Chapter 1
Rebeckha
What does one do when they feel that the world is against them?
Why would I be pondering this, you ask?
Because today, I got laid off from my job and I just got into a car accident.
I’m twenty-seven years old and this is my first accident and I do not like it one bit. I’m immediately annoyed and feel so out of control.
Luckily, the accident isn't my fault, although my car is now seriously unhappy as the smoke billows out from under the hood. I’m pretty sure there is a hefty dent on both ends of my prized Volkswagen Jetta that I've had since high school, who I lovingly named Boxy senior year. Joking aside, my car could very well be totaled.
I'm minding my own business, sitting in line at a red light when suddenly, I'm jerked from my private personal audition for American Idol by the sudden jolt of my car from behind, which propels my car into the truck in front of me. I brace myself with my hands on the steering wheel as I hear crunching and my car is pushed from behind into the truck in front of me.
I put my car in park and turn off the ignition, then open my door and step out just as another car whizzes by at full speed. I yelp and press myself against my car and, as soon as my heart resumes its normal beat, I look both ways and unpeel myself from the side of my car. We’re in the right lane of the road and cars are already going around the accident. I walk to the vehicle in front of mine, a beast of a truck with a hitch that’s looks to be piercing my car, and Boxy's alternator through my front grill. Since I’m no mechanic, I can only assume that’s the reason why smoke is coming out from under the hood. The door of the truck swings open and a portly fellow hops down from the driver’s seat.
"Well darlin’, looks like your old car there is a little upset,” he says sympathetically with a twang to his voice.
"It appears so," I reply, looking between our cars.
"Hey, guys! Look, I'm fucking sorry. You both okay?" a lightly accented voice asks from behind me.
I slowly turn around and come face to face with a gorgeous specimen of the male species. I take in his appearance and he’s not as frazzled as I seem to be; instead he displays a nonchalant no-fucks-given attitude. He towers over me by at least a foot and his short brown hair is disheveled perfectly to look like he attempted some semblance of prep. He has a large muscular frame featuring thick and deliciously manly arms. For a moment, I forget that I am pissed off that he hit my precious car and just ogle him.
His dark jeans are snug in all the right places, including over his muscular thighs. He works out, but he’s not grotesque about it, as evidendenced by his sexy arm veins, and broad shoulders leading to a thick neck. Wait, did I say sexy arm veins? When I look at his face, I notice a small scar above his lips, which are pale pink, and have the perfect proportions between the upper and lower. He has deep brown eyes and a few days’ worth of scruff lining his jaw. He looks familiar, but I’m not able to pinpoint where I know him from. I shouldn't be openly gawking at this man who severely injured my precious Boxy, so I shake my head to break the trance that I am in from staring at him.
He looks over the back of my car and a slow smile creeps across his face. Why the fuck is he smiling? He walks past me and checks the damage to the front of the vehicle. He comes back to where I am standing with the portly fellow and he’s laughing quietly.
"Well, it looks like a spit roast."
"I'm sorry, a what?" I ask, my hands going to my hips in automatic defense as I’m not clear what he is referring to, exactly.
"A spit roast. You know, a sexual term for when a lady is in between two guys and she's got her mouth on one guy’s … errr, dick, and then another guy’s dick is …, you know … fucking her." He smirks as if this is a normal conversation.
"You realize that this is a car accident and not some weird porno that you watch, right? You hit my freaking car!" My voice shakes as I start to raise it, my fists balling in frustration.
He catches on to my foul mood, his laughter fading along with his gorgeous megawatt smile, and he raises his hands up in defense.
"Look, I'm sorry. I'm just trying to make light of a shit situation. Let's start over. Hi, I'm Malcolm Jane and I just hit your car because I was distracted and not paying attention to the road," he says apologetically.
Again, the no-fucks-given attitude coming from him. It’s taking me every ounce of energy not to slap him across the face. He must notice that my control is starting to waver, so he takes a step back and puts his hands in his pockets.
“I’m Rebeckha and that’s my poor car.” I want to cry, but I hold it in.
"Listen, I'm sorry. Really, I am. Let’s just exchange information and again, I'm sorry," he says quietly. He turns and walks to his vehicle, reaches inside and grabs what looks like his wallet then walks back to us. Meanwhile, the portly fellow does the same.
I reach into my own car and grab my wallet and a pad of paper to take down his information.
"Listen, son, it's a shit thing to not be paying attention to the road when you're driving that thing," the portly guy says, pointing to Malcolm’s truck.
"Yes, sir." Malcolm agrees, nodding.
It's then that I really look at Malcolm’s vehicle. His truck is practically identical to the truck in front of mine. They strike me as two very masculine vehicles bookending Boxy, a feminine vehicle. In that moment, I register what Malcolm was saying about the scene and I snort loudly. Covering my mouth instantly, I look to both gentlemen. Malcolm looks up and smirks at me, but I avoid all eye contact with him.
Where do I know him from?
I write down all his insurance information, take photos of the damage and, when he's not looking, I sneak a photo of Malcolm. I'm sure he wouldn't mind.
The portly fellow announces his departure and leaves Malcolm and me alone.
"Listen, sorry I was such a bitch at first. Accidents suck and this just adds to the pile of shit that I have to deal with now." I say.
"I'm the fuck-up here and I should have been paying attention more to the road. Let me take you to lunch or something, I know that won't make up for this." He waves at the cars. "But a free meal and my groveling can't hurt." His flashes that smile.
"No, thanks. I don’t think so. Besides, now I'm late and should get going."
Why am I lying to him, where am I late to?
"Very well. If you won't accept my groveling over a meal, let's exchange numbers at least. I'll do what I can with the insurance part but there may be some things we need to schedule to get your car fixed."
"Been in a lot of accidents?" I ask, handing over my phone for him to add his number.
"You're my first." He winks.
Is he hitting on me? Bastard!
"Well, Malcolm. It's been exciting.” He hands me my phone and our hands brush, sending an electric charge through my arm.
“While the circumstances of meeting you are unfortunate, I can’t say that I’m disappointed with meeting you.” He smiles as I slide into my car.
I turn the key but my car won’t turn over. I try a few more times with no luck and bang my hands against the steering wheel, while letting out a frustrated groan to the ceiling of the car.
“Fuck. This is just what I need.” I whine to the open space putting my head back against the headrest and looking up.
A knock on my window startles me, I move to roll it down. Yes, roll because Boxy is vintage.
“I’ve called the police so we can get a police report and a tow, then I can take you wherever you need,” Malcolm states.
“I can wait for the tow,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.
“I’ll wait with you,” he says as he dials his phone. He speaks into the receiver and looks around to identify our location to give directions to where we are. I step back out of my car and lean against the driver’s side.
This sucks. I think to myself
At least I’m not alone. And Malcolm isn’t bad to look at.
I look to him, and watch his features as he talks animatedly to the tow company.
“So the tow will be here in ten minutes, tops,” he says as he leans beside me.
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure. It’s the least that I can do. After all, this is all my fault.” He shrugs.
“So what had you so distracted that you rammed your truck into Boxy?”
“Boxy?”
“My car.”
“I dropped something on the floor and was trying to retrieve it when I felt the impact. Completely a dumbass move, but whatever. I have good insurance, so your Boxy will be well taken care of.” He smiles.
We wait in silence for a few more minutes before the tow truck shows up. Malcolm does all the talking while I stand next to Boxy, already missing her.
I move to get into the tow truck, when Malcolm grabs my forearm halting my advance.
“I’ll take you to go get a rental. This will likely take a few days once everything gets processed.” he says.
“You don’t have to. I can Uber places.” Knowing that I have nowhere to go, aids in the rejection of his offer.
He motions for me to get into his truck. I am getting tired of rejecting his generosity, so I drag my feet to the passenger side. I need to act like he doesn’t affect me, so I put a little extra grump into my movements.
Remember, Beck, he hurt your precious Boxy.
Malcolm
From behind, her ass is shaped like a perfect peach. Her skin is tan, her long hair is a mixture of blonde and red. I can imagine wrapping her hair in my fist, yanking it and pulling her lips to mine. And I haven’t even seen her face yet.
I make myself known and she turns around. She's pissed off, which is not unexpected since I just hit her car and made it look like a threesome with the truck in front of hers. Maybe I shouldn’t have even said it’s like a spit roast because, if anything, I likely just totally pissed her the fuck off even more.
Great!
Just great, Mal. Go ahead and ruin any chances to get in her pants.
After the short, older bloke leaves, I offer whatever I can, since she was shit out of luck now without a vehicle; again... my fault.
She's eased up a bit on her attitude with me and is being slightly nicer. So I may have a chance. Why do I want a chance though, that’s what’s troubling me? I could have any female who comes to this city. I’ve had my fair share of tail, but there’s just something striking about this particular one. It could be the sass that she’s been giving me, or I could be a fucked-up bloke and be wildly attracted to someone who hates me.
Since my insurance is gonna take care of this whole accident and the rental car, I might as well take this opportunity to keep in contact with her. She insists that she doesn’t need a rental, but I can’t let her go without a vehicle. So, I will have to have one of the guys strategically help me with that after I drop her off.
As she gives me directions to her apartment, I take mental notes of where I'm going, which is about eight miles away from the Las Vegas Strip, with the intent on coming here again.
I pull up to a gated entrance and she pulls out her keys and presses the fob. The gates open up and she directs me to the left. We pass several neutral-toned apartment sections until she directs me to park in front of a garage door that’s opening. It’s marked with the number 13, and I assume it is hers.
“So, thank you for the lift.” she says, while fidgeting with her keys not making a move to get out.
“The auto shop will call me with an ETA soon, and I’ll let you know any and all details. You sure I can’t interest you in an apology meal? Or anything?”
“I really would just like to go and sit with a tub of ice cream and avoid contact with humans right now. No offense, I’m sure you’re a nice human and all, but I’ve had it with adulting today. I quit.”
I nod, unsure how to respond. Since I barely know her, I can’t force myself too much in her space. She steps out of the car and closes the door. I wait until she reaches the door and looks over her shoulder, she gives me a smile and a wave.
At least that’s something.
I pull away from her garage and leave her complex all the while trying to come up with a reason to talk to her again, and soon.
***
I park my car in the underground parking for the gym and grab my bag out of the backseat. I ride the elevator with an elderly gentleman who keeps looking at the size of my biceps, so playfully I flex them, each time earning a gasp from the gentlemen. The elevator doors open, and instantly the vacuumed silence of the elevator becomes music pumping loudly through the space. Off in the distance, you can hear weights moving, lifters grunting, and plenty of chatter from the gym patrons. I wave to the front desk guy and head toward the personal trainers’ offices to start my day.
During the week when I’m not rehearsing for shows, I am a personal trainer. My life is centered on a routine, and I’m happy with it. I have steady clients during the week and I perform three to four nights a week. I don’t have a lot of downtime, but sometimes – just sometimes – I wish I had someone to share this life with. Then I go to work and am reminded that all women are the same. Hell, all men are the same as well. We’re all just horny bastards looking for a thrill. My line of work provides the thrill that people seek and I enjoy the attention I get from it.
I wasn’t lying when I said that I was happy to have met her due to my fuck up, which resulted in her car being sandwiched between mine and another in a bingle. She is mesmerizing, and her personality is aces and seems to align with mine in just the right amount. I was instantly curious about her as soon as she turned around and righted me with just a look.
I was curious about her. I’ve never had such a strong reaction to a female in quite some time that the feelings were confusing. She had a spitfire vibe about her that I wasn’t used to and, while she had enough sass to be savory, I could tell she was just as sweet, like a peach.
And now I’m thinking about her ass again!
***
Rebeckha and I have been talking for the past week about her car being repaired and I’ve also sent random messages asking her to drinks, to dinner, or just to hang out. Each time, she declines or switches subjects. I still make the advances; you never know when I could wear her down.
Flirting with her over the phone added another element to my routine – an extra adventure. She was interested, I could tell, but there was just something that was holding her back from going for it.
Either that or she likes the chase just as much as I do.