by Shey Stahl
Cole found me again, and nudging Dave in the side. “Get this fucker to do it.”
“Why do I always have to be the one to do it? It’s us against him. You two could help out too. Remember what Dave said.”
“What?” Cole looked confused, again.
Noah walked over and leaned against the wall watching Greg fight with Rusty for a minute. Briefly it looked like they were actually going to hit each other but they didn’t.
“What did Dave say?”
“You’re an idiot.” Dave replied, his eyes hardening. Dave had no patience for Cole. None. Spencer either. They never got along.
“No,” Cole scratched the side of his jaw. “It wasn’t that.”
“If you can’t follow the conversation, Cole, don’t try.”
I suppose there’s a fine line with these guys between being an asshole and someone just looking for a laugh. So I drew the line for them and decided to piss in Tommy’s gas tank, for the third time this month.
“Shit’s about to get real,” I told Dave, walking outside.
Dave smiled in my direction with a diverted nod as he rounded the corner and headed upstairs. “Uh-huh.”
Tommy’s car was parked in his usual spot marked Fire Crotch. No one else had personalized spots but him. It was a joke my mom pulled on him and he never bothered to change it, or park anywhere different.
I got out there, unzipped my pants and pissed in his gas tank.
Willie walked by with Axel’s helmet in his hand. “Are you doing what I think you’re doing?”
“Tell me if you see him coming?”
“Why?” Willie chuckled, squinting into the North Carolina sun. “Would that really matter?”
“No.”
When I got back in, Tommy was inside the shop talking to Dave who had returned, and then Willie.
Willie said something to Tommy, and Tommy started laughing and looked in my direction. I looked at the wall.
As you can see, usually I hid my pranks well but you can never be too careful.
I loved this place. I really did. I mean, look at my morning so far.
After I graduated, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do but that led me to working at CST Engines with my cousins and eventually, I found what I wanted to do. Building engines.
Where else could I work with a bunch of borderline alcoholics and crazy people?
By the time I was eighteen, I was building engines on my own and had a pretty good understanding of how everything worked. My great grandpa’s business that he started out of his garage one year had grown into a multimillion dollar operation and I was a part of that.
That meant something special to me.
Around here, everything had changed drastically in the last few years. Now Dad was running a full season in the World of Outlaws and managing the five cars he ran in that series. It was a heavy load for sure but it’s what he loved. Every time I saw him these days he was smiling.
After what he’d been through in his life – that’s all any of us wanted.
Speaking of him, he was looking for me and walking this way.
With a notable limp from his accident three years ago, Dad found me near the door.
“Hey, bud,” he said, coming around the side of my stall with his usual attire of a hoodie and jeans. My Aunt Emma teased him that sense he was forty-six now, he had no business wearing hoodies. Dad thought otherwise.
“Hey, Dad…ready for the west coast?”
“Yeah … should be a good time.” He rubbed the back of his neck looking over the engine. “Gotta show your brother a thing or two about that high line.” He winked.
I flipped a wrench around in my hands leaning against the engine hoist. “What are you guys like, four points apart?”
He laughed. “It’s still early.”
So far, Axel had yet to win a championship in his three years racing full time in the Outlaw series. He’d come close, but hadn’t beat out Dad last year when they rolled into Nationals with eleven points separating them. Dad won by three points.
I’d say Axel took it hard but he came back strong this year and was giving the former champ a run for it.
Though most of our talk was about racing, he felt the need to lay down the law early on. He was doing his engine check as Cole and I called it. Anytime he left town, we both heard his speech.
“Listen to me, Casten, shit gets out of hand while we’re gone and you’re looking for a new place to live. I mean it.” He gave me his best don’t fuck up look.
I winked at him. No way was I leading onto what I had planned for this weekend, or the next five weeks while they were out of town.
“What happened to this thing?” I motioned to the blown engine.
“Hell if I know. It was running rough in the heats and Tommy made a few adjustments.” His left hand scrubbed over his forehead. “Nothing helped though. Just let go half way through the C Main.”
“So we got a new girl starting this week.” Dad smiled at the picture on my tool box of me and Jack at his last birthday party. “She’s gonna help out Bailey in the office.”
“Really?” I winked and Dad knew. I already knew about Hayden but I had to tease him.
“She’s Tate’s niece.” A frown settled over him, then increased. “Be good.”
“Oh, well,” I knew how to get a rise out of anyone. “Tate loves me.”
“Yeah but you go around messin’ with his niece,” he shook his head giving me an irritated look, “and he might have something to say about that.”
“She’ll love me. All women do.”
“You know kid, someday a girl is going to knock you on your ass.”
“As long as she f—”
He walked away covering his ears before I could finish. He knew exactly what I was going to say. But I corrected myself and said, “As long as she’s friendly. I was going to say friendly.”
He didn’t believe me and raised his left hand flipping me off behind his back.
Blown – An engine that’s supercharged.
Do you want to know what I hate most when the morning light disturbs my blissful sleep?
Getting out of bed.
It’s really hard for me. Like really hard. Damn near impossible.
Maybe that’s why I’ve never had a job. Until now.
When the alarm clock went off Tuesday morning, I silently hoped that I had mistakenly set it in error but then I remembered what today was. My first day at work.
It’s actually pretty sad that here I was nineteen, soon to be twenty in August, and this was my first job.
Despite that, there I was, still in bed, and not motivated.
Last night I went out with my friend Anna. That’s really all that’s relevant right there. We went out to celebrate my new-found employment.
The night was an intoxicated blur and I woke up with a keg in my room and my panties in a red plastic cup beside my bed with a black sharpie scribble on it. I couldn’t for the life of me tell you what it said. I don’t think the person who wrote it knew either.
Rolling over, I stared at the ceiling trying to remember anything that might give me a clue as to what actually happened last night. I’m used to the morning mystery game. Granted, this was the first time I’d ever woken up with a keg in my room and my panties in a cup.
It’s better than the mailbox. Try explaining that one to your dad the next morning when he gets the paper and finds his only daughter’s panties in the mailbox with a note that said: “Thanks for the good time!”
Yeah so, that didn’t go over well. It might not have been all that bad but I was sixteen at the time. Probably something no dad wanted to find.
Looking over at my phone, I sent a text to Anna.
Why is there a keg in my room? I’m not complaining. But seriously, how’d it get here?
Anna didn’t respond and I really didn’t expect her to just yet. She was probably on her way to work. Unlike me, Anna started working at sixteen with the same insurance company her mom
worked for. Given her attitude and lack of people skills, she held a steady job believe it or not. Lucky bitch lived at home still too.
The alarm continued to go off until my roommate, Adam, pounded on the wall. “Seriously, turn that goddamn thing off!”
Adam and I didn’t get along but I couldn’t pay the bills without having some support. So what did I do? I posted an ad on Craigslist that I was looking for a roommate. You would not believe the response I got. But after swindling some background checks, Adam was the only one without a criminal background and crystal meth addiction.
Unfortunately for me, we could hear everything that occurred in each other’s rooms too. I knew every moan his girlfriend made and what that particular moan meant. Sometimes when Anna and I were bored, we recorded just the noises through the wall and posted it on YouTube with captions that read: Guess the position?
We had quite the following under our user name of: Poon Tang Roomies.
They, as in Adam and Katie, have no idea we do this by the way.
Eventually I decided to get my lazy hung over ass out of bed, spend an hour in the shower and then another hour getting ready. I found the keg still had some beer in it so I made use of it. After all, I must have expended a lot of energy getting it up the goddamn stairs last night. I saw no reason why I couldn’t enjoy a drink before work, or two, just to relax those first day jitters.
When I finally made my way to the kitchen, Anna had sent me a text that had me spewing my morning cup of java all over Katie.
Her text read: I swear to God, if I wake up with another no name penis in my vagina I’m pressing charges against the makers of tequila. This shit is getting out of hand! At least this guy is good looking. ☺
Anna wasn’t a slut but give her a bottle of tequila and her clothes melted off.
I wasn’t any better but it usually occurred with Fireball instead. I’ve never been much of a tequila girl. Whiskey is my wish. Fireball, however, could destroy lives. I mean that. I’m sure somewhere, probably in Vegas, Fireball has single handily resulted in a divorce or two.
Thankfully, I gave that shit up months ago when I took home a guy from the bar and wanted to chew my own fucking arm off in order to get away from him. We, as in my vagina and me, collectively decided to never make that slutty mistake again. I had a long discussion with her about who we allowed inside. We had to have some sort of “code of conduct” for entrance.
When I left my apartment, I thought about what this day meant. Aside from responsibility, I actually felt good that I was doing something.
Today was my first day at a real job.
Charlie Gomez, a friend from school, got me a job at the company he builds engines for. Having an uncle who used to race NASCAR, I knew a little about the sport and what company I was interviewing with. And after an extensive interview from who I thought I’d never come face-to-face with, Mr. Jameson Riley, million time (okay, not really) NASCAR Cup series Champion, and current World of Outlaws champion, I got the job.
To say Jameson Riley was intimidating for a girl is a complete fucking understatement. The man is intense. And his wife, my God, could one person be any more adorable?
I’ve only seen pictures but I had a feeling I was going to love her. I wouldn’t mind just cuddling with her on the couch while she braided my hair and we watched re-runs of Friends.
The drive there wasn’t long. I lived in Cornelius, North Carolina, about eight miles from the shop. As I passed by trees starting to come alive from the cold harsh winter, I thought about what it meant to have a job now. Not only had I not held one but I also wasn’t sure working for an engine company would be the best. Although having an uncle that raced NASCAR, I knew enough about engines that I wouldn’t be completely lost.
My first day there held so many possibilities as to what my future at CST Engines might include.
Working for a company that manufactured race engines were sold to people who made way too much fucking money and had death wishes with speed was very different from my previous job of occupying my parent’s couch and watching the Kardashians.
Inside of the large gray building with their signature black roof and red trim, around thirty employees, give or take, with three engine builders occupied the space.
When you walked into the building there was a showroom front and center with two NASCAR Cup cars and a handful of sprint cars. About fifty feet into the showroom was another set of large glass doors with polished stainless steel handles that led you to either building. To the right was JAR Racing. To the left, CST Engines.
Once inside, the layout was open. If you looked to the left there was another series of glass windows and a door that led downstairs to where the engine builders worked.
As you walked inside the space, to the right was Jameson’s office, which I happened to sit right outside of.
When I interviewed for the job he told me I’d be doing ordering, answering phones and working with a few different manufacturers to be sure their orders got in. They’d recently took over doing crate engines for USAC series and needed to expand. That’s where they needed the extra help around here.
Though Jameson hired me, he told me early on I was to do whatever Bailey needed. Naturally, ninety percent of the employees had the last name of Riley.
Guess what Bailey’s last name was?
Yeah, hard to guess, huh?
Inside the doors of CST Engines was some interesting people to say the least. I got there at nine that morning and met a handful of people. Jameson wasn’t there yet but Bailey was the first to greet me.
Once I was inside, Charlie didn’t waste much time getting upstairs that morning to greet me on my first day.
“Hey!” he said, all smiles and cheerful, two things I never am in the morning.
“Wanna meet the guys I work with?” He seemed excited.
“Sure … why not.” I tried to put as much enthusiasm into my tone as I could but remember, two things I’m not in the morning; smiley and cheerful. He introduced me to Olivia, a tall slender girl with black hair and tattoos. I would befriend her. I was sure of that.
No one else was around so he took me downstairs where the shop was.
I’d already met Noah. I’ve known Charlie for a while and so naturally, I knew his twin brother. I’d say the drunk side of me knew Noah a little better, too.
Yeah. I slept with him.
But it was something like two years ago at a high school party and I couldn’t tell you much about the experience. Charlie probably knew more than I did, only he refused to talk about it.
For a while I thought Charlie might have had a thing for me. But he never made a move so neither did I. Besides, Charlie wasn’t my type. He was cute with thick dark hair that fell hopelessly into piercing blue eyes, I’ll give him that but we weren’t really a match. I couldn’t explain why, we just weren’t.
Anyways, we were friends since I was sixteen when I met him through my Uncle Tate and then later in school when I was your average girl who got picked on. Charlie was a senior when I was a sophomore and kind of took me under his wing. For a girl like me that was appreciated because I wasn’t exactly popular. I was awkward.
As we walked downstairs, I tried to be graceful and not barrel roll down them.
Only problem was they were metal and had those stupid heel sucking rivets in them and my heel got stuck and I face planted on the concrete floor. It wasn’t my most graceful moment, but let’s be real, I was stably-challenged anyways. There really was no hope.
When I did manage to right my footing and gain some control over myself, I took in the shop. Inside the large space with vaulted ceilings were five tool boxes, each one pushed up against gray walls. Surrounding them were work benches, tool carts with engine parts and engine hoists. To the far right was a room that led to a long hallway with the words Restroom and Parts Room written above the arched door frame of diamond plated steel beams.
Sneaking peeks out of the corner of my eyes, I noticed groups of guy
s standing around talking near the bay doors that were open leading out to a parking lot where the haulers were parked.
After knowing Charlie as long as I have, I’ve come to the conclusion that most engine builders are nerds and could talk your ear off about gear ratios, dyno tests and volumetric efficiency. They are hardly civilized enough to actually speak to another person without speaking “engine” let alone have a conversation with you.
Look at Charlie. He never stopped talking about engine and compression ratios.
And until now, I never thought I would meet one who was so, how should I say it, cool?
And then I did.
Straightening out my black dress, two guys who were wrapped in their “engine talk” turned to look over at me. A few more stood quietly in the distance but I had yet to focus on anything but the two in front of me.
Listening to them, this was where I realized that none of these engine builders were your typical engine builders. This also explains how a guy like Charlie Gomez was one, able to keep a job, and two, interact with others.
Charlie nudged me with his elbow.
“You already know my brother, Noah,” he said, grimily as his twin stepped forward with a smirk and blue brown eyes that screamed I’m full of shit so don’t listen to anything I say. They also screamed, I’ve seen your vagina!
He gave me a nod but then turned and walked away. Thankfully.
Charlie pointed to another guy standing by the door to another room where there appeared to be an engine on a machine. The guy, who wasn’t wearing a shirt and holding a video camera, waved and then Charlie said, “That’s Cole Riley, my cousin. He does the media shit like taking videos at the races and then puts them on the website.” And then he added, “He rarely has a shirt on.”
Charlie then pointed to another guy, taller, standing by the large bay doors with brown hair that fell in his chocolate brown eyes. “And this is Logan Reins.”