8. Dylan
Chapter 8
Dylan
S aturday morning starts with the sun shining brightly, promising another scorching August day in the southeast. I’m pacing around my room, looking for my favorite swim trunks while Cassie stretches out on my bed.
“Would you calm down? It’s going to be great. You need a bro-day.”
“Maybe. But a bro-day with a straight guy I find attractive, who also happens to be a client, feels more like a recipe for disaster than a relaxing day on the lake.”
She scoffs and throws my pillow at me. “I didn’t say confess that you want to get him naked, you weirdo. Just go hang out. Have a beer. Forget about the shop for a while. You’ve more than earned it.”
“I suppose.”
“He doesn’t seem like your usual type,” she points out.
“No shit.” I can’t believe I ever admitted to her that I think Jake’s hot.
“Honestly, that’s probably a good thing,” she admits, her eyes following me around the room as she flips her hair back over her shoulder.
I finally find the swim trunks I’m looking for and head into my bathroom to change. Walking back into my room with just my trunks on, Cassie huffs out a laugh and shakes her head. When she doesn’t say anything, I look down at my shorts.
“What? Are they ugly? Do they have a hole in them? Should I change?”
“Dildo, relax. ”
I cut my eyes at her. I hate when she calls me that.
“That’s hard to do when I’m already nervous and you’re laughing at me,” I point out, throwing a towel in my bag along with my earbuds.
“I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing because if Jacob is straight, I’ll eat my shoe and once he sees your gym-addicted, workaholic ass without a shirt, my guess is it won’t matter what the hell your bathing suit looks like because he won’t even see it.”
Wait, what?
“You think Jake’s gay?”
She shrugs. “I think Jake is in to you. He can call it whatever he wants.”
“No fucking way.” I hate myself a little for asking, but I’m unable to stop the question as it tumbles from my mouth. “What makes you think that?”
“The guy spent God knows how much money up-fitting our shop without being asked, after being here three times and not even knowing if you’d fixed his car. He tried to pass it off like he was worried about his cars and me, but it was you he couldn’t stop looking at while he answered Dad’s questions. Plus, you should’ve seen the way his eyes lit up when Dad and I told you to go for a ride with him.”
“You’re reading way too much into this. He’s just a nice guy.”
“Right. Because all nice guys, who are still practically strangers, invite their mechanics out for a day on the lake.”
“He’s not a stranger,” I argue. “Not really. I mean we’ve texted every few days for the past month for like updates on his car and other jobs and shit.”
When she gives me a fake smile and squints her eyes, I know I’ve walked right into her trap.
“Tell, me, Dyl, how many of your other customers do you spend that much time texting?”
I flip her my middle finger in response.
She rolls off my bed, laughing, and pats my shoulder. “Just remember, you promised I could be your best man.”
“For fuck’s sake, get out of here.” I don’t need her getting my hopes up with her delusions. Although, I have to admit, she’s pretty spot-on at reading people.
“Have fuuuuun,” she sings, closing my bedroom door behind her.
I look at myself in the mirror. I work hard for my physique. Early mornings in the gym, long days moving around the shop, and two to three days a week in a calorie deficit keep me pretty cut.
I eye the tattoo snaking up my side. It actually starts on my thigh, crosses my hip, trails up my ribs, over my right pec and shoulder and ends at the base of my neck. My mom would’ve loved it. The beauty and life of roses in bloom, surrounded by crying skulls, clocks telling me we’re always almost out of time, and a portrait of my mother — right over my pec — designed with face paint to look like she’s celebrating the Day of the Dead. The whole thing is black and gray, except for the eyes.
Blue like mine.
Above her portrait are the words Dia de los Muertos, and flowers follow the contour of my shoulder and neck.
From her death bed, my mother told me to live a life true to myself and to keep my loved ones close because when the end draws near, time with them is all that matters. I also think about my father’s recent words. You have to let it go, son. Give life a real chance.
Although it probably cost them to do so, my parents always supported me, even when I told them I’m gay they were kind and understanding. I’ll never forget the way we sat down as a family, Cassie clinging to my hand, ready to go to battle for me if needed, the way she always does.
My mom said, Hijo mío, no quiero que sufras por quien amas como lo hemos hecho tu padre y yo. La gente puede ser cruel pero nosotros siempre estaremos a tu lado.
My son, I don’t want you to suffer because of who you love like your father and I have. People can be cruel, but we will always stand by your side.
Despite my parent’s acceptance, other members of our family didn’t feel the same way. My mom’s dad was probably the worst because he already resented my Caucasian father for keeping my mother in America. It didn’t take long before my abuelo was poisoning my perception of reality with statements like, La vergüenza ya está ahí. Lo mínimo que puedes hacer es asegurarte de estar en la cima. Un Mendoza se arrodilla por nadie.
The shame is already there. The least you can do is make sure you stay on top. A Mendoza gets on his knees for no one.
I’d always been taught to value my family and I watched as my parents devoted themselves to each other and put my sister and I first every time, so it was hard to reconcile the disappointment I’d caused in my grandfather simply for loving the wrong person.
Wanting to change his opinion of me and not bring shame to our family, I nodded and said sí, senor. And because family is everything, I’ve kept my word even though it’s cost me several relationships.
Staring at the tattoo now, I whisper a promise to both my deceased mother, and my living father, who only ever wanted me to be happy, safe, and loved.
“I’ll try.”
Looks like I’ll start working on keeping that promise by making some new friends.
God, I hope they don’t suck.
I throw another Beautiful Deceit t-shirt on, grab my bag, and head for the shop.
Somehow Cassie and my dad have beaten me here, no doubt wanting to be present for an unnecessary send-off.
Jake pulls in right at nine and be still my heart, his Corvette is fucking gorgeous. Black and sleek as hell. The shine making it look like it just came out of the car wash. My fist flies to my mouth in an attempt to cover my groan, which gets significantly harder to hide when Jake steps out of the car.
Since when have white, v-neck t-shirts done it for me? Apparently, since the second I saw Jake Ellington in one of them. His short, gray swim trunks show off his quads and immediately have me thanking God for men’s current fashion trends.
He’s definitely the most relaxed I’ve ever seen him. Jake doesn’t slouch, ever — probably a byproduct of his upbringing — but standing here now without his suit to hide his muscular frame, I can’t pull my eyes away from his chest and shoulders. His shirt is untucked and loose at his stomach but as he moves, it draws tightly against his abs making them pronounced through the fabric.
Unknowingly, he’s going to keep me in my own personal hell all day long.
When I finally bring my eyes to his face, he’s wearing an easy smile and his eyes are hidden behind black sunglasses. He’s striding toward me with his hand out. Thinking we’re going to shake hands formally, like usual, I’m prepared to clasp and release. I’m not prepared for him to pull me in, slamming our chests together, and patting me on the back.
“Hey, Dylan.”
I am so fucked.
I swallow hard. “Uh, hey, Jake.”
He releases a breathy laugh like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Maybe he doesn’t.
“Should I just pull Joany around back?”
“Joany?” I ask, confused.
“Yeah, the car. Her name is Joan Jett but it’s faster just to call her Joan or Joany.”
“You name your cars?”
He looks at me like I just asked if he needs air to breathe. “Doesn’t everyone?”
I’m pretty sure I just fell in love with Jacob Ellington.
It takes me far too long to recover my voice. Real smooth, Dylan. Get it together before you fuck this all the way up.
“I mean, they do if they have any respect for the machine they’re driving.” I laugh, trying to relax into this different, carefree version of the man in front of me.
He slides back into the driver’s seat, still wearing a smile and I watch in awe as his right shoulder moves when he puts the manual transmission in reverse.
Cassie chooses that moment to come outside wearing a shit-eating grin, telling me she’s been watching our entire interaction.
“Seriously though, if you don’t hit that, I will. Did you get a load of the biceps on that guy? Who would’ve fucking thought?”
“ Cass ,” I groan, even though she’s mirroring my exact thoughts. “He’s got a girlfriend, or a wife, or something. She came with him to drop the Maserati off.”
“I don’t see a ring on his finger.”
“I love you, but you need to go on somewhere,” I tell her, shooing her back inside. “Make sure Dad quits by noon. I’ll make dinner when I get home.”
“Dyl, we don’t want to see you until tomorrow,” Cassie says, gripping my shoulders.
“And we can make our own dinner. Got it?” my dad says, his voice making me jump because I don’t know where the hell he came from.
I scrub a hand down my face, not bothering to hide my smile.
“You two need a life,” I tell them lovingly.
“So do you,” my sister replies. “So, go get one.” She swats me on the ass with the back of her hand. Somehow it isn’t weird because she’s me in a different body, but I can’t imagine letting another sibling slap my ass. I’m laughing at Cassie when Jake comes around the corner of the building.
“Alright, she’s all tucked in,” he says, handing the keys to my dad. “I’ll leave these with you if that’s okay?”
My father nods. “I’ll be sure to pull her in tonight when we leave.”
“I don’t expect any special treatment, sir.”
“Call me Charlie. And as far as I’m concerned, the way you got my son out of harm’s way and improved the safety of our shop, I owe you a lot more than just garage space.”
Jake just nods, sensing there’s no point in arguing. I also suspect he’s relieved to know his Corvette won’t have a can of paint thrown on it tonight.
“Well, thank you, Charlie.” Jake turns his attention to me. “You ready?”
“Yeah.” My voice has more gravel in it than our parking lot and I clear my throat while my sister hides her laugh with a cough. The two of us sound like we have pneumonia.
Jake and I walk toward the back parking lot together this time. The Screaming Eagle is parked back here too and I now see Jake’s Corvette next to her.
“So, you didn’t give me many details. Where exactly are we going?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even as he opens the door and plants his ass in my passenger seat.
“Oh, God. These seats,” he says immediately. “Give me a minute.” He traces his hands over my console and on the seat between his legs. Fuck. He’s got to stop that or I’m going to blow my load in my pants before we’re even out of the parking lot. “How do you keep the leather so buttery? My seats feel like sandpaper.”
My eyes are glued to the way his hands are running back and forth between his spread knees, wishing they were roaming over my body instead of my car. I’m starting to feel the lack of sex and the desperation for another man’s touch like it’s a living thing.
When I don’t answer, Jake laughs, pulling my eyes to his.
“Okay, fine. Some kind of trade secret or something? I’ll pay double if you can get my seats to feel like this.”
I swallow hard. “Not a secret. It’s just the product I use. You just have to do it every couple of days until it’s revitalized. Then monthly is fine.”
He shifts his ass forward and back in the seat, gripping the door panel, and I damn near fucking lose it.
“Wh…what are you doing?” I ask, trying to concentrate on not hitting anything as I back out of the space.
“Making sure I get the full experience. I might drive expensive cars, but they don’t come with seats like this.”
Finally, I laugh and shake my head, willing myself to play it cool. I don’t know if Jake’s picked up on the fact that I’m gay, but unless it’s relevant, I don’t just throw it out there.
Hey, I’m Dylan. I fix cars for a living and I’m attracted to men. Helluva conversation starter, but I have to admit, in this case, it would be nice for him to know. At least then, maybe he’d stop torturing me without realizing he’s doing it.
I promise myself I’ll take the opening if there is one. If my sexual orientation is going to change things between Jake and I — for better or worse — I’d like to know soon so I don’t spend any more time wondering what if .
Damn Cassie for putting those thoughts in my head.
“Well, while you’re getting off on my seats, could you tell me where the fuck I’m going? I’m kind of at your mercy here.”
“Head toward Wilson Lake. We’re going to meet the guys at the marina,” he chuckles. I swerve over the center line on the two-lane road when he adds, “For the record, I’d leave the door open and make sure I cleared the floor board when I aimed.”
Great, now I’m trying to drive while imagining Jake’s cock spilling his release as he jerks off in the front seat of my Challenger.
No way am I coming home with my sanity intact.