“Why are you out here?”
“What?” She sips from the water bottle. “My mouth is wrung out from the sugar and salt.”
“I bet,” I smirk. She consumed not only the chips but also the whole pack of Twizzlers. “Why are you out here on this road tonight?”
“Um, that’s a long story. I’d rather not get into it.”
“Come on; I thought we were friends,” I cajole, nudging her shoulder. “Tell me.”
“Fine, but I’m keeping it simple and quick, and don’t interrupt. Actually, don’t say a thing even when I’m done.”
“Got it.” I make the Boy Scout sign with my fingers. She rolls her eyes, correctly guessing I was never a Boy Scout.
“I’m heading out for a new start. My life’s a mess. I’ve been unable to finish a college degree, and not because my grades suck. They’re excellent. It’s because I can’t make up my mind.
“I took a couple of years after high school to figure out what interested me, and I thought I’d found my passion in event planning, so I enrolled in a hospitality program. It took two years to figure out I’d made a bad choice. I’m not an event planner. How I thought I’d enjoy the stress, the personalities, and the last-minute disasters is beyond me. I then took another couple of years to decide I wanted to be a nurse, but again, I wasn’t cut out for needles, blood, and people dying. I was miserable, so I dropped out.”
“I’m sensing a pattern here,” I interject, unable to resist, although I should keep quiet. I’m fascinated by her story.
“Uh-uh, you promised not to say a word. One more thing out of your mouth and I stop talking.”
I almost challenge her by saying I’d like to see that, because I doubt she can be quiet. It’s obvious her story is hard for her to share—she’s wearing down the wheel with her roaming hands. I guess she considers herself a failure because of her lack of direction.
To me, she’s brave enough to try new things, to want to find her true passion. I lost mine for the band years ago and kept my mouth shut for too long—so long, I ended up carelessly blurting out my departure to my bandmates and closest friends. No wonder they kicked me out.
“Anyway, I’m now less than two weeks out of college and back to square one. About a week ago, I came home early to find my boyfriend in bed with another woman. Even though I wanted to leave, I didn’t have anywhere to go. He said I could stay until I figured things out, but that was his guilt talking, and it was such a bad idea. Two days ago, he kicked me out. His new girlfriend didn’t like me still living with him, and frankly, neither did I, so I had to go. Then…” She hesitates. “You know what? Forget it. That’s enough humiliation for one lifetime.”
“Tell me. You can’t end it there.”
“Fine.” Her voice is small. “I went to my older sister Ivy’s house, asking to stay with her.” She swallows and takes a deep breath before going on. “She refused. She let me stay last night but said I had to be gone today. So, this is me getting gone. Go ahead, say it.”
“Say what?”
“Tell me how stupid I am.” She turns away from me as her hand wipes at her cheek. Is she crying?
“Hey, all I was going to say is your ex-boyfriend and sister sound like dicks, and you should be glad you’re getting away from them.”
Her burst of laughter comes as a surprise to both of us. With water pooling in her eyes, she smiles, and something strange and intense tugs at my heart. I like making her smile.
“You’re right; they’re dicks.” Her voice is stronger, almost cheerful. “Anyway, now I’m on my next adventure, and I’ve got no clue where I’m going.”
“I don’t think that’s a bad thing. It sounds exciting, and it’s courageous and smart.”
“What? Really?” She whips her head in my direction, eyes wide with surprise. I point my finger back at the road, motioning for her to watch where she’s driving.
“Yeah. You’ve got the courage to explore different things, and you’re smart for wanting to find your passion. Too many people get stuck in a job because that’s what we’re all told to do—go to school, find a job, make a living, have a family, blah, blah, blah. You’re not following the herd. You’ve stopped to listen to your heart and figure out what the hell it is you want to do with your life. So, you’re not only contributing to society, but it also means something to you. That’s smart.”
Pansy’s smile is blinding even in the darkness of the car, and the faint light from the driver’s panel illuminates her glittering eyes. My sense is not many people encourage or support her.
The car begins to shimmy and shake. She whips her head back to the road, white-knuckling the steering wheel.
With a small scream, she cries, “What the hell is going on? I didn’t hit anything. It’s listing to the right.”
“Pull over,” I order, helping to steer the car to the side of the road.
The ride is bumpy and jerky as she slowly and carefully brings us to a stop. Simultaneously, we jump out of the car. The front passenger side tire is a sad sight, deflated and misshapen.
“Fuck. Seriously?” I yell, gripping my hair.
“Shit. It’s probably from the pothole I hit hours ago.”
“You should have been watching the fucking road, and this wouldn’t have happened,” I fire at her. Her calm tone infuriates me more. “Who goes straight for a fucking pothole? Now what the fuck are we going to do?”
Pansy gasps, taking several steps away from me. Frowning, she tightens her jaw and purses her lips. “You don’t have to be a jerk. I didn’t deliberately do it, and I already apologized for it.” She folds her arms across her chest. “I’m sure there’s a spare. We’ll change it and be on our way.”
Striding past me, she goes in search of the spare while I stand there stewing in my anger. I just want to get back on the damn bus—why is it so hard? Am I asking for too much? I don’t fucking think so.
Her grunting and groaning pull me out of my gloom. This slip of a woman is giving it her all in trying to lift the spare tire out of the car, and she’s getting nowhere. If I were in a different frame of mind, I’d find it amusing.
Instead, I’m stunned by her round, luscious ass sticking up in the air. Her jean shorts are so short, her creamy ass cheeks peek out from the denim, as well as a sliver of her black lace panties.
I snarl at my body’s reaction to her; angry and turned on are the last things I want to be right now. “Get out of the way.” Moving her, I yank the tire, jack, and other necessary items out of the car. “Stand back.”
“No wonder you were kicked off the bus,” she mutters under her breath.
Stopping, I glare at her. She’s straightening her clothes and finger-combing her hair away from her face, oblivious to me. When our eyes do meet, instead of backing down as any sane person would, she stands her ground, chest out, chin up, and glowers back. Her hair’s disheveled, cheeks flushed, eyes wild. My cock stirs to life.
Shaking my head at this game I don’t have time to play, I grind my teeth and will my dick down. Dismissing her, I get to work.
It’s not long before I need help. The flashlight—which was stowed in the car, thank goodness—is tricky to hold between my teeth while unscrewing the busted tire. The light flickers in and out, and I’m unable to steady the beam.
“Pans, some help here would be appreciated.” My tone’s snarky.
“Do not call me Pans. My name is Pansy. Try asking nicely, and I’ll consider helping.” She’s snooty.
Throwing the tool and flashlight to the ground, I growl, “Fucking forget it. I’ll do it myself.”
“Good! I’m done with you.” She pivots and stomps off into the dark.
Her long red mane sways in time with her ass and curves. Fuck her. I seriously don’t have the time or the patience for her theatrics. If she wants to act like a drama queen, she can go right ahead, but I won’t be her audience.
It takes another twenty minutes to finish the task, and she hasn’t come back, which surprises me. I definitely expected her to return. It’s pitch black and who the fuck knows what wild animals are lurking out there.
My concern grows the longer I’m alone. She isn’t to blame for the flat tire, and the thought of something happening to her because of my rash temper leaves a nasty taste in my mouth and a hollowing in my chest. I’m a bastard.
Throwing the lame tire and other things in the car, I hop into the driver’s seat. Thank fuck she left the keys. The engine roars to life with a press of the ignition button, and the headlights cast a long shaft of light across the dark expanse.
Not too far off, brown leather cowboy boots dissect the slanted beam, and Pansy’s trim frame comes into view. Her long hair is a tousled mess with strands flying in her face, and her shirt molds to her small breasts. The light catches every bouncing curve and appealing sashay of her jean-clad hips as she marches toward the car.
Yanking the driver’s side door open, she stands, hands on her hips and eyes narrowed on me. “This is my car. If anyone should be walking, it’s you. Get out.”