Dad started Sinclair’s Auto back in the late seventies when he was only twenty-two. The company then was a single-bay, Mom-and-Pop, “We fix ‘em all!” kind of auto repair shop.

It’s vastly evolved over the years. Now primarily focused on auto parts supply, the company has three locations, each boasting thousands of square feet of warehouse space. Each location is filled with rack upon rack of auto parts in a bewildering variety, served from a gleaming storefront. A fully-stocked delivery van goes out on the road every morning from each location at eight o’clock sharp, servicing a territory that covers a vast chunk of central Ohio.

The auto repair side of Sinclair’s these days is exclusive to select clients who drive high-end, classic, antique or specialty cars that we customize and maintain for such wealthy automobile aficionados. This work is carried out in a special service facility located at head office.

Limiting our repair side to custom, high-end work leaves plenty of room for new or smaller repair shops like Mark’s to take root and make a living.

And, of course, these businesses buy their parts from us.

Like my dad says, it’s a win-win situation.

However, the supply side is the company’s bread and butter, having grown from a single line of parts to a nearly infinite array of products.

Sinclair’s parts business enjoys a basic monopoly in our neck of the woods and that’s where my Dad and my two older brothers, Callum and Hamish, spend most of their energy doing the sourcing and purchasing and making deals for new lines.

One of my middle brothers, Gavin, splits his time between the three locations, managing day-to-day operations on a tight schedule.

My twin Tommy and I work at headquarters. Tommy does all the high-end custom repairs in the spacious repair shop here. As for me, I have a cubicle stuffed into the back of Tommy’s office, off of the service area. It’s tiny and cramped, but at least it’s private. I can get work done without people looking over my shoulder.

Today, it’s Friday of what must be the longest work week of my life. For a few weeks now, I’ve been working closely with Tommy on a special project to inventory and audit every part, tool and cost of the repair shop. All of that information is going into a unique database, for this business unit only, that I’m setting up from scratch.

The work is a long-overdue, in-depth profit/loss-analysis of the repair side of the business. And the project is even more of a pain because only Tommy knows this specific aspect of the business anymore. So he has to help me count inventory and populate the database while he simultaneously attends to the rich and picky clients.

Unlike myself, Tommy’s not a very good multi-tasker.

We’re only about half-way through, but he’s getting grumpier by the day. And of course, he’s not shy about showing his impatience.

I can’t blame him. It’s an endless task. There’s just…so…much….stuff! If I think about it too much, my courage fails me. It’s been a slow, tedious project and we’re so ready for it to be over.

Making this past week even draggier is how distracted I’ve been. I can’t concentrate on anything except Mark. My thoughts keep returning to the way he looks…and the way he looks at me.

And…the way I feel around him. The way he touched my foot with his, by the fire. The way he touched my hand in Rob’s garage. Jesus! I can still feel the shock of the electricity we shared!

And of course, I can’t stop all the horny imaginings of…various things. How certain of his, ah, body parts… might look…or feel.

Damn!

Yeah. I’m crushing on Mark pretty hard.

When I got in to work Monday morning, I found myself taking a peek at his account in the system, just to see what it says. Turns out, not much, since he’s still a new customer. He buys the usual stuff, pays his bills on time and that’s about all there is to see.

Of course, I’ve haunted his social media too, even though we’re not official friends anywhere yet. It doesn’t look like he posts very much, so there probably won’t be much to creep on.

Not that I usually creep on people ––much––but I can’t help but be curious about Mark.

Monday night, Mark texted me, just to say ‘hi’. We had a quick chat by text and he said he’d be in touch later in the week.

Sure enough, Wednesday night he texts me, and asks if he can call. We end up talking for almost two hours, flirting and chatting about inconsequential things.

He wants to see me the next night, the Thursday. I have to say no, explaining that I’m planning to practice for the upcoming charity race.

Of course, he’s heard the rumors and buzz around town about the race, but he doesn’t have the inside scoop like I do.

I give him the gist, including the winner’s purse for first place in the main event.

“Fifty grand? Interesting!” he says. “How do you know all these details?”

“My dad’s on the Maple Mills Motor Sports board of directors.”

“Ah. I’d definitely like to hear more about this later. But right now, I still want to book you for a date. I even have a back-up plan, because I’m a Boy Scout like that. How about Friday?”

“Friday…okay, Friday’s good. What do you have in mind?”

“It’s a secret. I want to surprise you. Would you let me do that?”

“I…sure, I guess so.”

“Good. Now, let me ask you this: Can you swim?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Okay. There’s swimming involved, which you need to know so you can bring a swim suit. Oh, and a change of clothes, too. Also…do you mind having a double-date with some friends of mine? They’re very nice people. What I have in mind kind of requires it.”

“No, I don’t mind.” Pause. “What on earth are you planning? Synchronized swimming?”

He laughs. “Can’t tell ya, it’s a surprise. Swimming’s only a part of it.”

“Okay. But…I…are we wearing a swimsuit for the other part, too?”

“No, no! But you don’t need to dress up. It’s not fancy. Listen, I want to leave right after work. What time do you get off ?”

“Five o’clock. But…”

“Where should I pick you up?”

“Um..at the office, I guess? Wait, Mark…should I do my hair? Brush my teeth? I mean, I try to brush my teeth once a week whether they need it or not, but I’ll do it extra for a special occasion.”

Silence for two heart beats.

Then, “Haha, you’re a riot,” he says. We both laugh.

“Seriously though, what should I wear? Can you be more specific than ‘it’s not fancy’?”

“Sure. It means, don’t dress up. In fact, dress down. We’re gonna be getting dirty.”

* * *

And now I’m excitedly watching the clock as it winds towards quitting time.

It took me nearly an hour last night to decide which bathing suit from my small collection to take. I settled on a nice bikini…not a skimpy one, but one that flatters my figure without showing too much.

Today’s work attire consists of jeans and a navy golf shirt with Sinclair’s logo embroidered on the upper left breast. I figure that should be appropriate for whatever Mark has planned.

I’m nervous about Mark picking me up here. I offered to meet him somewhere, wanting to erase any chances of him running into my dad or my brothers.

He wouldn’t hear of it. “Nope. I like to pick up my dates. Just tell me where you’ll be.”

So he’s coming to headquarters…thank God my dad left early to get to the Speedway, where we’re keeping the Wee Marie, the Camaro that I’ll be driving in the racing event.

“Alright, here’s the last of the inventory count for the day. Fuck, I hate this shit!” Tommy drops a sheaf of papers on my desk and collapses into a nearby chair.

I pick up the first paper in the pile and start keying the values into the computer system. It’s a mindless task I could do in my sleep. “Yeah, me too,” I reply, absently. I’m keeping a lid on it, but I’m getting more nervous and excited as my date with Mark approaches.

“You wanna stop at Arnie’s on the way to the Speedway tonight? They have homemade chicken curry. Callum highly recommends it.”

“Mmm-hmm, sure,” I mutter, fingers typing mechanically while my mind cycles through fantasy images of Mark doing various naughty things to my body.

“I think you’ll like how the Wee Marie handles now,” Tommy says. “After you left last night, Dad adjusted the timing and it seems to have made a significant improvement.”

“Mmm-hmm,” I say, thinking about how sweet it is that Mark is such an unabashed Star Wars fan. God, how adorable!

I love geeks! Especially when they’re so hot-looking and well…built.

A sensation of heat in my cheeks —and in the valley between my thighs— slowly starts to grow.

“When we get there, the first thing I’m gonna do is make that flywheel a bit tighter. We’ll see if that fixes that sluggishness in the upper revs.” Tommy’s voice in the background barely registers in my consciousness.

“Right, okay,” I mutter. In my mind, Mark is simultaneously kissing me deeply while assuring me that I am the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen in his whole entire life.

I smile, thinking how weird it is that I can fantasize about a guy kissing me while he’s talking at the same time, which is impossible. My body sure doesn’t care! I wriggle a bit in my seat.

“Yeah. Once I’ve made a few adjustments, your car should be able to launch into outer space with all rocket engines firing, reaching orbit in sixty seconds or less.”

“Uh-huh? Sounds good…” Now, my imaginary Mark is rolling both of my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers…ooooh….now he’s putting his hand between my legs…mmmm!

“Or, alternatively, you could drive that car right off a cliff and perish at the bottom in a ball of fire!”

I glance at my twin, nodding to assure him that I’m listening, and keep keying values while my fantasy-Mark is pulling my jeans down. Now he’s parting my thighs with his big, strong hands, exposing my naked…

“Or, you could just forget the whole thing and go on an axe-murdering spree at City Hall. That’ll at least get your picture in the paper before the cops have to put you down like a dog.”

“What?” I sit back, frowning, and focus on Tommy now. “Who had to put down their dog?”

Tommy guffaws, shaking his head. “Where’s your mind been the last few minutes, ‘Ree?”

“What do you mean? I…I’m working and listening to you blather about your clients.”

“Hah! I haven’t said a word about clients. You’re smiling and blushing while I’ve been talking nonsense to see if you were listening. I hope you plan to focus better when you’re practicing later.”

“Practicing later…? I was there last night, Tommy. I’m not going back tonight. I have plans.”

“Oh? You got a hot date or something?” He gives me that smirk that he does when he thinks he’s got me on something.

I shrug and then smile. No point denying it.

“Well, Dad’s waiting for us at the Speedway,” he says. “He thinks you’re coming to practice again.”

“Well, I never said I was doing laps again tonight. I practiced last night.”

“Not laps. Safety practice. But, if you wanna win, you gotta do practice laps too. Dad’s counting on you to be the face of Sinclair’s for the future. Remember?” He takes a stance and does a spot-on impression of our father’s didactic tone: “In the twenty-first century, the automobile industry is diverse and inclusive. Women are involved in increasing numbers. Marie’s participation will bring a lot of positive attention and publicity for Sinclair’s.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know, Tommy. I know. My life is all decided already.”

That feeling of being smothered rises in my chest again, making me feel panicky, yet numb and heart-sick at the same time.

Tommy’s watching me curiously. “Like I’ve said many times, no one knows how you feel better than I do!” And I know he does. His life at Sinclair’s is fully planned as well. “But…you love to drive, Marie. I know you’re nervous about this race, but no one cares if you win or not. You just have to show up and look pretty.”

“Ow!” I clap my hand over my heart. “Gee, thanks. Nice to know the bar’s been set so low for me.”

My brother groans and shakes his head. “That’s not what I…”

“I know, I know. Never mind. It’s…honestly? I am scared, but not just to race. It’s what everyone will expect of me afterwards.”

He stands up and pats me on the shoulder. “Yeah. I hear ya. But we both know what ingrates we both are for that kind of talk.” His voice is ironic but kind. “And…it’s true that we’ll never have to worry having a job.”

“Yeah but it’d be nice to have the option to work somewhere else without being viewed as a traitor to the family or something.”

“Tell me about it,” Tommy starts. “Yesterday, Dad said…”

The door between the service and office area opens, followed by the sound of my brother Gavin’s voice. “Hey! Marie!”

“Yes?” I say, poking my head out from behind the cubicle partition.

“There’s someone here to see you. Says you’re expecting him.” Gavin’s wearing a puzzled frown.

My nerves blaze, making my face burn and my heart pound.

Okay. Deep breath.

“Be right out. Thank-you,” I say.

He stares at me, then takes a couple steps inside the office and in a stage-whisper voice, says, “You mind telling me what this is about? What’s a client coming to see you for?”

“He’s not a client. I…”

“Huh? He is so a client. Thomas, why is Mark Mollenkamp coming here to head office? And why is he asking for Marie instead of you?”

“Mark’s here to see me right now. He…he’s not here not as a client.”

A big grin spreads across Tommy’s face, then he turns and gives me a wide-eyed caught ya! look.

I narrow my eyes, letting him know I don’t want to hear any nonsense.

Gavin watches this exchange. Rolling his eyes, he says, “Don’t you think he’s a little old for you, Marie?”

“No I do not, Gavin.”

Gavin shakes his head. “Interesting. Well, it’s closing time and I don’t wanna wait around to lock up.” Turning to leave, he mutters, “Good luck, I guess,” as he pulls the door closed behind him.

Tommy’s still grinning at me.

“Holy shit! Fraternizing with the customers, huh? Wait ’til Dad hears about this!”