m sure my cousin will be happy to have your eyes and hands on the job for a few hours. Just remember, our garage doors are open if you change your mind.”
James nodded and bumped fists with Carver and Roman as he passed them. “Thanks. All of you.”
“What’s going on in here? You assholes slacking off as usual?” Joe ambled into the garage before James could go out and find him. The rest of the Hot Rods gave as good as they got, but with the exception, maybe, of Eli, they didn’t know Joe as well as James did.
James saw the concern hiding behind his jokes.
“What’s wrong?” he wondered, and Eli paused, narrowing his eyes in Joe’s direction before stiffening up.
“Oh, nothing major.” Joe put his hand on James’s shoulder, which only worried him more. “Looks like someone stole a bunch of shit off Devon’s site. Vandalized some too. She wondered if you would come down to help her fill out a police report and an insurance claim.”
“Son of a bitch!” James wormed his hand into the snug pocket of his pants and withdrew his phone. He hadn’t heard her calls with the din of the mechanics’ tools and constant shit-talking around him. Maybe being away from her was the wrong decision. Not because she couldn’t handle herself, but because he wanted to assist if he could.
Eli stepped closer and dropped his voice, “Watch yourselves down there. I’m not sure everyone is quite as happy as we are that there’s such serious competition coming to town.”
“What’s that mean?”
Eli hesitated, and James’s heart stuttered. “The resort, the construction business, hell, even Giovanni’s projects—the tattoo shop and the build out downtown—it’s a lot of change for Middletown. Some people aren’t good at evolving, you know?” Eli frowned.
James did know because lately he felt like he might be one of them, though he was doing his damnedest not to be. And he certainly would never sabotage someone else over it.
