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Shilo

“Dude, I think... I’m gonna puke.”

Cheezus Christ, again?

“Hang on, let me pull over,” I grumble irritably, quickly pulling the car to the side of the street. Seriously, why does this keep happening to me? Why are so many people in downtown Seattle such lightweights?

Honestly, it’s probably my own fault for sticking around a college area on a Friday night, but I’m trying here, okay? Can I get a break?

Drunk Party Bro starts to gag, not attempting to open the back door when we come to a stop, and I silently curse whatever powers that be for giving me my fifth wasted Uber rider of the night as I climb out and round the SUV. Freezing rain pelts my skin as I yank open the door, but I’m too late. Puke Face has already started vomiting up whatever noxious mixture he drank at the bar.

“You frickin’ kidding me?!” Pulling him out so that he’s hanging over the side, I barely jump back in time to avoid the backsplash on my fraying Chucks as he soaks the gutter. A good chunk of the stuff—emphasis on chunk—is pooling in the middle seat, but luckily, Dad went with the leather upholstery. Won’t help with the smell, though.

As he keeps emptying his stomach, I push damp strands of purple hair out of my face and try to focus on the positives, like my therapist suggested.

Let’s see...smelly car, cold wet hoodie, and a whole ten bucks from this ride, which won’t even cover the detailing I’ll need. And because I actually have a conscience, I still have to drive Pukey McGee another mile and a half.

Sooo many positives about leaving the house tonight. Look at me go, Doc.

“Sorry, man,” the guy slurs, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, and I grimace as I grab a towel from the trunk.

“Just...wipe up as much as you can, please.”

The rest of the ride is awful. He starts crying. By the time I drop him at his dorm at UW, he’s a snot-nosed mess, and I couldn’t be happier to pass him off to his friends. I wonder vaguely what classes he takes, if we’re in the same program.

Not that it matters—my classes are all online, much to my parents’ and therapist’s dismay. But honestly, it makes sense. Why would a Computer Engineering student need to sit in a classroom instead of, you know, on a computer? Self-explanatory, right?

I barely have time to wipe down the backseat before another pickup comes through. Great. Another bar.

Why am I doing this again?

Because Doctor Iskar said I need to ‘socialize’ and Dad’s charging me rent.

Oh, right. Still doesn’t mean I have to put up with drunk asshats.

I’m about to decline the ride when I see the tip, and my eyes nearly bug out of my skull.

Five-hundred dollars? For a fifteen-minute drive over to the Belltown area?

Well, shit. That’ll cover rent for a month. Or a new graphics card for my computer. Hell yeah.

Hitting accept, I pull back onto the main road, my wipers working overtime. August in the PNW is usually dry, but naturally, it’s pouring on one of the two days I drive for Uber, lucky me. Not that I mind. Me and the sun? We have issues. My ghostly complexion should be a hint. Just call me Elmer, ’cause I’m muthafrickin’ pasty.

Letting off the gas, I stop in front of the bar and double-check the address with a frown. This part of Seattle is sketchy at best. The building looks like something straight out of a horror film—square, concrete, one blinking neon window, and a nondescript door wedged between two abandoned storefronts. A dive, if I ever saw one.

I shoot a quick message to my rider, Ryann, asking them to sit in the front seat. There are a few people loitering outside, smoking and giving me looks that send a shiver down my spine.

Hurry the hell up, Ryann.

My hoodie is still wet and clinging to my small frame, so I turn up the heat despite the warm summer air outside. Shadows dance in the windows of the abandoned shops, tricking my mind into seeing monsters lurking in the dark, waiting to tear me apart. I must zone out because the passenger door suddenly opens, and I yelp in surprise.

My heart nearly leaps out of my chest as my rider slides into the seat next to me, frowning at my reaction, and I’m struck by the most intense hazel eyes I’ve ever seen. Green and gold blending together, swirling like a kaleidoscope beneath shapely dark brows and equally dark hair. Straight, perfect nose. Full lips. A stubbled jawline that could cut glass. All of this attached to a tall, muscled man in a fancy suit who’s looking at me like I’ve sprouted horns.

Holy shit, he’s frickin’ gorgeous. Adonis personified. A god of a man, right here in my passenger seat.

He clears his throat, a deep, rumbling sound that sends a jolt between my legs, and the panic of popping a boner snaps me out of my stupor.

“Sorry,” I squeak, throwing the car into drive and pressing too hard on the gas, causing the SUV to lurch forward.