Revving It Up Box Set

by W. S. Long

  “So Caleb being gay wasn’t a big deal?”

  “Oh, it was a big deal all right. Especially in the part of Florida we grew up in. Florida is still part Bible belt.”

  “I know, we went to school with Sebastian. We were just a few counties over.”

  Cujo nodded. “I think sometime after that, they sent Caleb to private Catholic school. I think his parents wanted to make sure Caleb didn’t get bullied in school. It would’ve been worse if he went to public school. Caleb’s mom knew the principal at the Catholic school—I think they went to school together—so they felt he was safer there. Daytona’s a small town and conservative but I heard a lot of liberal teachers taught at the Catholic school.”

  “Catholic school? Really? Aren’t they pretty closed-minded?”

  “Yeah, well there were some really tough public schools in Daytona. So Catholic school was better. Garrison and I went to public school. I got in fights. Garrison got in fights. Caleb? It would’ve been rough on him. You wouldn’t think so now, but Caleb was a short little skinny thing until high school, then he grew tall, and bulked up a little. Now, Caleb’s mom, may she rest in peace, she’s what we would call a babe,” she made sure Caleb toed the line in school and kept his head down. She was constantly at Caleb’s school volunteering for this and that.”

  Tristan laughed and threw his hair over his shoulders as he walked. Cujo stared; Tristan’s gait captured Cujo’s attention.

  “Are you walking like you’re in a modeling show?”

  “You mean walking like I’m doing a catwalk?” Tristan laughed. “Actually, I am. I didn’t mean to do it, but sometimes when I don’t think about it, I do it absentmindedly.”

  Cujo smiled, glad that Tristan wasn’t facing him. There was no denying that Tristan had a nice backside. In fact, gender aside, Tristan had a really nice ass. Tristan continued to talk about the buildings they passed including some old buildings that had been converted from their original use to apartments or retail stores and restaurants.

  “Some of these buildings were for meatpacking,” Tristan said. “That all changed a couple decades or so ago, at least that’s what I’ve been told.”

  Cujo snorted.

  Meatpacking. How fitting is that phrase as I stare at Tristan’s butt?

  * * * *

  “Wow.” The oversized sofa and the TV stand took up most of the living room. Only a couple feet separated what appeared to be the end of the small kitchen from an even smaller living room. “Not sure why I thought it’d be like the living room in Friends, but I guess I watch too much TV.”

  “Yeah, this is one of the older apartment buildings in this part of town. The converted buildings across the street have larger living spaces and lofts.” Tristan paused. “Here’s Caleb and Sebastian’s room.”

  Cujo poked his head in just past the doorway. The queen-size bed took up most of the room. The only other furniture was a nightstand and a dresser by the door.

  “You’ll want to use Olivia’s and my bathroom, theirs is smaller. Olivia is up really early, and I usually head out for work around nine or nine-thirty.”

  Cujo nodded as he followed Tristan. “That sofa in the living room is a sleeper?”

  “Yes. Sebastian put fresh sheets on it last night. Got extra towels for you in our bathroom.”

  Cujo studied the two bedrooms separated by the shared bathroom.

  “This one’s mine.” Tristan’s room had a double bed and stacks of magazines piled in one corner. “Fashion magazines. That’s my Achilles heel. I keep issues and issues of them, until I’m forced to get rid of them.”

  Cujo’s mouth formed a slight O before he said anything. “Not judging. Definitely not.”

  Keys dropped outside the apartment door. Tristan cocked his head. “Must be Sebastian,” Tristan said.

  Cujo opened the door, bro-hugged Sebastian, and grabbed a grocery bag from Sebastian. “Hey!” Sebastian hadn’t changed. Same haircut, same friendly attitude. Like nothing ever bothered him.

  “Hey, man! Thanks. These two bags were pretty heavy. Hope you like jambalaya! Got all the ingredients.” Sebastian took out the onions, green bell peppers, and other vegetables from the bags.

  “You know I love it. You’re not cooking it just for me?” Cujo asked.

  “No, he makes it once in a while for us,” Tristan said. “Although I have to tell him to go easy on the spices.”

  Cujo released Sebastian from the hug. “Not for me. Make it as hot as you can.”

  “Look at you. You’ve been in the city for just a few minutes, and you’re helping out in the kitchen like we were back in Florida.” Sebastian laughed. “Don’t you want to rest? Take a shower or something? I feel bad I didn’t start the cooking sooner.”

  “Maybe I’ll take a shower later.” Cujo shrugged. If he was tired from driving earlier, he sure didn’t feel it. “Anything for your jambalaya. I’ll cut and peel if you need help.” Cujo sat on the corner of the couch as Sebastian maneuvered around the kitchen. Tristan offered a beer to Cujo. “No, thanks. Maybe later,” Cujo said. “When does Caleb get home?”

  “He’s got a late flight back. Should be home after midnight,” Sebastian said. “The contact over there sent me some pictures of the shoot today. They look pretty sweet.”

  “What’s he over there for again?” Cujo asked.

  “Watch ad. He’s wearing his jumpsuit because he’s doing a shoot with a Formula One racer.” Sebastian grabbed the cutting board and washed the green peppers. “They’re going to Photoshop his car in later. You know the one he placed in second at the 400 last year.”

  “Watch ad? Sounds boring.” Cujo grimaced as soon as he said those words. “No offense, Tristan. But Caleb will be back for the exhibition race in Jersey, right?”

  “I’m not offended. Want help with that?” Tristan retrieved the cutting board and started slicing the sausage that Sebastian had bought for the dish.

  Sebastian answered. “Yeah, Caleb will be back in time. He might not get a lot of rest, but he’s excited about the exhibition.”

  Cujo stood and moved to join them in the kitchen, but then backed up. “Shit, I’d help, but not a lot of room for three people in the kitchen,” Cujo said.

  “Actually, you can.” Sebastian stepped back. “I’m going to take a quick shower.”

  “Sure.” Cujo took Sebastian’s place, inches away from Tristan. He eyed the celery. “I am not a big fan of celery. I don’t even know if I ever really taste it in the dish.”

  “You might miss it if it’s not there. It has to have onion, celery, and garlic,” Tristan smiled, tilting his head “So you do the cooking at home? Or does the girlfriend back in Florida mostly cook? She must be very lucky if you do the cooking.”

  Cujo smiled. He liked how Tristan drawled out his last few words. “No girlfriend. I usually eat out. Drive-through, tacos, Chipotle, that’s me.” Tristan stepped behind Cujo to throw something in the trash, and Cujo raised his arms to give Tristan access to the can. Tristan stood close enough that Cujo could smell his citrusy cologne and didn’t say anything when Tristan lingered for a moment.

  “Tristan then attempted to prep the chicken, but Cujo stopped him.

  “They’re boneless, right?”

  “Yes,” Tristan said.

  “Okay, this is how you do it.” Cujo stood right behind Tristan, who held a knife next to the fillets. Cujo took one and explained. “You slice them length wise, like this.” Tristan froze while Cujo cut. “Then after you do that, you cut them this way.” Cujo turned the chicken. “Now you do the other breast.” As Tristan followed Cujo’s example, Tristan’s butt backed into Cujo’s crotch, then as the contact happened, moved quickly away like he’d touched electricity.

  “Sorry.” Tristan giggled.

  Cujo moved and accidentally bumped Tristan’s rear again. “Now, I’m the one sorry.”

  Tristan laughed some more. Cujo didn’t think Tristan was actually sorry about their contact. “No need to apologize. It’s t
ight quarters around here.”

  “I don’t want to presume.” Tristan’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “I never asked if you had a boyfriend”. Tristan fluttered his eyelashes. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  Cujo smiled. He liked Tristan and how Tristan was flirting with him. He could easily answer that question. He dated and liked women, but he didn’t want to lie. Not to Tristan, who seemed like a sweet guy. Shy, maybe awkward. Maybe only awkward toward him. But now was not the time to tell Tristan he had experimented in college.

  “So you never answered me. Have you ever had a boyfriend?” Tristan asked, cocking his head as he spoke.

  Cujo shook his head. “Nope, never had a boyfriend.” He smiled. It wasn’t a lie. He wouldn’t exactly call messing around with Brett in the frat house as a boyfriend-boyfriend thing. Last he’d heard Brett had gotten married, sold insurance, had two kids, and was living in a nice house with a picket fence with a dog or two. Who didn’t mess around in college?

  “Shit!” Tristan hissed and lunged toward to the sink.

  “What? What happened?”

  “Cut myself.” Tristan’s blood swirled with the running water around the drain.

  “Just press down on it to help stem the flow. Where’s a Band-Aid?”

  “My bathroom’s medicine cabinet.”

  Cujo easily found the bandage and returned to the kitchen. “Here, let me help put it on.”

  Tristan turned off the tap, grabbed a paper towel, and applied pressure to the wound. “It looks pretty superficial—but it’s still bleeding.” The sheet turned red quickly. Tristan tore off another, but the rack clanked into the sink.

  Cujo picked up the paper towel roll, tore off another sheet, and handed it to Tristan, then another, then another. Waiting for the pressure to stem the tide. The blotting lessened by the fourth sheet, and Cujo peeled the Band-Aid. Tristan offered his finger and Cujo wrapped the bandage around it, pressing it together to make sure the ends met.

  Tristan raised his head and Cujo was mesmerized by Tristan’s eyes. “Thanks,” Tristan whispered.

  Cujo’s cleared his throat. “You’re welcome.”

  Before they had a chance to say anything else, Sebastian appeared from the bedroom with a laptop, his hair wet, wearing a black and gold University of Central Florida T-shirt with a centered Pegasus symbol. “Hey, guys check out some of these pics of Caleb, and help me pick out ones I should post on social media.” As soon as Sebastian approached the kitchen he stopped. “What’s with all the blood on the paper towels?”

  “I nicked myself with the knife.”

  “We need to take you to urgent care or something?” Sebastian asked.

  “No, I think I’m good. Bleeding slowed down, and this Band Aid should help.”

  Cujo’s face heated, and he let Tristan’s hand slowly drop from his grasp. Sebastian didn’t say anything as he returned his gaze to the laptop.

  “Here. You guys look at the pictures while I finish up in here. I don’t want Cujo cutting himself next.” Sebastian waved them away from the kitchen, and Cujo grabbed the laptop and headed for the sofa.

  “You sure?” Cujo asked.

  “Yeah, I’m sure. Thanks for helping out. Both of you.”

  Cujo settled into the sofa as Tristan took the cushion next to him. They both leaned in to check out the pictures. But while Tristan commented which ones were best to post on Twitter and Instagram, Cujo breathed in Tristan’s slight perfume again and savored the moment. Maybe it was the way that Tristan smiled. It reminded him of Brett, so long ago. He’d screwed up that friendship, and now he wasn’t so sure if he should flirt back as Tristan nudged closer.

  Fuck. Now I’m getting hard.

  Cujo wished there were pillows in the immediate area but there were none, so he draped his hand over his crotch to cover his hard-on as Tristan brought the laptop closer to both of them. The smell of the vegetables stewing with the sausage, Tristan’s citrusy-smelling hair, and a beautiful man next to him flooded him with warmth. Tristan finger brushed his long hair off his face, so it remained trapped behind his ear. Cujo stared at the wall, silently counting backward, willing his erection to subside. When it finally did, he turned as Tristan lifted his head and smiled again.

  “What do you think of the photos? You haven’t said anything.”

  Cujo smiled. Wow. I really like Tristan’s smile. And his eyes. Cujo swallowed hard. “I agree with everything you said.”

  “Really? I got the feeling you weren’t paying attention.” Tristan laughed. It was slightly high-pitched, slightly melodious, and shot an arrow through Cujo’s racing heart.

  Dammit. I’m in trouble now.

  Chapter 3

  Caleb gunned the gas as his car turned the corner. He had pushed out from the pack several laps earlier and now raced in first place with two more laps to go. A lime green Chevy approached and drafted behind Caleb as Caleb moved to block him passing from either the right or the left. Caleb shifted gears and accelerated but as he did so he was bumped hard by the Chevy.

  “Shit.” His head moved forward and backward from the impact and he now regretted not wearing the head and neck support device. He fishtailed for a second on the hot asphalt and still blocked the car behind him from passing. The checkered flag beckoned him and in the blink of an eye, Caleb crossed first through the finish line. The crowd erupted in a mixture of cheers and jeers for him but Caleb smiled as he took a slow victory lap around, with other cars falling into place behind him.

  After Caleb pulled off the side, Cujo came running out of the pit to remove the safety netting as Caleb undid the safety harness and belt, and took off his helmet. As he slid out the window, Caleb hit his head, dropping the helmet in the car. “Ow, fuck!”

  “Man, you did it! See what you’ve been missing? Jet lag got nothing on you.”

  Caleb hugged Cujo as they both walked over to the side, where other drivers greeted their crews. Caleb’s head throbbed, so he rubbed the bump where the pain was. The track’s owner approached them, holding a trophy. Once he reached Caleb, they shook hands.

  “Thanks for being here for the reopening of the track. I know it’s just an exhibition, and it doesn’t count for the cup points, but it means a lot to me that one of the Youngbloods won. Your dad raced here a long time ago.”

  Caleb nodded. “Thanks for having me.” They held their pose while the photographer moved past the gathering crowd to take their picture. Cujo stepped away from Caleb so only the owner and Caleb would be in the frame, but Caleb yanked Cujo close to him, and put his arm around him. “And thanks for pushing me to do this,” Caleb whispered.

  “No problem, runt.”

  Caleb smiled. He hadn’t been called runt in years. Sebastian and Tristan broke through the crowd. Sebastian kissed Caleb on the lips and a hush overcame the group of onlookers. Tristan then hugged Caleb. Caleb whispered in Sebastian’s ear.

  “Let’s get out of here before this celebration party becomes a lynch party,” Caleb said.

  “Um. We’re in Jersey, not the South,” Sebastian said.

  “Still, this is a NASCAR. Didn’t you see everyone stare at us?” Caleb asked.

  “No, but I saw the camera guy take a couple of photos,” Cujo said. “But, yeah, we should go out and celebrate. Put it on your tab.”

  “Is there prize money for crossing first?” Tristan asked.

  Sebastian shook his head. “No, it was an exhibition event, just to get some exposure on reopening this track. I think he doesn’t even get to keep the trophy. He just gets a nameplate on it.” Sebastian paused. “Hey, babe, you have a big knot on your forehead. Did you hit something?”

  “Yeah, I hit my head as I tried to get out of the car. So I got two bumps today. One right before I cross the line, then me hitting my own head leaving the car. Serves me right for not wearing that noose. I always wear it, but I got lazy.” Caleb said.

  “Noose?” Tristan asked.

  “It’s the HANs device. Holds the driv
er in place. Head and neck support system,” Cujo chortled. “It’s not a rope, or anything, but it sure feels like it.”

  “I saw that guy bump you. Is that pretty normal?”

  “Yes.” Cujo and Caleb chimed in unison.

  Tristan followed Cujo out of the crowd.

  “Your dad’s crew will pick the race car tomorrow and bring it down to Florida.” Cujo nodded as Caleb hugged the pit crew that came up.

  After the congratulations were over, Caleb joined Tristan, Cujo, and Sebastian. “I’m surprised Earl would have spent the money to do this.” Caleb put his arm around Sebastian as they walked away.

  “Your brother and sister talked him into it. It’s good publicity. All it cost was motel rooms for the crew, gas to load the car up on the trailer, and fuel for the trailer.”

  Figures. Dad wouldn’t have done this without pressure. Especially since he’s got some money issues big time.

  “Let’s get something to eat besides hot dogs.” Sebastian rubbed his stomach. “I had one earlier and I actually think it had been sitting on the grilling machine for days.”

  “I’m surprised you’re not throwing up,” Tristan said.

  By the time they reached the end of the track, where everyone had parked their cars, Caleb stayed a few feet behind. His head buzzed, and the earth was spinning very slowly for him. His stomach knotted. He went between two pick-up trucks and bent forward. He vomited his breakfast up and then spit out the spittle that hung from the corner of his mouth.

  Sebastian rushed over. “Babe, you okay?” Sebastian’s hand circled his back lightly in a circular massage.