Page 3 of Burn It Down

“Do you have a second? I just want to make sure your tire isn’t going to rub the wheel well as you drive.”

“Sure. I’m not in a hurry.”Sorry, Cora.

Before I know it, he’s lying on the ground with his head under my car. He reaches his arms up to poke around on something and I nearly swallow my fucking tongue when his t-shirt rides up, revealing the top of his boxers and a small strip of smooth, tanned skin. I swear to God if that’s ink on his side, I’m going to blackout.

He pats the fender and slides out from under the car. “It looks fine, but maybe don’t take it on any road trips.” Standing, he wipes his hands on his jeans and looks at me. “I assume you have something else you can drive while I fix her up?”

Before I can answer, my phone rings, and my father’s name flashes across the screen.

“Can you hang on one second? I need to take this.” I swipe to answer the call after he gives me a curt nod. “Father,” I say in greeting. “Mm-hmm.”Pause.“No, I’ll talk to him.”Pause.“I said I’d handle it.”Pause.“That’s three o’clock in the morning.”Pause. “I don’t care if he’s in Japan. I’m not.”Pause. “Fine.”

I angrily end the call and turn my attention back to the man in front of me, my previous butterflies replaced with swarming hornets thanks to my interaction with Steve Ellington.

“Everything alright?” he asks, politely making conversation since my mood has so obviously soured.

“Just business politics,” I grumble.

He chuckles and scratches his neck. “Yeah, I know how those go.”

Finally able to think with my brain since talking to my father was like a splash of cold water below my belt, I ask his name.

“Oh, right. Dylan Ryder.” He holds out his hand for me to shake and as I grasp it firmly, I avoid making eye contact for fear of tenting my thin slacksagain. But it doesn’t work. As soon as his palm hits mine, it feels like I’ve been zapped with a live wire. The callouses on his palms have me riding deliciously inappropriate trains of thought and it takes every ounce of mental strength I have to pull myself back into the conversation.

Hopefully my pause goes unnoticed.

“Jacob Ellington.”

Dylan laughs and the low, sultry sound goes straight to my balls. “Wow, they really prepared you for a suit with that name, didn’t they?”

I can’t help my own chuckle. “You have no idea.”

“Well, hey, I’m really sorry about all this. I’ll shoot you a text later and let you know when to bring her by the shop.”

“Sounds good. And uh, I’m sorry too. I’ll keep a closer eye on those back-up lights next time and maybe I’ll send a letter to my prep school advising them to add it to the curriculum.”

Dylan flashes a genuine smile as he huffs a laugh and my cock continues to swell as I slide behind the wheel of my car.

Okay, so it was a shitty thing to do, but do I regret it?

Not even a little.

Chapter 2

Dylan

Ever since our mom died, my twin sister, Cassie, and I have made it our mission to make sure nothing else is taken from our father, but the vandalism attacks are becoming more frequent, making me concerned for the future of our shop.

My Caucasian father married a Mexican immigrant back when that wasnota cool thing to do. Instead of bringing the two communities together, we were shunned by both, but we managed to find a small corner in the world where people were too busy just trying to survive to care what went on in our house.

Until recently.

Just this morning I had to clean another racial slur off our glass window. At least my dad didn’t see this one. For as much as tolerance is preached these days, it’s rarely practiced.

Dad and I work eighty hours a week fixing cars while Cassie runs the office. Although my dad and I love American muscle, it’s the imports that pay the bills, so we became the best there are, which is why I’m not worried about fixing that Maserati.

I pull back into the shop’s parking lot and smile when I see my dad’s legs sticking out from under his project car. He gives it about an hour every day despite everything else we have going on.

“Hey, Pop. I’ve got those frozen tamales you like. You about ready for lunch?”

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