by Ashley Logan
"Uh uh. Don't even think about it. Never going to happen."
They look up as if surprised to see me and then Ry plumps out his bottom lip and takes a hold of Brad's armrest.
"Please can I have a ride? I won't do flips in it," he whines.
"Damn right you won't," Brad says quickly. "This is my everyday chair. I only use my action chair for flipping, and I haven't fixed it yet. It looks worse than I do. And you don't have the right helmet."
"Not the point," I mutter, detaching Ry's hands and crouching down to his level. "The only reason Brad gets to do flips is because he's already broken. His leg doesn't hurt him any, because he can't feel it like you or I can." Illustrating my point, I pinch Brad's leg and pull some of his hairs with no reaction at all. I make to pinch Ry, but he jumps back. "See?" I ask pointing to Brad's pinned leg, "You do that to your leg, you'll never run the same again. That what you want?"
"No," he sulks.
"Good. Me neither. I like you in fine working order, and so does Granny. What would she say if I let you go flipping upside down on wheels like a crazy man?"
"Probably that she'd do a better job of keeping me safe," he says in a monotone, as if he hears it all the time. Silenced by the sting of it, I stand up, blinking back the tears as they threaten.
Ryan squats down and pulls Brad's leg hairs, watching his face closely for any indication of pain. "Mom called you a crazy man."
"And broken too," he says quietly. "Are you quite done? Or are you going to pull them all out and make me look like a lady?"
Ry pulls one more before he stops. "Mom's a lady and she has hair on her legs sometimes. You've got way more than her though. And me. And granny. Why do men have more hair?"
"We get kicked outside more often," Brad says, rolling backwards and then around me. "Helps to keep us warm. Keys please," he says, holding out his hand.
I lower the keys into his outstretched hand and Brad's fingers curl briefly around my own in a gentle squeeze before releasing me.
"Right. Time to meet Alfred," he says, rolling out to the curb. "You help your mom name this thing?"
Ry shakes his head. "I think it should be called Wanda," Ry replies, following Brad like a shadow.
"Good man. Wanda is a very nice name for a car." Slowing so that Ry comes beside him, Brad leans over. "You know anyone called Wanda?" he whispers.
"A lady at Gran's church who wears hats. When we sit behind her, I like to touch them when she's not looking. I have to wait for when Gran's not looking neither, but it's a good name," he says, as if he's an expert on the matter. "A very nice name for a car," he says, repeating Brad's words as concrete evidence.
Trying not to laugh, Brad hands him the keys. "Open her up, buddy. Get behind the wheel and try her out."
Ry looks to me for approval. Sighing, I make sure the street is clear before letting him unlock the car and climb behind the wheel.
Brad rolls up next to him, pointing out the assorted knobs and levers and what they do. Ry nods along, totally engaged.
"So let's see if you were listening," Brad says after Ry's honked the horn three times too many. "Pop the hood while I go get my tools. And don't cheat by asking your mom. This is work, not playtime."
Giving me a hard stare as he wheels by, his laughing blue eyes narrow at me. "I'll know if you cheat!" he calls over his shoulder.
When Brad arrives back, we already have the hood propped open and Ry's climbed up and is peering inside with interest.
"Good work. Now comes the tricky bit."
Setting his tool box on the ground and opening it, Brad pulls an extra seat pad out of the back pocket of his chair and tosses it onto the engine. Then nudging me out of the way, he parks in close and hauls himself out of his chair and onto my car, ducking his head at the same time. Arranging his seat pad, he pulls himself onto it and begins probing around in my engine.
Pointing out different things and explaining how they work, Brad gets Ry so engaged he's about to fall head first into my 'intake air temperature sensor'.
"Careful, Ry."
Both Brad and Ry look up, identical expressions on their faces. It's as if I've interrupted their favorite movie to tell them it's bedtime or something.
"I'm fiiine," Ry says, sending Brad a 'help me' look.
Looking between us both, Brad sits up straighter, though still ducking his head. He looks at his hands, already covered in a dark smears and smiles.
"You like getting your hands dirty Stace?"
I like when yours are dirty. You smell like machinery and it suits you and your hard body. You should bottle it; call it 'Masculinity' and market it next to an oil-rag and a grease can. Just looking at your hands lubes me up.
Folding my arms over my chest to hide my hardening nipples, I try not to think of those strong hands leaving dirty streaks on my body as I'm pulled into a whirling sexual spin.
Pushing my glasses back firmly, I shrug. "I have a degree in hand washing. What do you think?"
He smiles again, one sexy dimple digging into his cheek. "Are you interested in the inner workings of your good friend Alfred? Or would you prefer to stick to the inner workings of humans?"
"You're asking if I prefer humans to cars?"
"I guess what I'm really asking, is if there was something else you'd rather be doing. Ryan and I have some cleaning up to do in here to help Alfred get healthy again, but it's going to be difficult with you standing by like a lifeguard. We're perfectly safe, and if you'd like to read a book, or go have a bubble bath, you should do that. It's a beautiful, sunny day and I don't want you to feel like you're wasting it by watching something you find insanely boring."
Staring at him a moment, I look towards the house.
"I think we'd both like it if you were still nearby though," Brad adds, having followed my eyes to the shadow in the second story window. "Maybe you could read out here; sunbathe a little."
His eyes run over my body and he clears his throat. "Out of sight would be best," he says, pointing to the lawn behind the car.
"Oh really? Why?"
His eyes move hungrily over my legs.
"So Ry and I can work in peace without you worrying he'll lose an eye or something," he says, squeezing his eyes shut and turning away as if to keep himself from enjoying me. "The battery is dead, there aren't that many pointy bits, and of the two of us, I'm the most likely to hit my head. What's the worst that could happen?"
Looking at Ry's keen-bean face, I sigh.
"Fine. I'll back off. But not too far," I add with a smile as Brad's eyes return to me. Dropping my arms, I give him full visual access to what I've been hiding.
His expression is priceless, but doesn't last long as he forgets not to sit up straight. Wincing, his hand shoots to his head where he's hit the hood of the car. Smiling sweetly, I give him a wink and head back to the house for something to do.
RY BECOMES A STAR STUDENT, fetching Brad's tools as he needs them. He's learned their names and how to use them, and I've been amazed at Brad's patience as he lets Ry try them out. Both of them are streaked with dark grease, most cutely on their faces, where they've wiped their foreheads. They're almost a matching set with their blond hair, chin dimples and black smudges.
I find myself wondering what life would've been like if Brad was Ry's father. Happier, I imagine. Brad wouldn't use Ry as a tool to control me - though technically if he's only making an effort today to impress me, that would be an attempted manipulation.
Watching them together, it seems as though they're enjoying themselves, but not in a forced way. The nature of their companionship appears to be natural; organic. Consumed by their activities, they've barely looked in my direction, so it's not like Brad's checking to see if his behavior is impressing me. Which it is. Hence the thoughts of wanting him to have been Ry's Dad.
As the morning gets warmer, Brad loses his shirt. The sheer act of doing so ramps up the ambient temperature by several degrees; I'm certain of it. Turning over on my picnic rug in cas
e it's actually sunburn that's cranking up my thermostat, I note Brad glance over at me. For all of two seconds.
Hmpf.
It shouldn't annoy me that his gaze doesn't linger. If Mom's still watching, she'll definitely read into it and I'm sure the blurred lines of our secret attraction aren't so fuzzy that she couldn't read between them if she tried. And she would.
Affording myself some safety by trading my regular glasses for my prescription sunglasses, I've been able to covertly stare at the boys all morning. I literally have to remind myself to turn pages in my book periodically to keep up the rouse of reading. I even chose one I've already read, on the off-chance that Mom quizzes me on it. If I can't provide adequate answers, it'll be all the proof she requires of my unsavory brain activity.
She'd have me believe I was abnormal; that my thought processes are somehow evil and unbalanced. At the moment, they do seem to swing in favor of licking Brad's sweat from his skin, but I think the same could be said of any warm-blooded woman watching the muscles work beneath his bronzed and glistening skin. I can almost taste the salt.
I could use a cold drink. The boys probably need one too. And a snack. I look at my watch and gasp. Does ogling somebody speed up time?
Making my way inside, I organize a plate of crackers and cheese and three glasses of lemonade before toting them out on a tray.
"You boys need a break?" I ask as I approach, breaking the 'men at work' bubble the boys share.
Both turn, their faces lighting up as they see snacks. Ry climbs down and reaches for the tray, but I lift it out of his reach.
"You need to wash your hands first, young man." Setting the tray on top of the car, I pull a packet of wet wipes from my back pocket and commence scrubbing his hands clean.
"You mind if I borrow one?" Brad asks from behind me, having moved back into his wheelchair.
Handing him the wipes, I finish up Ry's hands, choosing not to remove the cute smudges on his face.
"Go sit on the picnic rug," I instruct as I reach for the tray. Turning to Brad, I run my eyes over his naked torso, grateful for the cover of my sunglasses. "Care to join us?"
Eyes glued to my chest, Brad mutters something about joining us good and hard before clearing his throat and gesturing me onward. "After you."
Blushing, I'm almost scared to turn around lest my mother sees me with my nipples on high beam.
"Perhaps you could go first," I suggest, touching my cheek.
"She'll see my hard dick before she sees you blushing," he says quietly. "Lying over there with your sun-kissed skin calling to me from those tiny shorts and that tight little top? Why do you think I asked you to sit on the other side, where I wouldn't be able to see you? I'm forcing myself to keep my eyes on the damn engine so I don't end up lying next to you on that rug."
"You're not making me blush any less."
"Just go ahead of me so I have a legitimate excuse for watching your ass, would you? Sneaking a fleeting glance here and there is torturous. I need an eyeful to sustain me."
Raising my eyebrows at him, I head for Ry, waiting not-so-patiently on the rug. Handing him a lemonade, I offer one to Brad as he parks next to the rug.
Taking a cracker at the same time, he thanks me and smiles at Ry downing his lemonade in one long drink, before gasping.
"Thirsty work huh?"
Ry nods, climbing over me to get to the crackers.
"And hungry work," he adds, stuffing two in his mouth before I clear my throat loudly.
Blushing, Ry holds the plate out to Brad.
"Why thank you, Ryan. Do you think maybe your mother might like one before we inhale them all?" he asks, before practically swallowing a cracker whole.
I make another trip inside to retrieve the jug of lemonade and another plate of crackers and fruit. When everything is empty again, the boys migrate back to the car.
A short while later, I notice them heading to Brad's car, where Brad pulls out one of those mechanic's trolley things for going under cars. Setting it on the sidewalk, he pulls something else into his lap before attaching a cord to his chair as he talks to Ry. I can tell he's still explaining things, because Ry's nodding as Brad gestures side-to-side with his hands. Then, handing the free end of the rope to Ry as he sits on the trolley, Brad tows him down the sidewalk to Alfred.
Squealing with delight, Ry waves at me as I sit bolt upright.
"Mom! I'm riding Brad's creeper!" he calls.
I want to yell out to be careful, but I don't. Ry's joy is worth having Mom on my back, but just in case, I meet them at the car.
Brad slows his wheels, allowing Ry to come to a gentle stop by nudging into the back of the wheelchair.
"What's that look for?" he asks, reaching back to release his tow rope. "You want a ride on my creeper too?"
I shake my head. "Just thought you could use some closer supervision."
His grin doesn't fade and it's almost as if I can hear him saying 'you can supervise me closely anytime'. Feeling my cheeks heat, I look down at his 'creeper'.
"So what's the creepy thing for?"
"The creeper," he corrects me, "Is for taking me under so I can have a look around before the tow truck comes." Wheeling past me he sets the red thing from his lap onto the ground under my car and calls to Ry. Attaching a lever, he cranks it to lift the front end of the car off the ground.
Ry jumps up and down, but Brad stills him with a hand on his shoulder and a shake of his head.
"Careful."
Ry's eyes go wide and he nods. I guess if Brad says it's dangerous, it must be dangerous. Pulling Ry back a bit, I loop my arms around him. Brad watches me, a hard to read look on his face.
Brad pumps the lever a few more times and locks the jack in place. "Don't touch it, or the car will fall on my head," he warns Ry, who only nods.
"Good boy."
Wheeling around front again, Brad transfers onto the creeper and rolls under the car. Ry ducks under my hands and goes to join him, but I catch his shirt, pulling him back.
"Uh uh. You're not going under the car."
"But-"
"No."
Rolling back out, Brad looks at me; then Ry. One hand still gripping my car's chassis, Brad's other hand wipes his brow. "No going under the car on your first day. Listen to your mom."
About to pull himself under again, Brad pauses. There is a slight glint in his eye as he smiles.
"You know, while I'm on the creeper, my chair is free," he says casually.
"Can I ride it?" Ry cries, already moving into position.
Brad laughs. "Actually you're still too small, but your mom could use it. If you ask her real nice, she might take you along for the ride and let you navigate."
I narrow my eyes at Brad as all his sexy dimples make an appearance. The guy is a super-hot deviant.
"Please Mom? Please, please, please?"
Snapped out of my lusty daze by Ry yanking on my arm, I sigh.
"It's the only way you'll be truly satisfied about his safety in the activity," Brad says with a shrug as he pulls his grinning teeth back under the car, out of sight.
"Okay, okay. Stop pulling my arm off. We'll borrow Brad's wheels and stay out of his hair while he looks at Alfred's privates."
Ry's giggles are joined by a chuckling from under the car as I plonk myself into Brad's chair. Ry climbs into my lap and I try to steer us out of the minefield of tools, but not before hitting Brad's broken leg.
"Ow!"
Apologizing profusely, I quickly reverse to the sound of his laughter. Only then do I realize that of course, he hadn't felt a thing.
"You!" Grumbling as I maneuver us out of the danger zone, I pause a moment. "I could actually have done some damage, and you'd never even know!"
Still laughing, Brad pulls himself out enough for me to see his face. "You were so sorry!" he says between breaths. "Go loosen up and have some fun," he says, shaking his head and pulling himself back under, his stomach still shaking with quiet laughter.
&n
bsp; Poking my tongue out at Brad, I smile at Ry. "Tell me where to roll, co-pilot."
CHAPTER NINE
BRAD
Their giggles are music to my ears and I can steal as many glances as I like, knowing that Alfred's body is keeping me hidden from the eyes of the shadow in the upstairs window. Arms outspread as he sits on Stace's lap, Ry makes plane noises until they reach the next property and he begins 'shooting' the neighbor's garden gnomes. Shaking her head, Stace tells him off, wheeling around to head the other way.
Ry says something too quiet for me to hear and Stace's head falls back as she laughs out loud. One tanned shoulder calls to me as she tosses her hair and I can only think about how warm her skin would feel if I pressed my lips to it. Shining in the sun, I bet her dark, flowing hair smells of sun-ripened berries. Sighing, I pull myself further under the car, shielding my crotch from prying eyes as I assess Alfred's joints and bearings.
By the time they arrive back, I'm about done. Pulling myself out and sitting up, I find Ry beaming at me and Stace panting slightly. Having to look away as my thoughts immediately go to her breathing when she's on top of me, I clear my throat as I wipe grease off my hands with a rag and start cleaning up my tools.
"We've got about half an hour or so before Bruno comes with the tow," I say, looking up as Ry comes to sit next to me. Taking another rag, Ry watches me a moment before picking up another wrench and wiping it down as I am. Smiling, I look up to see if Stace is watching him too.
Still in my chair, Stace's eyes are on the wrench I'm cleaning. Her chest is still rising and falling a little fast and the look on her face has my thoughts right back to our secret midnight meetings. Soft lips parted slightly, her eyes meet mine. Wetting her lips, she swallows visibly and runs a hand through her long locks. Glancing at Ry, she sits a little straighter, as if catching herself doing something wrong, but a moment longer and her face eases into an expression of pride and fondness as she realizes what Ry is doing.