Screwed

by Van Barrett

I watched, hunched over and slack-jawed, as Carl and his buddies pounded on the Legend with hammers. Their casual workplace banter as they beat up a car was almost somehow more striking than the visual of the employees smashing a car.

  “So sick of this stupid ass car!”

  “I agree! But man, it feels good to beat the shit out of this thing, after all the shit Paul pulled.”

  “God damn, you said it. You know how hard I had to work to get some money outta this sucker? Fuckin' Paulie didn't wanna do it!”

  “What kinda doctor drives a 25 year old car, anyway?”

  “Not a very good one!”

  “Bahahaha!”

  “Seriously though, tell that kid to get some respectable wheels, so we can milk an even bigger payout from the insurance …”

  On and on and on.

  “It goes on like this for way, way too long.” Angela flashed that smile at me again. “Basically, they're totally eff'ed.”

  “Awesome.” I drummed my finger-tips on the edge of the control board. “So, um, no other oddities caught on camera, then?”

  She gave me a long look, and then busted up laughing.

  “What? What?” I asked, growing increasingly nervous.

  “Oddities? The way you asked that made you sound so paranoid, Liam.”

  My cheeks flushed. “Well …”

  “And I've got a funny feeling that if I study this film closely enough, I'd discover a little chemistry brewing between you and Paul.”

  I swallowed tensely. “What uh, what makes you think that?”

  “For one, I saw the way you two were looking at each other when you brought him in here.”

  “What? We weren't looking at each other.”

  “Oh yes you were.” With a grin, she reached out and tugged my shirt collar down an inch. “Secondly, there's an enormous hickey on your neck.”

  I slapped my palm against my neck to cover it. “It's not enormous.”

  “It's pretty big, yeah.” Angela's smile grew. “And now you're turning bright red, all over.”

  “I'm—I'm embarrassed.”

  “I can see that.” Angela touched her hand to my shoulder. “But don't worry. You're not in trouble. And I'm not going to pore over hours of film to see what exactly you guys were talking about.”

  I let out a whew of relief.

  “But I am curious, just on a personal level. Is Paul really—y'know—into men?”

  I didn't answer. But I had to bite my lip to keep the glorious, creeping smile from spreading any further.

  “No shit,” Angela mumbled. “Why's it always the beautiful ones? Seriously, why?”

  I chuckled. “I don't know, but I'm not complaining.”

  “Tchyeah. I bet not.” Angela rolled her eyes. “Anyway. I owe you an apology. I started to doubt you, Liam, once you started getting all wrapped up in this Paul character. But I can admit it when I'm wrong. Your instincts were right, and we got the better scoop because of it. Those instincts are what make a good reporter. So keep it coming.” She put out her hand for a shake. “You did a good job, Liam.”

  “Thank you.” I shook her hand. “So, um. What do you think the odds are that I move into Walt's office full time?”

  “It looks good, Liam. But keep your fingers crossed.”

  I nodded.

  “I've got a late night ahead of me, but there's no point in you staying any later tonight. You should head on home and get some sleep. One of us needs to be thinking clearly tomorrow …”

  “You sure?”

  “Sure am.”

  I rose. “Alright. I'll see you tomorrow, then.”

  “See ya.”

  ***

  I packed my bag and headed for the elevator. Once I got out of the building, I grabbed my cell phone and made a call while I walked for the bus station.

  Paul answered. “What's up, Liam?”

  “Hey Paul, I saw you called.”

  “Yup. How's the project coming along?”

  “Good. I just left the office. Looks like we're going to make that deadline after all.”

  His voice went up an octave with excitement. “So? You guys manage to get that footage yet or what?”

  “Oh yeah we did. Let's just say, it's not a good look for Carl.”

  “Dude. I can't wait to hear the details. You taking the bus home?”

  I knew what was coming: Paul wanted to meet up with me. But we'd spent the last four nights together. Not to say I didn't want to see him again—far from it, in fact. I really, really wanted to see him again tonight.

  Forget deadlines … Paul was the real drug. I couldn't get enough of him.

  But there was another part of me, that voice of cold logic and heartless reason, that told me the smart, responsible thing was to spend some time apart instead. For the health of the relationship, or something.

  So that's what I tried to do: be the responsible, independent bachelor, who doesn't go falling head-over-heels for new beaus.

  “Yep,” I said with a cluck of my tongue. “I'm walking to the bus station right now. Next time we see each other, I'll tell you all about that footage.”

  “Next time we see each other …” Paul repeated, and I could hear his emerging smile over the phone. “Well, how about tonight?”

  “Paul!” I protested.

  “What?” he teased with a cocky swagger. “Don't lie. You've been thinking about me all day.”

  It was amazing how much Paul had opened up in such a short period of time. From the aloof and unsure of himself 'straight guy' of two weeks ago, to the confident, sexy fucker who knew he was hot as hell and loved the power he held over me and savored the fact that I couldn't say no to him.

  “… Of course I've been thinking about you,” I admitted. “That's the problem. I can't stop thinking about you. Every single day, my head's in the clouds, because all I can think about is how we stayed up far too late the night before. You know, it gets awkward, always shuffling around the office while trying to hide my aching erection.”

  Paul chuckled. “Yup. Same here. Kinda glad Scud's fired me for that very reason. I'm jerking it like, four or five times a day right now. Not because I want to, but because I have to. Soon as I start thinking about how goddamn hot your ass is? Or when I start to hear your moans in my head, like you're right next to me? Fuck it, I'm done, I'm hard and it won't go away until I blow a load.”

  “Four or five times a day,” I repeated with a groan. “You're—you're supposed to save all that up, you know.”

  “Save it? What for—to blow a hole through the ceiling? You're not coming over, so what's the point?”

  Fuck. His words weakened my resolve, like cracks in a dam.

  “… You're so persistent, Paul.”

  “Yeah. Because I want you to come over. We'll order take-out.”

  “Thanks, but I already ate.”

  “Fine. Then I'll make some popcorn, we'll put on a movie and cuddle up on the couch. Oh, and I got a bottle of wine we can crack open, too. C'mon. Tell me where you're at and I'll pick you up.”

  Dammit. The thought of that sounded so nice—he was winning me over, and if I didn't find the strength to fend him off now, I knew I'd give in. I had to switch tactics.

  “Haven't you heard about new relationship energy?” I asked him.

  “Nuh-uh.”

  “They say that when your start a new relationship, you've got all this exciting energy going for each other. You can't stop thinking about each other, and everywhere you walk, the birds are singing and you can smell every stupid flower you walk past, and all this lovey-dovey bullshit. The point is, you want to spend every waking minute together, but you really should spend some time apart.”

  Paul just smacked his lips, and I could practically hear him shrug my concerns right off his shoulders. “Well. That's dumb.”

  “No it's not!”

  “I wanna see you. You wanna see me, right?”

  “Well, when you simplify it like that, yeah.”

  “I
t is simple. We wanna see each other. So we should. The end. Who cares what other people say?”

  I didn't answer.

  “So where should I pick you up at? I'm heading over right now.”

  I felt my heart surrender to his advances, and I let out a playful sigh.

  “You're trouble, Paul Parisi. You know that?”

  “Uh huh,” he said. Over the phone, I heard the sound of his car door opening. “Now tell me where you're at.”

  I grinned. “… Okay.”

  Chapter 21

  New Era

  Paul

  One month later.

  I watched with folded arms as my newest employees—Steve, Scooter, and Axel—worked together to keep the sign propped up. Scooter worked a ratchet wrench, hastily loosening the last bolt holding the sign in place.

  These were industry friends of mine. Guys I'd managed to lure away from decent jobs at reputable shops. They were up for the challenge of turning a shop around and restoring it to its former glory. Responsible guys who knew what it meant to put in a little extra effort to make sure the job was done right, knowing it'd pay off in the long run.

  Plus, the draw of working on South Beach was pretty huge.

  “Look out below!” Scooter warned after the last bolt came out. The three mechanics swung the sign and counted aloud—one two, three—before they heaved the sign as far as they could.

  The sign landed on the pavement with a great crunch, and the hollow plastic sign exploded into a million pieces.

  And with that, Scud's era came to an end.

  “Well, that was satisfying,” I said with a grin. “Let's sweep all this shit up and get the new sign up there.”

  ***

  While the others swept up the mess, I went into the manager's office, pulled up YouTube, and watched Liam's report all over again. I'd seen it several times by now, but it still managed to blow my mind every time I watched it.

  Liam's report had over a million views on YouTube already. The report wasn't just a success for Miami 8—the footage of Carl and his idiot cronies cackling maniacally and telling dumb jokes while they pounded on that car with hammers was so obscene, it became an internet hit.

  Yeah. Liam's report went viral.

  If nothing else, that kind of exposure ruined Carl's professional reputation instantly. Everywhere he went, people would recognize him.

  But a day after Liam's report aired, Miami 8 News had another scoop on their hands. Liam, with his first on-camera assignment as a full-time field reporter, was live on the scene when Miami Police showed up to Scud's and escorted Carl out in handcuffs. Carl's scheme was enough to get him arrested for insurance fraud, with his bail set at over a million dollars.

  For all Carl's bitching about how much money he didn't have? The guy had over a million in cash stashed away, thanks to his insurance scam. Too bad for him, because all that cash was confiscated by the police.

  As soon as Carl was arrested, I sprung into action to try to clean up the mess at Scud's. I shut the shop down until the smoke cleared, and worked around the clock to finish the customers' jobs we had in the queue. It wasn't easy. People were pissed, and rightfully so. But all I could do was apologize like crazy, bust my ass to get everything done, and try to make things right.

  You'd think that the other mechanics at Scud's might object to a fired employee showing up and taking charge of the shop in the absence of the owner, but … well, actually, all the old employees were nowhere to be found. Carl's lackeys, fearing they were going to get arrested next, all fled that same day. They haven't been back since.

  Meanwhile, I met with a lawyer to figure out how I could regain control of my Dad's shop. In one of the many surprises that came out after Liam's report? Carl never actually had any legal right to take over the business. I was just a grieving 16 year old kid when Carl told me that Dad had left him the shop—and I was dumb enough to take his word for it. Parisi's was mine all along, if only I'd known it.

  The whole time I was working for Carl … I was just a victim of another one of his cons. That made me feel dumb as hell, and made all those insecurities about being just a dumb mechanic come right back. But anytime I got too down on myself about it, Liam insisted that it wasn't my fault.

  ***

  I came out of the office with the basement key, just as the boys swept up the last of the mess.

  “Hey Scooter. Come help me carry this.”

  Tucked away in the basement of the shop was the original Parisi's sign. Carl had tried to throw it away after Dad died, but I saved it from the dump and managed to hide it in the basement. If he ever went down there and saw it? He would've flipped his shit.

  Thankfully, Carl wasn't one to really know the ins and outs of this place.

  We lugged the sign up from the basement, hoisted it into place, and bolted the family name back where it belonged.

  Axel patted my shoulder. “Must feel nice seeing that sign go up again, eh?”

  “I can't even tell you how nice it is, Axel.”

  A car pulled into the parking lot from behind. We all turned to see the Legend as Liam rolled it into a parking spot. Mr. Johnson, the station owner, wanted to put the car up for sale after the station's report aired. I couldn't let the car go to someone else—it was, after all, how me and Liam met. So I bought it and gave it to Liam.

  “Friday night plans with the boyfriend?” Axel asked. And not in the insulting way that Carl and his cronies would've asked that same question. But in the curious way, instead.

  “Yeah,” I answered with a smile. “Dinner, maybe some time on the beach before the sun goes down.”

  “Sounds good, man.”

  Before I hired these guys, I made it clear to them that I had a boyfriend. Running a shop is already stressful enough—I didn't need to add the stress of living a secret life on top of that. These guys weren't the judgmental pricks that staffed Scud's. All these guys cared about was the quality of their work.

  Liam popped out of the Legend.

  “Hey Paul,” Liam said as he neared and gave me a hug.

  “Hey buddy,” I answered. After a long day of work, the scent of my boyfriend was more relaxing and comforting than anything in the world.

  We separated and Liam turned to the others. “Hey guys, how's it going? Big day tomorrow, huh?”

  “Yeah, man.” “Sup Liam?” “Hey dude.”

  “Alright, boys, thanks for your help today. Tomorrow's the big opening. Don't be late.”

  “Hell, you know we wouldn't be late, boss,” Axel said.

  And the three of them climbed into their cars and drove off.

  Liam and I hugged again—and, now that we were alone, shared a long kiss. Too long—and Liam soon felt the bulge in my jumpsuit as it pressed against his thigh.

  Liam choked his laughter back. “Paul, I really gotta talk to you about wearing underwear when you're already stuffed into that jumpsuit.”

  I huffed. “Hell no! Boxers are all baggy and annoying, and briefs are too tight. I was born to be a free man, Liam. Love it or leave it.”

  Liam sighed and pretended to think it over. “Well, I'm certainly not leaving it.”

  He stepped closer and discreetly cupped my bulge with his palm—and began to stroke it, until I fluffed bigger and filled out his hand.

  I swallowed. “Dude.”

  “You know, come to think of it, I still haven't seen the inside of the manager's office.” Liam said with a devious sparkle in his eye. “You wanna show it to me … boss?”

  “Fuck,” I exhaled lustfully.

  I didn't have to think it over.

  I led Liam by the hand and rushed him into the manager's office, my office, at Parisi's.

  ###

  THE END.

  Epilogue

  Three Years Later

  Early on a Saturday morning.

  “Fuck, Liam,” Paul moaned. “Hurry up. I'm ready. I want it.” Bent over at the waist, Paul gripped the head-board. He was relaxed and couldn't wait
for what was coming.

  Liam let go of Paul's ass cheek—just so he could give it a sharp, stinging slap.

  “Be patient!” he reprimanded Paul.

  Liam's other hand, judging by the gooey squish-squish-squish sounds, was busy lubing up. A sound that made Paul moan and arch his back. He loved to present his ass to Liam.

  The cool ocean breeze cut through the window's mesh screen with a faint whistle. The billowy sheer curtains blew forward and brushed against Paul's knuckles.

  And that was when it happened—when Liam set his cock at Paul's rear, and began to push in, with a growl of satisfaction.

  Paul took in a sharp breath of air, and yelped, “yes!”

  His eyes stayed locked on the ocean through those sheer curtains while Liam slowly worked himself in, and eased himself back out.

  I love my life, Paul thought, shaking his head with a huge and incredulous smile. A smile that was quickly transformed into pure bliss, as Liam gripped his waist and began to fuck him faster, harder.

  ***

  It was easy for both men to love their lives. They had a lovely view of Miami Beach on the top floor of their apartment building on 10th and Ocean. After they'd both come home from long days at work, the two men would often eat dinner on their balcony, where they could enjoy their meal together and watch the waves roll in. There was always something going on at the beach, something to look at.

  “Who the hell needs TV when you've got this view?” Paul often liked to say.

  “Then let's just get rid of it!” Liam often replied.

  Because as much as Liam loved his job, actually seeing himself on TV was an experience much more 'trippy' than he ever expected. Now he knew the true sound of his voice, which was apparently much more nasally than he ever knew. He also began to see the weird facial micro-expressions he made to punctuate the words he spoke.

  Frankly, Liam could do without ever watching himself.

  But Paul wouldn't have it. He loved to watch his husband on air, and insisted that he didn't sound nasal, nor did he twitch too much or look too orange or any of the other things that he was certain only Liam could see. He loved to see Liam holding that microphone (and Paul always took pride in seeing that gold band around Liam's ring-finger—but more on that in a minute). On camera, it was undeniable how bright and fun and full of personality Liam was—and those were areas that Paul always felt personally lacking.