Harassenger: Backseat Admirer ✔️

Chapter One

Chapter One

In a town where every five seconds there's a screen door shutting, I purposely stayed in the inside of my home as much as humanly possible. But today was an unordinary day where the fates had other plans, kicking me in the butt with its steel toe boots and forcing me to leave the house. I had a wedding to attend, dolefully so. I tried to sneak away with four inch heels, but it didn't work. I was caught in the middle of a conversation with my neighbor who was running for city council. After a gruesome thirty minutes of politely smiling and nodding at the old man, I had to rush to the wedding in my little faithful, red Jeep.

I passed the sign that signaled I was leaving Salty Edge, a green sign I could barely read with the escalating, overgrown grass, but knew all too well what it read with how many times I've seen it. 

Slipping off one of my heels, I situated myself on the gas to drive faster on the two-lane road. I turned the dusty vent towards me to diminish the sticky dew from a humid, Florida evening and turned on the music to ease my mind, but the thought of being late to my closest friend's wedding nearly drove me off the road. Through weary, brown eyes, I looked at the hula girl on my dashboard that my crazy friend, Trixie, gave me summers ago. As the little object swayed back and forth, I fought the urge to throw it out the window. The hula girl was taunting me as she shook her hips, smiling as if she knew I was going to be late!

I scoffed, putting my attention back to the road and wiping the sweat from my forehead that continued to fall, sizzling against my leather seats.

My eyes caught a glimpse of a silver Tundra on the other side of the street, situated between the road and the side gravel. A man leaned against the back of the vehicle, one brown boot against the tire and the other balancing him on the terrain. His face I couldn't see, but I could imagine the fear of being stuck here as the rising darkness settles in.

The hood wasn't propped open, so I could only assume the problem was either with the tires, or he locked himself out of the truck, which is unlikely since he's on the side of a somewhat busy road. I could change a tire if that was the problem. Years of only living with only girls has taught me to live a versatile lifestyle.

No one was pulling over and I felt an extreme amount of guilt. Where was the southern hospitality? Yes, I may have had a wedding to go to, but I was already late, and at this rate, at least I'd have an excuse. I had to help him.

Reluctantly, I pulled over on the opposite side of the road from his vehicle, and paced myself through the oncoming traffic. The man never noticed my arrival, continuing to look face down at the ground, muttering a few choice words under his breath.

"What are you staring at? Are you looking for a nose hair?" Way to lighten the mood, if I do say so myself.

His head lifts up and his back hits the truck. His eyes, a sparkling sapphire in the setting sun, found me with amusement. Under the circumstances, he smiled, dimples appearing above his arched jaw.

"Not exactly. I've got a blow out and don't seem to have a spare." He acknowledged, rubbing his hands along the the middle crease of his forehead.

"I'm sorry to hear that. I was going to offer to change it, but I also don't have a spare. My Jeep is a hand-me-down and I don't know where my father put it." I sighed with remorse.

"I appreciate your offer, but I also know how to change a tire. If not, I'd be searching for my dignity right about now." He joked.

It took me a while to realize I knew him. Not personally, but I knew his name and I saw him around town; I knew enough to know he graduated before me and kept to himself. I'm surprised, even in a small town there's so much I don't know about the people in it.