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Prologue

Gray

I’ve heard people can change overnight.

I never believed it until that summer.

Gasoline, oil, dirty rags, grease, transmission fluid… the indelible scent of the garage. I don’t even notice it anymore. I don’t see the black under my fingernails that never completely washes clean. It’s my life, and I’d never questioned it until that day.

“Hand me that socket wrench then get in the cab and spin it.” A cigarette dangles from my uncle’s lips, and the top of his overalls are tied around his waist.

I toss him the tool and climb into the cab of the ancient Chevy we’re repairing. “Ready?”

My hand is on the key in the ignition. He holds up a finger, bending farther under the hood before stepping away and circling it in the air. I give it a crank, and it turns over instantly, settling into a low humming noise.

“There you go.” Mack returns the cigarette to his lips and watches a few moments as the truck continues to idle. “Kill it.”

I turn the engine off and climb out. “I’ll write it up. Starter, alternator…”

“Just charge for the alternator. I got that starter off an old Mustang. They don’t have to pay me for it.”

Walking to the office, I call over my shoulder, “You’ll never make money giving shit away.”

“I’m too old to start worrying about money.”

I shake my head and go into the tiny room off the side of the garage. It’s all windows, so I have a clear view of the 1961 cherry red gunmetal Aston-hero Classic Jaguar rolling into the shop.

Damn. The sight of it gives me a semi. “Holy shit.”

The words are a sacred whisper from my lips. I know who it is. I’ve been admiring this piece of machinery since I was a little kid. I can’t believe it’s right here in Mack’s garage.

“Grayson?” Mack’s voice snaps me out of my daze.

I snatch up the clipboard holding the workorder for the Chevy and head out to where my uncle stands beside the sexiest of all sportscars.

“What you need, Carl?” Mack steps back as the elegantly dressed man emerges from the low ride.

He gives my uncle a cold nod. Asshole. “Just a tune-up. I’m planning to drive out to the lake this weekend, and I don’t want to end up on the side of the road.”

Mack chuckles, but I stay back until I’m called.

Carl Harris is a strange and hateful man. The old ladies say he spends his days drinking whiskey and staring at the photograph of his dead wife. I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been invited inside his house, even though he’s my best friend Danny’s dad.

Speak of the devil.

“Hey, grease monkey. Got any bananas for me?” Danny charges out of the passenger seat and runs around to grab me in a headlock. “Who won the Kentucky Derby?”

I’m taller than him and stronger, but it still takes a minute for me to escape his grip.

“Charley Horse!” he cries.

I narrowly escape his elbow to my ribs. “Get off me, asshole.”

Mr. Harris’s voice is loud and sharp. “Daniel!”

My throat tightens. I didn’t think he’d hear me swear. Shit.

“You’re such an animal, Danny.” That sweet voice gives me my second hard-on of the day.

Andrea “Drew” Harris walks around the back of the Jaguar dressed in tight white pants that show off her cute little ass and a top that stops right under her breasts, those small, luscious handfuls that seemed to grow overnight.

It also shows off the lines in her stomach, and I wonder what happened to the skinny little girl wi

th stick-straight pigtails running around drinking Mountain Dew and bothering us.

It’s like a sexy version of Invasion of the Body Snatchers. The aliens took little-kid Drew and replaced her with this grown-up bombshell, who now invades my dreams at night and leaves me with a tent in my sheets every morning.

I stand like an idiot beside Danny with my tongue figuratively hanging out as she walks up to us smiling.

“Shut up, Drew Poo,” Danny yells before breaking into laughter.

Those four words flip the whole scene.

“You are such an asshole!” Drew yells, losing her cool.

I start to laugh. Even pissed, she’s adorable.

“Andrea Rebecca Harris.” Her dad’s voice is another sharp command, but it doesn’t deter Drew.

Her eyes are flaming fire. “I was three years old!”

“Didn’t stop you from shitting on my carpet.”

“I was potty training!”

“Drew Poo,” he sing-songs.