"What do you mean you don't have gas?" I start to chase after him but his dog is right on top of my feet. As soon as I try to take a step I trip and almost face-plant onto the concrete on the other side of the fluffy, black obstacle.

By the time I regain my balance without managing to break my wrist or my nose and without disturbing my new friend from her perch on top of the toe of my boot, Mr. Tall, Handsome, and Misogynist is gone.

Damn my luck!

I've been riding my little dual sport bike all over the west for 3 weeks, trying to burn up extra vacation time before I lose it. This dude is the first guy I've seen in a long time that makes my panties feel like they're melting, and he turns out to be one of those assholes that think a woman shouldn't be traveling unchaperoned.

Like it's 1885 or some shit.

Fucking pig.

I want to kick something, but there's not much within kicking distance except for the little black dog staring up at me adoringly. I'm sure as hell not about to kick her.

"Hey," my whole mood changes when I look down at her. She's so black she doesn't look real. I can't see her eyes under her fur, the only thing that makes it easy to tell one end from the other is the bright pink tongue hanging out of her mouth. I squat down so I can pet her, "So your name's 'Ninja?' "

There's a heart shaped tag on her collar that confirms what I thought the guy called her.

"Well, Ninja," I tell her while I scratch her ear, "your dad is kind of an asshole."

Ninja drops to the ground and rolls over so I can rub her belly. I take that to mean she agrees with me.

I need to suck up my pride and go find that guy again, find out what he means by "there's no gas." There's zip for cell signal out here, I carried my phone all over the place earlier hoping to get at least enough signal to make a call. Nothing.

According to the map, the nearest thing passing for a town is 72 miles south of here. My tank is bone dry, but the advantage to a small bike is that it gets amazing gas mileage. One gallon and I can get off this guy's porch and find a real town with a real gas station.

From the way he was talking to me, I'm betting getting me off his property and out of his hair is a plan he's going to be all too eager to sign up for.

Too bad. He's hot. Even if he isn't friendly.

I pace uncertainly, taking a few steps from my bike toward the back of the store where the guy disappeared and then returning to my bike, not sure if I should unpack the tail bag and find a spot around here to make camp, since it sounds like I might be here for awhile if I'm understanding what the dude meant by the pump being dry.

Dammit, I don't want to be stuck here. This is definitely worse case scenario-- far worse than just needing gas in the middle of nowhere after the station closes for the night.

I notice lights on inside the store.

"What do you think, Ninja?" I ask the black puddle of fur that keeps following me, "Do I set up the tent and wait it out, or do I suck it up and try to play nice with your dad so maybe he'll help me out?"

Ninja looks up at me and wags her tail.

I'm not sure what that means.

"I can see you're going to be a lot of help," I tell her.

Looking back toward the store, I feel myself frown as I watch him inside. He's dressed now, simple jeans and t-shirt, and his hair is combed.

He's still hot as hell. He really is tall, over 6 foot easy. The t-shirt isn't too tight but it hugs the bulge of his biceps and clings to his chest just enough to remind me of the sculpted torso he had on full display out here earlier.

Being stuck at a gas station with no gas could have been a lot more fun if he had a personality half as sexy as his bod.

Oh well.

He wouldn't be the first guy I've met who was nice to look at but was a total jackass.

He also wouldn't be the first guy I've run into on this trip that thinks a girl shouldn't be riding a motorcycle across the western US without a man along for "protection."

I can't count how many lectures I've gotten over the last 3 weeks from men who felt it was necessary to let me know how dangerous it was for a female to travel alone. Or camp alone. Or stay in a hotel alone. Hell! One guy even gave me his pocket knife.

This is my last leg of the trip. I'm supposed to be home tomorrow and back to work next week.

So far, the worst guy I've met on this trip has been the gorgeous asshole that I'm watching turn on that coffee pot inside the store right now, and I sure as hell can't really say he's dangerous.

He comes to the door and his face darkens into a deep scowl as our eyes meet as he unlocks the door from inside.

Something twists inside me. Not the sweet sensation of meaningless lust, something else. There's that feeling from when I heard his voice before, like I recognize him from somewhere. A sense of familiarity.

Despite all the ideas I've come up with to get me back on the road, I'm overcome with what seems like an incredibly bad idea: I know that as soon as I march through those unlocked doors and make quick work of that pot of coffee, I'm going to set my tent back up and wait for the gas truck.

That man might be dangerous after all.