Shae muttered a few choice words in French as a rivulet of hot oil dripped down along his forearm and onto his cheek. Thankfully the thin, viscousy substance hadn't reached a scalding temperature, and he wiped it from his skin using the neck of his wifebeater. Ah, the joys of automotive maintenance.
Currently he was stretched out beneath the front end of his Firebird, changing the oil filter and trying not to end up with anymore face paint than was absolutely necessary. He'd been meaning to get around to this particular chore for a few weeks now, but if it wasn't one goddamn distraction, it was always another.
Cue the familiar voice shouting his name.
Shae set his socket wrench down gingerly, brow furrowing at the unexpected development. Carefully he rolled himself out from beneath the car's undercarriage and sat up, glancing around for the source of all the racket. His eyes landed on the barefoot, black-clad figure twenty yards away from him, and his breath hitched.
He was taller than Shae remembered. The voice was a little deeper, a little throatier, and though the other man's frame was still thin and lanky, he had the look of lean, corded muscle about him. He'd definitely grown up, although his face had remained mostly the same. Shae would know that face anywhere.
"Fuck me," he said under his breath, wiping his oil-stained hands against his jeans and struggling to his feet before waving an arm to catch the approaching man's attention. "Sonuvabitch, JACK!"