After the world's shortest shower and throwing on some clothes, I make my way down the interior stairway that leads into the store's back room.

I wish I knew what it was about that chick that had my mind spinning in circles.

Probably her tits. I remember the way her nipples strained at the weave of her thermal shirt as she sat on the ground in the cool morning air.

Or her ass. The image of the perfect handful of her heart-shaped butt invades my thoughts as I work my way through the routine of opening the store.

Ninja likes her.

I stop what I'm doing and cast a glance out to the parking lot. The girl is still out there, hovering between the tail bag that's cinched down on the rack on the back of her bike and the edge of the porch that runs the length of the store.

She seems to be deciding whether or not to unpack her bag again.

I can't help but smile as I watch her look down at Ninja's adoring gaze. She's talking to the damn dog. Like she's asking Ninja for advice.

The girl glances toward the store and I make sure to get busy again. I don't need her thinking I'm watching her. She doesn't seem like the kind of chick that would be flattered by knowing how fucking hard my dick's been since I got a good look at her earlier.

I remind myself that Ninja likes everyone. The fact that the little shithead seems to have fallen for the girl doesn't mean jack shit to me.

The only reason I can't stop looking at her is because it's been too damn long since I got laid.

That's the story I'm telling myself and I'm sticking to it.

I flip the switch on the coffee maker, the heating element kicks to life and the dark liquid begins to fill the pot.

That's about it. Time to unlock the door and get today started.

Not that I'm likely to do much business without gas available.

I twist the key in the lock from my side of the door and my eyes can't help but look up at her. She's looking straight at me. For a second we stare at each other and I see something cross her features that does something to me.

Not sure what the fuck to make of that. It's only for a second and maybe I'm reading into shit because she's cute as hell and part of me really wants her naked in my bed, but just for that second or so I swear she's looking at me like she wants the same thing.

Then that hard look is back on her face as she heads toward the store.

Obviously I was hallucinating. I head for my chair behind the counter, deciding to just stay out of her way.

"So, the station is out of gas?" She asks as she holds the door open for Ninja to follow her inside.

I nod without opening my mouth. We might have gotten off on a bad foot and maybe there's not a chance in hell of me getting my hands wrapped around those full breasts that are bobbing under her shirt as she makes a beeline for the coffee maker, but I'm stuck with her. No point in making things worse.

"How the fuck does a gas station run out of gas?" She demands as she leans that sweet ass up against the counter by the coffee maker while she grips the Styrofoam cup of hot liquid in her hands like her life depends on it.

"How the fuck does a motorcycle run out of gas?" Shit. So much for not making things worse.

She tilts her head and raises an eyebrow in a look that's all "fuck you" but she doesn't say it.

"Fucking Oregon," she mutters into her coffee with a shake of her head that sends her long blonde braid sliding off her shoulder. "That's how a motorcycle runs out of gas-- Oregon."

That's some funny shit. I've heard a lot of excuses from motorists for why they're not prepared for their trips in various ways, but I've never heard anyone actually blame the state for making them run out of gas.

"Oh, please explain," I say with a dry chuckle, "I gotta hear this."

I lean back in my chair and prop my feet up on the lid of the trash can behind the cashier's counter where I'm sitting.

"Your stupid rules that don't let people pump their own gas," she tells me with an impatience that suggests it ought to be obvious, "every other state in the country has self serve pumps."

"New Jersey," I point out to her, "You can't pump gas in New Jersey either."

She glares at me, "Good to know, thanks," she says, "I'll know to stay the fuck out of New Jersey too then."

"Yeah well, I still don't get how mandatory full service means you didn't gas up at the last station." I drop my feet to the floor and turn to look out the window at her bike.

It's small, maybe a Yamaha, I can't be sure. It's got all the stickers peeled off and it's been painted a flat, desert sand color with some tribal patterns on the fender that are actually pretty badass...for a chick bike.

"You got a what? 2 gallon tank on that thing? You got maybe a hundred fifty mile range including reserve?"

She's glaring at me again. Or maybe still, I don't really know since I looked away from her there for a minute.

"160 if I'm lucky, 130 average," she says.

She takes a sip of her coffee and when she does, she closes her eyes and smiles, taking a deep breath. In that moment she's not being a sarcastic bitch and, I swear, if I didn't think she was beautiful before, there's no mistaking it now.

I envy the coffee. I wonder what it's like to be adored by this woman like that? Maybe I'll ask Ninja what she's like when she doesn't hate you later.

"I didn't realize eastern Oregon was so utterly devoid of civilization," she tells me, "I knew I couldn't pump my own gas, I didn't know that was going to mean I couldn't get gas. If I'd realized there was nothing but one pump stations that close at 6 pm, I'd have planned my timing better."

"Well you're lucky I'm even here," I point out, "Fell's Valley isn't even a town, you could have ended up pushing your bike another 72 miles."

She's giving me that same glare, the one that drops her head to one side with her eyebrow up and her lips pursed together so they look pouty and soft.

My dick jumps back to life, making me glad I'm behind the counter. Man, I'd love to have those lips wrapped around my cock.

"Fat lotta good you being here is doing me." Her voice goes into full sarcasm mode but I can't blame her for that one.

She's spot on this time so I laugh. "Well at least you're 72 miles closer to a fresh pot of coffee," I point out with a gesture toward the cup that she just refilled.

She smiles into her cup in silent agreement.

At least I've got one thing she wants.