Page 2 of LOT 62

I lifted an accusatory brow. “Oh yeah? Like you and Xavi don’t fuck around here all the time?”

“In the apartment!” Nate defended. Nate and Xavi still lived in the converted staff room turned apartment at the back of the shop. That place would always hold good memories of the night I got out of jail and came here with Maddox, but I was glad not to be living with them anymore. They were a bit much for me. Too happy. Too fluffy and giggly. Too positive.

“I saw Xav bend a chick over that hoist like three days ago,” I told him. “Get off your high horse.”

“That was one time,” Xavi laughed, not at all sorry.

“Yeah, right. I’m pretty sure I saw that same chick give you a blowie yesterday,” I lashed out at Nate. “Right there.” I pointed at the front door of the shop. “So don’t throw your bullshit about the shop being for work at me, dicks. I ain’t stupid. You two can get off here, so can I.” I finished my speech right as Paul walked in the front door.

“Is it ready?” he asked, nodding to his boat.

“It’s ready.” I led him to it.

Still couldn’t believe we actually pulled this off. We owned the shop we always dreamed about. Life was fucking good, but in my experience, that typically meant shit was about to hit the fan. When that happened, I just had to make sure it had nothing to do with me and my prick of a boyfriend.

2

-Maddox-

I’dspentallofmy twenties, and even a large part of my teens, hoping for full-time work. Financial stability had always seemed like such a dream, like if I got it, everything else in life would be better. But now that I had it, I resented the fuck out of it.

I got so focused on the money portion of things that I forgot to consider everything else. I wanted a steady income so I didn’t have to worry about paying bills or making rent, but I never stopped to consider what I’d lose by gaining financial independence.

I was too fucking tired to enjoy weekends at the track like I used to. I was too physically exhausted after work to put in the right amount of focus and energy to keep up a great sex life with Devon. At the end of the work week, I was so beat that we ended up fighting for half the weekend. And not the fighting we thrived on, but the kind that left one or both of us hurting. I hated it. Which was why I made the extra effort to go see that workaholic this morning. I was craving him, missing him, but pissed at him for not coming home last night, so I went to that prick like a dog on a leash.

Worth it, though. He’s hot when he gets off, and I didn’t mind feeling smug about it.

“You going to the track this weekend, Madd?” Tom, one of the newer guys at Garron Construction, asked as we packed up for the day.

“Yeah.” I took off my reflective vest and cracked my neck, sore as shit. “You?”

“Hell yeah. Can’t wait to party.” Tom was younger than me by six years. He was twenty, living it up in his party days, and barely gave a shit about motocross. He just liked to drink, try to get laid, and fuck around. He sucked at it because he was weird and awkward, but whatever. It was fine to want that shit, but even when I was twenty, weekends at the track were all about fucking Devon over and beating him in the race. I was all about motocross. Still was, but too tired to put in the energy like I used to.

“Nice.” I sucked at conversations.

“Jeff said you’re in a relationship. Do I get to meet this chick on the weekend?” Tom asked.

“Sure, but she’s got a dick.” I couldn’t wait to get out of here.

“You’re gay?”

“For him.” I guess I didn’t really have a label. I hadn’t had a lot of time to even think about it. It was just Devon. Simple as that.

“Well, I can’t wait to meet him,” Tom said. “See ya tomorrow.”

“See ya.” I grabbed my lunch pail and headed for the parking lot. I needed a shower, a nap, and Devon.

Ofcourse,Devonwasn’thome when I got back to our trailer on Lot 62. So I took a shower, ate an old doughnut from yesterday morning, and crashed on the couch for a quick power nap. It was hot and muggy inside, so the scratchy couch fabric stuck to my skin, but at least the power was on and the fan blew tepid air at me.

On Friday nights, we went to my mom’s for dinner. She sucked at cooking and we usually left hungrier than when we arrived, but whatever. It was her new thing, and we were all making an effort. Tonight, all I wanted to do was be with Devon. Fucking, fighting, bickering, or just sitting and shooting the shit, I didn’t care.

Almost a year later, I still couldn’t believe I was dating him.Devon fucking Sawyer?Yeah, never saw that shit coming. But here we were, living together, in a relationship, fighting like it was our calling, having the best sex of my life when we found the time to do it, and still mostly happy. Our relationship was rocky at best, but to me, it felt pretty damn perfect.

Devon was even more of a piece of shit trailer trash than I was, but holy shit did I love him. Like, heart completely consumed, wanted him for life, ride or die type of loved him. He was mine and I was his, and even though we fucked shit up more often than not, I couldn’t imagine going through this clusterfuck of a life without him now.

I told him I loved him one day and he punched me in the mouth for it, claiming I just had to say it first like it was some competition. He basically beat the confession back into my mouth and then said it himself. He thought he’d won that fight, but I was happy enough to let him think that. We loved each other. We said it. It didn’t have to be this big thing. Done.

But now I hated how our lives got in the way of us. Did everyone deal with that shit? Was life and all its demands the reason why so many couples split up? Or did we just have a time-wedge between us because we worked so much? I mean, Garron Park was full of divorced couples, widows, or spouses who lived alone because their partner was in jail, but was that our future? I sure as shit hoped not. I didn’t want the stress of life to split us apart, but at this point, I didn’t know how to make it stop.

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