✔️The Greaser and the Skirtchaser [18+]

8. That Time They Sat on Makeout Point

Vance's heart was thumping as he was looking at Blake's mouth—wet and seductive—and Vance hardly even realized he was leaning in, too. Blake's sweet breath brushed his skin, and suddenly the butterflies in Vance's stomach kicked, and he jerked away. "S-stop. I told you, don't try anything."

"Huh?" Blake blinked. "What's wrong?"

"This, ya moron. We're two guys!" Now Vance felt guilty and ashamed as hell but more damningly, disappointed now that Blake was leaning back. He'd known the whole time that everything he'd done today was wrong and sinful. He should never have let himself be lured here in the first place. Vance felt like a goddamn moron for being so stupid that Blake could lead him around by the nose like this. "I want to go home—"

There was a big bang and a few shouts, and the Oldsmobile was smoking its way to the finish line, limping there on its last legs. A guy stumbled out of the car shouting, and he flung open the hood of the Oldsmobile which let out a belch of smoke.

"Hey! Stop!" Vance scrambled down and ran out to the track where the other racers stopped to crowd around the smoking Oldsmobile. "Get away from the car! It might catch on fire!"

"No way!" The Oldsmobile's driver, a short black guy with a flat top and a sheen of sweat across his brow, had to be pulled away from his car as if it were painful. "Betty's my girl! She can't go like this!"

"Is it off? Did you turn the engine off?" Vance asked, trying to get an answer from the Oldsmobile driver.

"She just died running up on the line, man." He suddenly swung his eyes on Vance and grabbed his shoulders all frantic. "Betty's been having engine trouble for months!"

"Rocky, I dunno if the old girl is safe anymore. Even the mechanic couldn't get her to stay steady, you know?" The Corvette's driver said in this thick Spanish accent, and she gave the poor sap a sympathetic shoulder pat.

Vance thought it would be a waste to just retire a creature like that, so he eyed the smoke which had stemmed off by now. Someone nudged him from behind. It was Blake. "Do you know what's wrong with it?"

"I mean, I-I could guess. I don't know."

Blake inclined his head. "Why don't you take a look? Rocky's about to fall apart over there."

"What would I know about race cars? I don't even know if I can help the problem." Vance had pulled apart a lot of cars and seen just about everything in the shop, but it was always small family cars and humble little jobs. Not big, fancy muscle cars that can shoot to sixty in about three seconds flat.

"Hey, come on, you knew plenty about my old man's Buick. Give it a try." His voice was gentle—nothing like the gruff "get it done like a man" crap he was used to. Blake slipped him an encouraging smile. "Go on."

Vance turned and swallowed before patting Rocky on the shoulder. "Hey, let me take a look before you tow it, alright? I work at my family's shop in the town over."

Rocky still looked miserable. "Yeah, sure."

Vance rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt to look under the hood. Blake had pushed to his side, but Vance was too busy with the smoking engine to think about what they were doing earlier. "You took her to a mechanic? What'd they tell you?"

He and Rocky worked out that his gas mileage had lately been so run-down that it was way higher than it was supposed to be even after a million visits to the mechanic. Vance could narrow down the problem areas, but there was no knowing exactly without touching the engine which was still hot from the race. He said as much, but the girl driving the Corvette jumped to offer the gloves she used to do her own car maintenance, even running back to bring them to Vance. He was surprised that they all cared about a car that wasn't even theirs.