Screwed

by Van Barrett

  Liam paused when he heard my voice. “Hey Paul. What's going on?”

  “Not much. I was just about to go home when I saw this work order for your Legend. New struts, new CV axles, it says.”

  “Um, yeah, Carl called me earlier.”

  “Did he scare you into it or something?”

  “Um, well, he did tell me that if I didn't get the work done, I could pay for it with my life.”

  “Jesus. I warned you that he'd try to scare you. Didn't you listen?”

  “I heard you,” Liam said reluctantly.

  “So why?” I lowered my voice. “Is it because of what happened last night?”

  “No …” he trailed off.

  “Then what?”

  He huffed. “I don't know anything about cars, Paul. Easier to let the pros take care of it.”

  “Good lord, Liam. I was trying to guide you to the pros all along, but you just won't listen.”

  “Oh well. It's my money and I'll spend it how I want, I guess.”

  “Fine. Whatever.”

  Shame swept over me, and I held the phone right over the hook, ready to slam it down and hang up. It sucked, trying to do a nice thing for somebody, and have them continue to reject it. But if that was what he wanted, who was I to stop him?

  But I stopped myself just before I hung up, putting the phone back on my ear.

  “Liam.”

  “Yeah?”

  “What're you up to?”

  He chuckled. “I just got off work, and now I'm at my place. Why?”

  “I just got off work, too. I'm still at the shop, though.” I paused. “I'm the only one here, actually.”

  I quietly volunteered that information, hoping it might draw him in.

  “Oh. Cool,” he answered instead.

  And I recognized what his short and dry tone meant. Liam was trying to brush me aside.

  You have to be more aggressive, Paul, I told myself.

  “Look, Liam, I've got your Legend on the lift right now.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. I'm standing under it this very moment, in fact. Checking out your axles and your struts as we speak.”

  Liam seemed to know what I was getting at.

  “Paul …” he said with a sigh.

  “Just come and take one look with me, and I'll never mention anything about this to you again.”

  He sighed. “I don't even have a way of getting there--”

  “I'll pick you up. I just want you to see for yourself. I'll show you your car, and then you can decide what to do. Alright?”

  An eternity seemed to pass as Liam thought it over.

  “Fine. One quick look.”

  Chapter 11

  Private Place

  Liam

  Not long after, Paul banged on my apartment door.

  Why couldn't I just tell this guy no?

  I dunno. I guess it felt cruel. The idea that he was being set up to do something wrong—something that might put him out of a job—while he keeps trying to do the right thing. But I mysteriously continue to reject his warnings, and practically beg his shop to rip me off.

  At what point does this scenario become entrapment?

  (And at what point do I realize I can't turn Paul down because I still think he's hot as fuck, even if he is a hardened criminal?)

  I answered the door. The sight of the muscular mechanic, sweaty and oily at the end of another work-day, weakened my knees. He looked so flustered and nervous to see me—which was so cute to see from a guy with his stature (and hell, background!).

  Shyly, he lowered his head and greeted me. “Hey Liam.”

  “Hi Paul,” I said, feigning slight annoyance—but who I was supposed to be annoyed with, I'm not sure.

  “You ready?”

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  We climbed into his car and took off for Scud's. The drive over was silent, and we didn't say but ten words between us. The air in that car was so tense, you could choke on it—though maybe that was just the late-evening Florida humidity.

  Paul pulled into Scud's, parked, and we headed into the garage.

  “Thanks for agreeing to this,” he said as he flipped on the shop's lights.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  My car was on the lift, raised only a few feet off the ground. Paul fetched two flat benches for us to lay on, with wheels, so we could slide under the car.

  “Hey, these are convenient,” I said as I laid down and rolled around the smooth garage floor.

  “Yeah. They're called creeper seats,” Paul told me.

  “Creeper seats,” I repeated with a chuckle.

  Do I like where this is going?

  Paul laid down on his creeper seat, and the two of us rolled under the Legend. I laid at Paul's side while he pointed out all the things Carl told me were broken and needed replaced, and then went on to explain to me the actual condition they were in, and why they didn't need to be replaced, and how, even if they were bad, the actual cost to replace them should be far lower.

  Of course I believed him. When presented with that kind of up-close, hands-on evidence, only an idiot wouldn't. But alas, an idiot was exactly the role I'd been cast to play in this drama between us. (An idiot doctor, to boot.)

  Speaking of evidence, though—I was keenly aware that everything Paul told me was being recorded on the car's hidden cameras. His testimony would make for one hell of an indictment against Scud's when the report finally aired.

  This is it! I thought to myself, barely able to contain my glee. Coming here wasn't such a bad idea after all. Once Angela sees this footage? She'll have no choice but to trust my instincts!

  “So?” Paul said afterwards. “What do you think? Still want Scud's to work on your car?”

  We were still lying under the car, side by side on our creeper seats.

  I paused. This was the difficult part. I couldn't give him a straight answer. I had to divert his attention elsewhere.

  “Can I ask you something, Paul?”

  “Sure.”

  “If you feel so bad about your shop ripping people off, then why do you even work here?”

  Paul took a deep breath. “I practically grew up in this shop.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. It wasn't always Scud's.”

  “What was it before?” I asked.

  “Before it was Scud's, it was Parisi's.”

  “That's your last name,” I said quietly.

  Paul tilted his head at me, his eyes suspicious. “Hey, how'd you know that?”

  “I saw it on your—” I stammered, thinking, don't say mugshot, don't say mugshot! “—er, website!”

  “Oh. Right. I forgot that thing exists.” Paul nodded. “Anyway, yeah. Parisi's was my Dad's shop. He taught me everything I know about cars, even if his accent was so thick it was hard even for me to understand.”

  “His accent?”

  “Yeah. He was an immigrant, born in Italy. He grew up tinkering with mopeds—that's how he taught himself how to work on cars. Then, as an adult, he came to America to open up a shop. Everyone said it was the best garage in Miami.”

  “So why did he sell the business?”

  Paul grimaced and seemed to gather himself before he answered.

  “He didn't sell it. He died in a car accident. I was 16 when it happened.”

  Whoa.

  “Holy shit, Paul. I don't know what to say, but I'm so sorry.”

  In the ensuing quiet underneath that Acura Legend, I could feel Paul's brooding pain. I touched my hand against his shoulder to comfort him.

  “It is what it is,” he said wistfully.

  Because what else was there to say?

  Paul put the conversation back on track.

  “Sorry to bring up sad shit. The point I was trying to make is, Carl is my Mom's brother. And the way Dad's will broke down, I guess Carl ended up getting the shop. I still don't understand that one, especially because Carl and Dad never got along. But whatever. Anyway, Carl's a joke. He
doesn't care at all about doing a good job, he only wants to make money. He can't see that doing a good job will lead to making money. He's been running the place into the ground for years.” Paul shook his head, angry and frustrated.

  “Well … why don't you just find another shop to work at?”

  Paul scoffed. “I can't.”

  “Why not?”

  “I've tried. No one will hire me.”

  “But why?”

  “It's embarrassing.” Paul rolled his shameful eyes. “Long story short, I got into some trouble when I was younger and now, it's come back to bite me in the ass. Shops won't hire me because of it. They think I'm a liability.”

  He must be talking about the grand theft auto, I thought to myself.

  “Oh.”

  “Besides that, though? The truth is, I don't want to leave. I still feel like this is my Dad's shop, even with crooked Carl running the show. And leaving feels like I'd be totally giving up on Dad's dream.” He let out a sigh. “Dad taught me how to work on cars, 'cause he always told me, this would be my shop someday.”

  I was mysteriously silent while I figured what, if anything, I should say. My heart began to nervously race, my temples pulsing with pressure.

  “… Damn,” I finally croaked out.

  “So hopefully, now you can see why I've been trying to warn you all along.”

  “I do see,” I answered with a lump in my throat.

  I also saw something else: the fact that me and Paul had a common enemy here.

  “You look like you've got something on your mind,” Paul said with a curious grin.

  I struggled to answer him. “I—I do.”

  Should I tell him who I really am? I should. I should tell him.

  But what would Angela say? Sure, it'd endanger what we were trying to do here … but what if Paul was willing to help? He clearly had a motive!

  “Yeah? What is it?” Paul asked. “'Cause I've got something on my mind, too.”

  His creeper seat rolled ever-so-slightly closer to mine. Until our two seats bumped together.

  “I can't stop thinking about last night, Liam.”

  Uh oh. All I could think about was those cameras. Nervously, my eyes swept over the underside of the car.

  “Well—Paul—“ I chuckled nervously, “it didn't mean anything.”

  Paul turned on his side and faced me.

  “For me it did.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah.”

  He reached out with his giant hand and gently ran his fingers through my hair. I closed my eyes and breathed him in—his scent. It was so warm and sweet.

  But I felt awful, trying to carry on with this idiotic lie while we were secretly being recorded by hidden cameras.

  “Paul …”

  “Shh.”

  “We should really get out from under this car, Paul.”

  I started to scoot my creeper seat away, but Paul grabbed the edge of it and kept me from going.

  “Don't go,” he growled, and his greedy hand went to my side. “I like it under here.”

  “Really?” I tried to pry his hand off my waist and push him away, but he was too strong—and secretly, I liked how damned possessive he was acting. “You spend all day under cars. Doesn't it get old?”

  He grinned. “Nah. Honestly, it never gets old. When I'm under a car, it's like the rest of the world doesn't even exist anymore. It's just me, my thoughts, and the car. It's the only place in the world that I feel like … I can actually be myself. You know?”

  Oh God, I panted to myself. We are definitely not alone right now, Paul.

  “Sounds like I should leave you alone then,” I said, making one last break for it on the creeper seat, “Because I'd hate to ruin your private time.”

  But Paul caught my seat in his grasp and refused to let me go again. “Actually, you being here just makes it better.”

  “Paul …” I smacked my forehead. “Paul, there's something I should tell you.”

  “There's something I should tell you, too,” he said.

  Paul cupped my face with his hand, and stroked my cheek with his thumb. His touch was soft, but his hands were rough—the pads of his fingers chewed up, gnarled. They were undoubtedly mechanic hands.

  “I feel really bad about how I just left your place last night. After you, y'know—” he lowered his voice, “sucked me off.”

  Welp. That'll be on camera, too. Great.

  “It's okay,” I said with a sigh. “I understand. I mean, it was your first time with a guy.”

  “Yeah … sorta …”

  My eyes narrowed instantly. “Wait—sorta?”

  “Yeah,” Paul admitted with a heavy breath. “I mean, we definitely didn't do anything like what we did last night. But, you know how I mentioned my friend Chance? My best friend from high school who drove a Legend just like yours?”

  I felt my face twisting in an ah-ha moment, and I wagged a finger at him. “I knew there was something between you two.”

  “Yeah, well, I'm not quite sure what 'it' was between us, exactly …” Paul trailed off. “Until I met you, anyway.”

  “Oh.”

  “Anyway. The point is, I felt pretty bad that right after you sucked me off, I got up and blazed.”

  “Don't worry about it. Like I said, I understand.”

  Paul shook his head with a chuckle. “You don't get what I'm trying to say.”

  And he pulled my creeper seat closer. His hand found the back of my head, where he ever-so-softly began to pull, urging me near.

  I knew just where this was going.

  “What I'm trying to say is … I wanted to return the favor.”

  “Wait, Paul,” I said, my eyes widening.

  But there was Paul, nearing and pulling me closer for a kiss. I tried to resist, tried to pull myself away from him, but there wasn't any hope. The guy was too big and strong and more than that? I wanted to kiss him too.

  Because I liked him, even if I knew I wasn't supposed to.

  But he was sexy, big, and strong. And the way he took charge, and simply went right after what he wanted, made my stomach broil like a damned blast furnace.

  So I did the obvious thing: I kissed him back. I met his soft, curious lips with mine. He kissed me tenderly, eagerly, the same way someone might test the pool water with a toe before they jump in. The only roughness in his kiss was the stubble around his mouth and chin—which scraped my sensitive skin like coarse sandpaper.

  But Paul's hesitant kisses quickly became hotter, heavier, rougher. And our juicy lips melted into one another, under our hushed grunts and vulnerable whimpers.

  Then his electric tongue was sliding against mine—and we were pushing, pulling, feeling one another.

  And then Paul's hand went between my legs.

  “Oh,” I cooed. While my cock surged in his hand, the rest of my body went limp as I laid flat on my creeper seat.

  “Holy shit,” Paul laughed to himself.

  “What?”

  “You're so hard, Liam.” He tightened his grip around the crotch of my jeans and began to pump me, slowly, up and down. “I've never felt another guy's cock before. Whoa.”

  I stifled a laugh—the look on Paul's face was adorable. He was so into it. And sure enough, he stroked me faster, harder, more vigorously.

  But when he reached for the waist-button of my jeans, and began to work it free?

  I gulped—remembering the cameras.

  “Wait, wait,” I protested, my hand pushing at his.

  “Don't worry, dude. The shop's closed. It's just me and you, Liam,” Paul reassured me.

  Argh, but it's really not!

  “So just sit back and enjoy it,” the poor mechanic urged me.

  Noooo, I thought as Paul unzipped my jeans. Oh God, if he had any idea!

  Desperately, I searched for the cameras under the car, though I couldn't see them.

  And then his hand reached into my boxers and fished out my cock.

  “Whoa,” he
said, as he wrapped his fist around my dick and began to stroke it.

  I am so fucked.

  Chapter 12

  Guessing Game

  Paul

  There we were, side by side on those creeper seats, under Liam's Legend.

  Finally doing something I always wanted to do back in high school, but was too afraid to admit to myself. Back in the days when I used to teach Chance how to do basic things like change his oil. We'd end up lying under that car, and I always had this urge to just reach over and touch him, his waist, his face. And just see what would happen after that.

  Course, I never did that. Except for, well, the one time I did. But that didn't turn out the way I expected at all.

  And thank God, this time with Liam wasn't turning out like that, either.

  Kissing Liam felt so … so right, man. It wasn't that long ago I was kissing Leena. And I just felt dead inside when I kissed her. And that's nothing against her. Because I think she's an attractive girl with a great body.

  But when I kissed her? I didn't feel it. I just didn't feel a thing. The only thing that was there was this strange, frightening emptiness. It was the same emptiness I felt when I kissed any girl … the one time it was different was with Chance.

  And now Liam.

  I wasn't sure I was ready for it, but—like I said—I felt bad about the way I left Liam's the other night. I wanted to return the favor. I wanted to prove to him, or maybe to me, that I could do this. I was finally ready to try.

  When I put my hand on his crotch? Dude was already ridiculously hard. It felt so strange, so foreign, to feel another man's erection. I'd only handled my own, obviously. But feeling someone else's was, well—a new experience. There's really no other way to describe it. It was a little surprising, a little exciting, in a way that made my breath speed up and my heart start to skip nervously.

  I wasn't sure why Liam looked a little nervous himself, though. Wasn't he into this? He should've been. I mean, he sucked me off yesterday, so I knew I wasn't pushing the boundaries or anything.

  I pulled his jeans half-way down, stuck between his thighs. I reached into his boxers and slid out his cock.

  Under the privacy of that Legend, I started stroking him off.

  “Oh, fuck,” Liam gasped. “That feels really good.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” he said.