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I sit on the sofa in the waiting room, while the mechanic pulls my new car from the garage, after giving it a brand-new once-over. A 1976 Valiant. It may seem like an odd choice for a car, but seriously, how could I resist her? The bright canary yellow color sitting all by herself in the car yard, just waiting for some lucky bastard to come and get her. What can I say? When a guy has a hard-on for a car, you know it’s meant to be.It was basically love at first sight. It’s almost dusk, and I’m the final customer for the day. And what a day it has been at that. First, I find out from the girls in the office that my boyfriend, Rusty, is cheating on me. Apparently, they caught him kissing some guy in a bar. And my boss, the arrogant asshole that he is, insisted I stay back at work to finish some emails that he insisted were time sensitive and needed my immediate attention. Why he didn’t bring them to my attention earlier is beyond me. So, what was supposed to only take thirty or so minutes kept me back at the office for two more hours.
If that wasn’t enough, on my way to the subway, I stopped by Starbucks and ordered an extra-hot coffee because, you know, winter in New York is a coldhearted bitch. And when you ask for a hot coffee, it’s usually so lukewarm that you can pretty much down it within a few sips. So, I made sure to ask for it to be extra-hot this time, and they made it to the point where it was boiling, scalding my tongue and making me spill it all over my expensive Louis Vuitton suit.When I finally got to the subway and onto the train, there were no seats available, so I had to stand in a car packed with people, in a coffee-stained shirt that was giving off a strong odor of caffeine. Needless to say, I was extremely relieved when I stepped inside this waiting room where I didn’t have to worry about anyone, other than my mechanic, looking at me.
Putting the magazine back down on the coffee table, I look through the window that looks into the garage, and see Dean, my mechanic, standing underneath my car that he has up on a lift. I get to my feet and move closer to the window, giving me a much closer view inside the shop. The guy is delicious, and I immediately begin undressing him out of his grey coveralls with my eyes. He’s wearing a black baseball cap backward on his head. He removes it, runs his hands through his hair, and puts it back on again before getting back to work on my car.
Damn, those muscles.
After a few minutes, I hear him call my name, and I quickly move away from the window and make my way into the garage, just as he’s lowering my car from the hoist. Once it’s down on the ground, he removes the lift, grabs a rag from a cart where he has all his tools resting, and wipes his hands.
“Is she ready?” I ask.
“It’s a she?” he replies.
“She’s the closest thing I’ll ever get to a female, and I prefer it that way, if you know what I mean.”
Again, my eyes travel the length of his body, this time much slower, as I notice the way his coveralls tighten across his torso, protruding his pecs. I pay particular attention to the top three buttons that are unclipped, revealing his bare chest beneath the material with small patches of grease in various places.
“You know that I’m straight, right?”
“Excuse me?” I reply, quickly shifting my eyes from his chest to meet his.
“I get it. A guy in uniform, covered in grease, in coveralls––it’s a hot look. Or so my girlfriend says, anyway.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”
I quickly take a step backward and press my ass against one of the benches, turn my attention away from him and focus on something else in the workshop.
“Jesus, Carter, I’m kidding.”
“So, you are gay?”
“No. But I am single. And I appreciate all the attention. Really, I do. I’m just not into guys.”
“Got it,” I say.
“Give me a few minutes to finalize the paperwork and I’ll be right back.”
“Sure.”
He walks through the shop and into his office, which is adjacent to the waiting room. While I wait for him to return, I move toward Candie––yes, that’s what I’ve named her. I pull open the door and sit down in the driver’s seat, sliding my hands around the steering wheel, as I inhale the fresh vanilla scent coming from one of those air fresheners in the shape of a tree hanging from my rearview mirror that Dean must have put there.Of course, I get the occasional scent of the caffeine lingering from my shirt. I maneuver myself on the newly cleaned leather seating, then fiddle with the gear shift that has an eight-ball fitted to the tip.
“You look like you’re enjoying that a little too much,” Dean says, as he approaches my driver’s side window.
“I’m just admiring Candie’s interior. You know, the feel and smell of a new car after it’s just been driven out of the yard or garage.”
“Candie?”
“Yeah. That’s what I call her.”
“You named your car Candie?”
“You sound surprised,” I say.
“I don’t know. I guess it’s just weird.”
“Weird, why? Guys name their dicks most of the time.”
Fuck, I can’t believe I just said that. The guy already said he’s straight.
