Man, what the fuck?
Except, he does stop, a few feet or yards or whatever that distance is away. Oh, thank God. I hop down as he backs up onto the shoulder in front of my jeep.
Maybe he’s not a serial killer but a hard-working man in Tennessee ready to rescue me. And if luck is on my side, he’ll have extra fuel in that fancy truck of his.
“Hi! Thank you so much for stopping,” I say to the man strolling my way with a jean jacket framing a strong torso, wranglers showing the outline of his long, thick legs, and a cowboy hat.
Well,hellooooo, cowboy.
“What’s going on?” he asks without an ounce of southern twang in his tone.
Huh? Interesting.
“Well, I ran out of gas.” I shrug. What else am I going to do? That’s the honest truth. “And my phone is out of battery, and I was wondering if maybe you had extra fuel, or if maybe you could take me to get extra fuel? I can pay!” Barely, but I offer either way.
He eyes me up and down, the color of his irises hidden behind the brim of his cowboy hat, though nothing could hide their intensity. Shivers run down my spine, but it’s too late now.
And here we are.
“You know, staring is considered bad manners where I’m from,” I reply, trying to ease the situation and hiding the way he’s affecting me with just a look.
Handsome cowboy over here shakes himself to focus and replies, “I wasn’t staring.”
Yeah, right. “Could’ve fooled me.” I shrug.
“I was assessing.”
Assessing?
“Assessing what?” I ask, confused. “I told you I ran out of gas. Nothing else to assess. It happens.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s certainly in a bad mood for sure, but how is that my fault? I didn’t ask him to stop.
Or maybe I manifested him here.
Next time, stars, would you send me aniceGood Samaritan? Thanks in advance.
“I was assessing how someone as loud and witty as you ran out of gas,” he adds. Who pissed in his cereal?
At least he called me witty. “And here I thought you were just admiring me.” I smirk, trying to lighten the mood.
He hesitates for a second before letting out what sounds like a chuckle. “Nope.”
I smile wide, even if he’s not. I’m having too much fun for someone depending on him to do me a solid. “You hesitated, though.”
“Is your dashboard broken?” he asks, shifting his gaze to Henry—my Jeep—after another short chuckle, though one hundred percent ignoring me. At least I got some sort of sound out of him.
“Mm, no. Why?”
“Did it not show you were running low on fuel?”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Well, yes, but I thought I could make it to my next stop before running out.”
He scoffs. “You were wrong.”
No shit, Sherlock. “I know,” I say with a smirk. “Nothing I can do now, though.”
He chews on either tobacco or his cheek; I can’t tell with the distance between us. He eventually nods. “I don’t have any fuel with me, but we can go get some.”
