2

Scotty

Mercy watched Mick’s dark blue VW as it chugged out of the lot. She was a gearhead through and through, always had been. When it disappeared into traffic she grinned and asked where Gramps was and how long he would be there. Walt was good and gone—out to lunch—so they went inside and Scotty bent her over his workbench. Nobody could’ve seen even if they came by, but nobody came by. Everyone was off eating lunch, nobody gave a rat’s ass what Scotty Bell and his best friend in the world got up to in that dark corner.

He was a gentleman so he got Mercy off first—which was really the only way to keep from getting a black eye along with a fuck, but Scotty didn’t mind. He liked sucking cock as much as the next guy and was pretty good at it. Scotty was pretty good at fighting too, but sucking cock was usually more fun. He didn’t care that the knees of his pants had already worn through so he knelt right on the cold cement floor.

“You need a shave, Scotty. I’m not loving the whole beard thing.”

He didn’t want to move his mouth away to answer, but he did anyway. “I don’t care. I hate shaving.”

Mercy grabbed a handful of Scotty’s hair and turned his face up. “Is that right?”

They both laughed and she pulled his mouth back over her cock. After a few deep strokes he pulled away again. “I’m not letting it grow too long, just scruff. What do you think of scruff?”

Mercy hooked her leg over Scotty’s shoulder—she liked to be in charge. Something else Scotty didn’t mind.

“I think scruff is adorable on you.” She leaned back against the workbench and moaned. “Very artfully done, Scotty. Just like everything you do.”

Another few strokes and Mercy’s cries echoed through the shop. Scotty’s dick throbbed in response. It had been a while since he’d had sex, something he never seemed to give much thought to until Mercy showed up. Once she did, though, it was always the same—a few short minutes and his whole body would be shaking with the effort to wait until she was done.

Mercy was still limp, draped across the workbench on her back, when he stood. He pulled her to her feet and turned her around. Scotty ground against her bony ass as he nibbled the spot where her neck met her shoulder. He loved the way her ass made up for her being soft everywhere else. Slowly, as gently as he could, he laid her on the bench and freed his dick. The cool air alone was enough to tighten his balls and force out a moan.

“Hurry.” She panted and writhed, pushing her ass toward him. “I’m already going to be late getting back.”

Scotty’s hands shook a little so he ripped the condom open with his teeth and dragged it on. Grabbing Mercy’s hipbones, he plunged in and they both cried out together. He didn’t want to hurry, but didn’t see that he had any choice—he wouldn’t be the one getting Mercy in trouble. She did that just fine on her own. He fucked her as hard and fast as he could while she told him to go harder and faster, and it didn’t take long before he got off. Scotty let himself take a minute to lie on Mercy’s back, to feel her warmth and the way her body moved while she downshifted from panting to regular breathing, the closeness that kept him going when it seemed like nothing else could.

And then he stood, stashed the used condom inside a Starbucks cup a customer had tossed in the trash and helped Mercy load the parts into her dad’s truck. He wished she were in love with him so maybe she would come around more, but a good friend was better than an angry ex any day of the week. And besides, things weren’t always that easy even when you were in love.

Scotty tried to kiss her before she got into the cab, but Mercy pushed his face away and frowned. He knew better than to try it, but he always did anyway. She wasn’t being mean, he knew that as well as he knew she only did it to save them both more hurt. The only way to change it would be to stop hooking up in the first place. Scotty wasn’t willing to go there.

Not now, and not ever.

Mick came back and headed straight for the coffee pot. He didn’t look happy to begin with, but his face got all stony, like Gramps’s when he had to bail Scotty out of a jam for fighting. Even with anger etching lines in his face and the sadness in his eyes, Mick was a good-looking man. His eyes and hair were dark brown but not black, and his jeans rode low on his hips, showing slices of lightly tanned skin as he worked. Mercy had a cute little turned-up nose, but Mick’s was stronger and a little beakish. It made Scotty wonder if he was firm all over.

Maybe Mick smelled sex in the shop. That might be a problem for anyone—the boss’s kid getting his rocks off on the clock. People said it was possible, but Scotty had never smelled sex in a room so he wasn’t sure. He felt a little like punching something, so it was a good thing Gramps came back. He didn’t want to start something like that with Mick, not really, but sometimes it felt better than being confused.

Scotty worked late, converting an old VW bus into a flatbed. He had plans to sell it and buy concert tickets in August and September. A mosh pit was the next best thing to a real fight—sometimes even better because you had to get pretty damned crazy to get in trouble in one. He was happier working on a project than watching television or going out, even if sometimes it got a little lonely. But eventually he had to stop and eat.

He pulled the metal door closed and walked around to the front entrance to go up to his little apartment on the second floor of the main building. Mick’s navy blue VW hadn’t moved; it still sat beside the light-duty truck that had been a mover’s van and was to be Scotty’s next project. It would be disappointing if the VW had broken down. He hoped Mick would be a true gearhead, and they could hang out and talk about cars and who knows, maybe have even more fun than that. Scotty went over and found Mick asleep in his car. He had the passenger seat leaned all the way back and was curled up on his side, his mouth open just enough to give Scotty thoughts he really didn’t need if he was going to keep things from getting complicated at the yard. He didn’t mind complicated so much, but Walt had a different opinion.

He knocked on the window and Mick bolted awake. If anyone had been trying to mess with him they probably would’ve gotten hit, Mick barely stopped himself from cracking his knuckles against the glass. They looked at each other for a second, and then Mick rolled down the window.

“Don’t you have a place to sleep?”

“Yeah. I was…”

“You don’t have to sleep in your car, Mick. Come on up to my place. You can have the couch.” Scotty got a few steps away before he realized Mick hadn’t moved. “I live over the main office. Come on, there’s plenty of room.”

He waited while Mick thought about it, rolled up the window and got out of the car. Mick was taller than Scotty and shorter than Gramps so probably not even six feet, but the way he stretched his legs said it wasn’t very comfortable sleeping in the VW. Mick pulled a small gym bag from the back seat and they went inside.

Tom had been walking around Scotty’s feet while he worked, impatient for dinner, but disappeared when a dented section of bumper crashed into the pile outside the shed. The cat came running to a whistle and raced ahead to the top of the stairs. A couple of the steps wobbled but otherwise the building was in good shape for such an old place. Every once in a while Gramps tried to get Scotty to move to a regular apartment, but he was comfortable. He had almost seven hundred square feet of living space, a full kitchen, and Gramps locked the fence when he left every night. If he got lonely sometimes it was a small price to pay for having a good job and a place where he belonged.

Mick thanked him for the fourth or fifth time when they made it inside the apartment. “You’re a trusting guy.”

“I can take care of myself. I’m not worried about you.” Scotty had to hold back a laugh at the thought of Mick being untrustworthy. Tom may be a black cat who lived most of his life on the wrong side of lucky, but he never lied.

“Okay. I really appreciate this.”

“No problem. You can grab a shower if you want to. I’m going to warm up some rolls to go with the stew. Unless you just want to go back to sleep?”

“It smells great.”

“Thanks. I’m not the best cook, but Tom usually doesn’t complain.” Tom knew when someone talked to or about him, and he usually answered back. He did his howling meow-thing right on cue. “Stop complaining, Tom.”

Tom jumped onto the back of the sofa. Mick watched as Tom stretched, then took a seat on the center cushion. Mick was all tough stringy muscle, and it looked like every one of those muscles was tight. Whatever he was waiting for didn’t start happening, so he nodded and went down the only hallway toward the bathroom.

The rolls didn’t take long, but it seemed that way. All Scotty could think about was Mick, naked in the shower. If it were Mercy in there, he’d wait until she had enough time to get clean then go join her. But everyone didn’t appreciate things like that. Maybe Mick would give a sign to say if he’d appreciate it.

Mick came back into the living room in blue sweats and a matching sweatshirt even though it wasn’t cold. Scotty thought about offering to turn on the heat but decided the food would probably be enough, even with his wet hair. It looked longer than it had before—longer and with more curl than wave, a dark brown mass of rock star hair if he’d ever seen it. Mick looked like Colin Farrell playing a rock star in a movie.

They sat on the old green couch with bowls of stew, rolls wrapped in a clean towel on a plate between them on the coffee table. Even with over two hundred channels, the only choices were that serial killer show or The Ultimate Fighter. Maybe The Ultimate Fighter wasn’t the smartest choice for a guy trying not to get into any more trouble for fighting, but the serial killer show was too boring. Mick’s life probably wasn’t boring.

“Gramps said you’re passing through. To where?”

“Walt is your grandpa?” Mick took a bite of stew and looked like he was about to moan out loud.

“Yeah. But he likes me to call him Walt during work hours.” The stew wasn’t half bad. Tom slunk down from the back of the couch and curled up between Scotty and Mick’s thighs.

“Alaska.”

“To do what?”

“Not sure. I heard there are jobs up there. Like on fishing boats.”

Scotty’s low whistle caught Tom’s attention, he swiveled both ears toward him like black furry satellite dishes. “That’s hard work. I knew two guys who did that. One only lasted a week.”

“Oh.” Mick shoveled a couple bites’ worth of vegetables into his mouth at once.

“How long have you had the VW?”

Mick waited until he’d chewed and swallowed before answering. “A long time. It was my mom’s in the seventies and then my brother’s.”

“Where’s your brother now?”

“Prison.” Mick’s shoulders jerked, like he was bracing himself or getting ready for a fight.

“So’s my dad. Will your brother be getting out?”

“Probably not.”

“My dad might, but I hope not. He’s kind of an asshole. He’s down in Cali.”

“So is my brother.”

Scotty didn’t want to ask if Mick’s brother was an asshole or just down in Cali, but he didn’t want Mick to stop talking. “Is that why you’re going to Alaska?”

“No.”

Mick didn’t sound convinced, but that was his business.