Title: Zeno
Author: Gene Gant
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: 05/20/2025
Heat Level: 2 - Fade to Black Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 78100
Genre: Contemporary YA, contemporary, US South, YA, high school, coming out, coming of age, bisexual, gay, Black teens, slow burn, friend crush, family, black joy, humorous, friendship, #ownvoices
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Description
Excerpt
Zeno
Gene Gant © 2025
All Rights Reserved
“Are we ready, Zeno?”
I looked up, the smile automatically spreading across my face. Mrs. Herron stood in the middle bay of my dad’s auto shop, smiling back at me. For a thirty-something sister, she was really pretty. And hella hot in her tight jeans and blue turtleneck.
“Sure thing, ready to rock,” I replied in my most upbeat, customer-friendly tone. For the record, the “we” she was referring to didn’t include me. She meant herself and her baby, the cherry-red Lexus NX 300 whose hood was currently undergoing a power-buffing at my determined hands.
This was my quasi-new hustle. Almost a year ago, in April, I started working part-time at Dad’s shop doing janitorial work—dumping trash cans, cleaning bathrooms, sweeping and mopping, that sorta stuff. Four months later, a dude brought in his muddy pickup for a new transmission and offered to pay extra for a wash and shine. When Dad turned him down on the cleaning, I volunteered my service, accidentally starting my own car detailing business. After scrubbing abused toilets and emptying absolutely unholy garbage cans, this was definitely a less disturbing and more lucrative livelihood.
Mrs. Herron, one of my best customers, was a corporate attorney who could’ve easily passed for a Memphis Grizzlies cheerleader.
“Well, let’s see about that.” She stepped from the shaded opening of the bay into the afternoon sunshine. Her short black Afro sparkled in the bright yellow rays. So did her eyes as she angled her way between me and the right front fender of her car. With blue microfiber towels clutched in both hands, I moved back to give her room.
I smiled, aglow with pride as she inspected my handiwork. The car interior had been thoroughly vacuumed and dusted, the leather seats and trim wiped down with honey-inspired leather conditioner. The windows had been polished inside and out, totally free of streaks. And the exterior, tires and rims included, bore a super shine worthy of a new car fresh out of the dealership.
“Well,” Mrs. Herron sighed when she completed the circuit of her car and stood next to me. The citrusy smell of her perfume tingled in my nose. Man! Mr. Herron was one lucky dude. “Baby looks like she just rolled off the showroom floor.”
See? I wasn’t exaggerating.
Mrs. Herron lowered her chin, looking directly into my eyes. The smile she gave me now was quite pleased. For some reason, my whole face suddenly flared hot, and I had to look away for a moment. She opened the little black purse she carried, pulled out a neat green roll, and handed it to me. “Great job as usual, Zenie. And you got Baby ready in time for me to make my meeting downtown as promised. Thanks. See you in two weeks.”
“Sure thing, Mrs. Herron.” I opened the driver’s door for her. She slid behind the wheel, fired up the engine, and backed carefully into the street. With a casual wave, she took off.
I’d put away the hose and bucket after finishing the wash and rinse. Humming, I tossed my buffing towels into the old toolbox with the rest of my detailing supplies, grabbed the box, and walked into the service bay.
Bobbo, one of my dad’s mechanics, got in my face right off. He was, like, in his forties with a thin body, a bald head, and a wiry black whisk broom of a goatee. His dark red coveralls were so smudged with grime they looked black. After my last growth spurt, he was now maybe five inches shorter than me, which meant we stood with his nose about level to my chin. He still managed eye contact. His smirk was the kind you’d probably see on an anthropomorphic cat who’d just left a fresh hairball in one of your shoes.
“You don’t count your money, kid?” he said. “That ain’t good policy.”
“I trust Mrs. Herron.” I tried to step around him.
He got in my way again. “Don’t let the pretty faces make you stupid. This is business. Even if they ain’t cheats, people make mistakes. How do you know your customer didn’t accidentally shortchange ya?”
“Uhm?” Okay, he had a point. I unfolded the roll of bills Mrs. Herron had given me and counted them. My mouth dropped open. “Dang. She paid in full and threw in a fifty-buck tip!”
That smirk on Bobbo’s face turned evil. “Hell, I got it all wrong. Lady Law wasn’t the one who played on pretty, huh, ‘Zenie’?” He tweaked my nipple.
“Ow.” I jerked away from his pinching fingers. “What’re you talking about?”
“Yeah, right. Like that tight-ass T-shirt of yours got wet by itself.” Bobbo shook his head, chuckling, and turned away.
“You got it wrong, Bobbo,” I protested, but he waved me off as he went back to work on the car he had hoisted in the air. I felt stung. Let it be known that I’m not a tease, especially when it comes to grown-ass married women who happen to be customers of mine. My T-shirt was tight because I’d been working out a lot over the past few months, bulking up, and neither Mom nor I had gotten around to buying bigger shirts for me. My T-shirt was wet because I’d just finished washing two cars, and I was kinda sloppy when it came to water hoses. Any tips I earned were for doing a thorough, most excellent job and not because I showed off my muscles.
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Meet the Author
A former corporate writer of business correspondence, policy, and training manuals, Gene Gant lives with his family in a quiet little neighborhood outside Memphis, Tennessee. You can find Gene on Facebook.Giveaway
One lucky winner will receive a $50.00 NineStar Press Gift Code!
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