“I guess in the grand scheme of things,” you sighed, grabbing the 98. “A few dollars saved won’t make much of a dent.”
Correct.
I opened the tank, inviting you to fill me; you guide the metal pipe into my hole with steady, firm hands. If cars could moan, I might have. Instead, I let the engine idle in a low, satisfied hum. You laughed, leaning casually against myfender as the gasoline flowed.
“Engine off at the pump,” you said, tapping my hood. “You know the rules.”
Rules. Laws. You and I were going to break so many. I was going to enjoy this. Everything about this felt right. Your body against mine, the feeling of being full after years of neglect. I drank greedily; the warm gasoline, the sight of you illuminated by the bright neon lights. Your reflection stretched across my glossy black paint, your dark hair matching me perfectly. Even our eyes were similar. Mine glowed faintly from the dashboard. Yours caught the yellow light in a way that made them shine the same dull gold.
The pump finally clicked.
Full.
You glanced at the screen above the pump, but this time, like a proper gentleman, you didn’t mention the number.
And I appreciated that.
Because there was no price for what we had just begun.
Chapter Four
Al
I shouldn’t have bought the car.
The thought had followed me all the way to the gas station, and it lingered stubbornly at the back of my mind even as I stood there guiltily admiring my new companion.
Twenty thousand dollars.
Well, twelve after the most irresponsible negotiation of my adult life. The salesman was so happy to be alive and be free of the car taking up valuable space that he’d rolled eight thousand off the ticket; I hadn’t dared push for more. He’d looked ready to call the cops as he shoved the paperwork at me.
Twelve thousand wasn’t any less reckless a purchase.
My wife was going to murder me.
How was I going to justify this? I have a work meeting first thing in the morning. A stack of academy reports sat waiting on my desk. Budget reviews. Faculty complaints. Administrative emails that multiplied like weeds the moment I stopped looking at them. The responsible partsof my life were still there, patiently waiting for me to return and behave like the dignified head of the academy I was supposed to be.
And yet, here I was, standing under the buzzing fluorescent lights of a roadside gas station with the sun sinking behind me, staring at the Mustang I’d just paid for in cash I couldn’t spare. Was I having a midlife crisis?
Maybe this was the escape I desperately needed. I’d rescued it from the lot; maybe it was there to rescue me from the doldrums of my chaste existence.
The overhead light hummed, casting a halo over the long black curve of the hood, the paint reflecting the yellow glow like polished obsidian. Even for a thirty-year-old car, it was goddamn sexy; the Fox Body lines were clean and sharp, gliding from the low front to the sloping hatchback, shadowing the unmistakable silhouette that defined Mustangs. The car looked different here than it had on the dealership lot, less like a purchase and more like something that had a name.
Fox.
It had come to me on the drive here, maybe because of the Fox Body model. Maybe because there was something sly and watchful about the way the lights sat under the hood.
Or maybe I was projecting. It was a pretty obvious choice; even the keyring had a little plastic fox on it, after all. I felt my face turn red, embarrassed by my own fantasy.
“You were a stupid idea,” I muttered, the words slipping out before I could stop them. I instantly regretted saying them aloud, and I glanced toward the car as if worried about offending it. I don’t even tiptoe around my family, but this car was delicate, and it had a temper hiding beneath the steel.
“But you know what?” I added quietly. “I’ve done stupider things, and I don’t regret any of them.”
The car didn’t seem to take offense, so I got in and paused as I realized that the seat and the wheel height had changed.The backrest leaned just right, the steering wheel height perfect, the pedals sitting exactly where my feet wanted them.
I frowned.
I knew I hadn’t moved anything; I’d planned to fiddle with it before heading back from the gas station, to get a comfy ride home while I contemplated my immediate future. But I’d already guessed that the car wasn’t just metal. It felt alive, and it was just as eager to meet me as I was to meet it.
