go and every sea gull within a ten-mile radius followed suit. How else would a flock of birds decide to shit at the same time? It looks like they declared war all over my front window and down the sides of my car. It’s . . . disgusting and another reason to add to my growing list of why living at the beach isn’t all that.
I know I shouldn’t complain, but—come on.
Looking for a clean area on my door handle, as cautiously as possible I open the door and slide behind the wheel. Turning on my car I pull the windshield wiper towards me, hoping to clean off at least a small portion of the crap so I can get to a gas station and remove the rest.
The wipers move, they squeak, and they move again, but no water comes out as I continue to pump the handle towards me.
Fuck! You have got to be kidding me! I can’t see past all this shit, how am I supposed to drive around like this? I smear it some more with the dry wiper before I decide there’s enough visibility for me to safely drive.
As the car moves forward, something doesn’t feel right. One side of the jeep is higher than the other and a plopping noise echoes inside the car.
What the . . . ?
I press on the brakes and get out. Sure enough, my right rear tire is flat, completely flopping around.
This is not my day.
I should go home, get in bed, and start all over again.
My phone rings as I’m about to call AAA.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Green Eyes.”
“Damian?”
“What’s wrong with your car?”
I flip my head up, scanning the parking lot and wondering how he knows I’ve been shit all over. His 4Runner is parked across the street, his hands in his pockets as he holds the phone between his ear and shoulder. He’s wearing a white button down with the sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows, and even from this distance, I can see the bulging muscles in his forearms, my new favorite part of a man’s body.
The shirt is casually un-tucked over his blue jeans. Skin—golden bronze skin peeks out of the top of that shirt, right where his collar and chest meet. Everything about that man screams sex, and I have to pinch my legs closed tight.
Our eyes meet, and he begins to walk in my direction, his hand reaching up and grabbing his phone, his head straightening as he advances towards me. In my mind I run to him, jump in his arms, and kiss him as he saves the day. But this is reality, not a romantic comedy where all the heroine’s dreams come true in one shining moment. My life wasn’t mapped out to be easy, there’s no reason this should be either.
It takes all of thirty seconds for him to be standing directly in front of me.
“Hi.” I hear it from his lips and at the same time, through the speaker on my phone.
“Hi back.”
Taking the phone out of my hand, he ends our call. His lips curl up in that grin, the one that has my heart going pitter-patter. He hasn’t shaved today, but he’s clean. I can smell his laundry detergent and the musky soap he uses all around me. I want to face plant into his chest and breathe in deeply, but that’s not a very sexy move.
I’m sure he’s used to sexy moves.
“I got crapped on.”
His grin turns into a full on smile, his straight white teeth shining bright, and his eyes smiling along with his cheeks. “I noticed.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I have a meeting, and I saw you get out of your car. I watched you frown.”
“My tire’s flat.”
Walking around my car, he locates the deflated piece of rubber. “Keys?” His hand is outstretched, and I’m not sure what he’s planning on doing.
“It’s not good to drive on a flat. I’m going to call roadside assistance.”
That grin appears again, and my knees slightly wobble. He advances once more, his eyes not leaving mine. Lowering his face to my ear, his breath fans across my cheek as in a deep and sensual voice he says, “I’ll change your tire—you can watch.”
He begins to unbutton his shirt. One. Damn. Button at a time, and my legs quiver.
In the parking lot of my office, where my co-workers can come out at any moment, my hot off his ass neighbor hands me his shirt, then holds his hand out for my