I pat the front of my dress as I get out of my car, nervously looking toward my new (and very unknown) friend, Mr. Freeway himself.

“Hey there,” he greets me as he gets out from his Mercedes, walking toward me as he ignores the long lines of cars just to his side. With each step he takes, I can’t help but wonder more and more about why exactly I stopped in the middle of a freeway. Swear to God, sex with Wine Bar really fried my brain; that much is for sure.

“Hey,” I repeat back to him, pressing my ass back against the door of my car. Whoever this guy is, he’s much taller than me… And not only that, he’s so freaking hot! With his black shirt and confident posture, he looks like he belongs in one of these movies where they’re plotting to rob a bank or a casino or something. Seriously, is there such as a thing as too cool? Because this guy definitely looks as if he’s too cool.

“Marshall Kane,” he tells me, offering me his hand and waiting for me to grab it. Hesitantly, I reach for it. I tremble slightly as I feel his fingertips brushing against the inside of my wrist, and I feel an electric discharge racing down my spine.

“Uhm… Emily,” I reply awkwardly, running my free hand through my hair as I offer him one nervous smile. “So, is this how you make friends? You stop people on the freeway?” I ask him, trying to sound more confident than how I’m feeling.

“Not really. But I decided to open an exception for you,” he chuckles, his big fingers still gripping my hand. When he finally lets go, the pleasant warmness of his hand lingers in mine.

The sound of the Spice Girls comes out of my car and I realize belatedly that my moon roof is open.

My cheeks flush. He’s going to think I’m a total ditz.

“Is that so?” I continue answering his question and trying to play it cool and pretend I don’t hear any music, chuckling as I shift my weight from one foot to the other.

“Well, you know… Spice Girls fans are a rare breed nowadays. I was curious,” he replies, and I blush almost immediately.

Kill me now.

I feel my heart picking up the pace, boiling blood rushing to my cheeks and turning them into a violent red.

“Guilty as charged,” I shrug, mentally trying to ‘unblush’ myself, as if that was possible. Still, I can’t deny what he just said. I was caught in the act, after all. “Don’t tell me you’re a fan too.”

“Not really,” he laughs. “Old pop music isn’t really my thing, Emily,” he says, his tone of voice so relaxed and confident that it almost seems like he’s saying something extremely cool. Even though he’s just talking like a regular human being, there’s something about his posture that gives him an air of a modern James Dean.

“What’s your thing, then?” I ask him, and I almost facepalm myself; I can’t believe I gave him such an easy opening!

“Spice girls fans, of course,” he teases me, and he doesn’t even try to hide the way his eyes wander down my figure, carefully appraising every single curve of my body. Instead of slapping him, though, I find myself blushing even more. Sure, I always turn a few heads around whenever I walk into a room, but it’s always nice to feel the lustful gaze of a handsome man like this.

“You okay, Emily?” Freeway asks. “You seem kind of flushed.”

I’m dying. But I put on a brave face and let the laughter come back.

“I dunno, Freeway,” I say, and he raises his eyes at me when he hears me call him that. “Normal people don’t do this.”

“What do you say we go out one of these days?” he asks me then, and I honestly don’t know how my knees keep supporting my weight.

“That’s pretty straightforward of you,” I tell him, managing to put on some kind of a fight. Even though I’m pretty happy about him asking me out, I also know that a girl always has to put up some resistance. It’s never a good policy to bend the knee to the first man that demands it, right?

“Well, we don’t have much time,” he says with a smirk. “We’re on the side of a busy…freeway.”

“I mean, you sure you don’t even want to sext first?” I ask with a smirk. The old Emily is coming back. And he wants to dance, so let's dance.

“Sext? You mean send each other … naughty pictures?” he asks me with intense looking eyes.

I nod my head.

Why do I feel so silly all of a sudden?

“I’d rather just see your body in person,” he merely shrugs as he says this and I draw my breath out in a gasp, his eyes never leaving mine. “So, can I have your number?” He continues, his deep voice sending a shiver down my spine. I’m about to give him my digits when he raises one open hand, stopping me right before I open my mouth. “No, let’s do it like this; I give you my number, and you can call me whenever you feel like it. What do you say?”

“What if I never feel like calling you?” I shoot right back at him, my fiery instinct kicking in.

“Your loss then,” he laughs, “but something tells me you’ll do it.”

“You’re not a serial killer or something, are you?”

“Not during work hours,” he teases me, and I can’t help but laugh. God, I hope he’s really teasing me and that he isn’t a serial killer in his free time.

“Well…” I mutter as I take my cellphone out of my purse. “No harm in having your number, I guess.”

“No harm at all,” he whistles, snagging the phone out of my hand and unlocking it. He keys his number in and then hands me back the phone. Placing his hands in his pockets, he then turns around and starts walking back to his car.

“That’s it?” I ask him, and I feel like an idiot the moment the words leave my mouth. What the hell was I expecting? For him to push me back against the hood of my car and have his way with me right here, right now?

“That’s it,” he chuckles, sitting inside his Mercedes and putting on his black Ray Bans. “I’ll be waiting for your call, Emily.” With a casual salute, he then closes his car door and turns on the engine. I stand there, completely dumbfounded as he drives into the incoming traffic and disappears.

What the hell just happened?, I ask myself as I sit inside my car, my hands gripping the steering wheel. Did a guy on the freeway just ask me out?

Oh, yeah, sometimes life’s crazier than fiction.