Page 196 of Ride With Me

FLY YOUR FLAG, EVEN THE FREAK ONE

LAYLA DORINE

CHAPTER 1

“Need a lift?”

It was on the tip of Keely’s tongue to say no, that he was just walking backwards along the side of the road with his thumb out for shits and giggles, but sassing the first person to pull over was probably a bad idea with the look of the storm clouds in the distance.

Besides, it was no middle-aged dude in a cowboy hat and ancient, rumbling pickup that had pulled over for him this time. Just from the head the guy stuck out the window, Keely could see that he was somewhere in his thirties and smokin’ hot, with smoldering eyes that raked over him and left Keely longing to see what color they were.

The newish model Chevy Silverado had a sweet looking motorcycle covered in transparent plastic tied down in the back and buffered by a bunch of black totes. At least this had the potential to be a pleasant ride. One without longwinded stories of bulls Keely had no interest in knowing the names of, and rodeos he never wanted to see. The whole idea of forcing animals to perform so humans could appear larger than life when they managed to ride one was too heartless for his tastes.

With any luck, this guy’s radio would not be permanently stuck on the country station. If he had to listen to one more song about whiskey, or someone’s wife leaving with their dog, truck, and heart, he was gonna start chewing off pieces of his t-shirt to stuff in his ears.

“Hell yeah,” he replied as he raced up to the passenger’s door.

All that silver paint was blinding with the sun ricocheting off the shiny metal and chrome at various angles. Keely was forced to shield his eyes as he approached. Even then, he found himself blinking into the interior, waiting for the spots to stop dancing in front of his eyes as he attempted to focus on the driver.

Well damn.

The dude was massive, and all of that bulk looked to be muscle. Emerald eyes stared from a tanned face surrounded by shoulder length blond hair and highlighted by a neatly trimmed beard. He had a moment to consider the kind of damage the guy could do if he was a serial killer or something, but hell, with his luck, it wouldn’t be Mr. Sinfully-Sexy that tried to end him, it would be the middle-aged dude in a station wagon that suckered him in with some comment about how much Keely reminded him of one of his kids.

“Headed anywhere in particular?” the guy asked as Keely’s fingers fumbled with the doorhandle, the weight of his backpack digging into his shoulder, sending pain shooting down his arm every time he flexed his fingers.

“Naa man, just wherever,” Keely said as he finally got the door open and scrambled up onto the running board to climb in. “Thanks again for stopping.”

The lift kit on this thing made Keely feel short, and he was five-foot seven. Without the running board, he doubled he would have been able to get up there without making a spectacle of himself or pissing off the driver for taking too long, which had happened before. Keely rushed to tuck his backpack betweenhis legs and shut the door before running his fingers through his sweaty lavender hair, the fading color having left it gray in places, while the dust from passing vehicles had left it gritty.

“Today is your lucky day,” the guy said as he put the truck in gear. “Whereveris exactly where I’m headed.”

“Nice,” Keely groaned, getting comfortable as the guy rolled up the window and a blast of frigid air hit Keely right in his flushed face. “Really nice.”

Damn, that seat was soft.

His body felt like it was melting as he sunk into the leather upholstery. Being off his feet eased some of the ache he’d experienced as he’d crunched over loose rock and garbage in threadbare shoes. For a moment, he just sucked in the freezing air, eyes closed as he waited to feel less like a half-melted popsicle.

“Put your seatbelt on.”

The voice jarred his drifting brain back to the present, through it struggled to comprehend the words. “Huh?”

“Seatbelt,” the guy said, pointing to it when Keely sluggishly glanced his way. “You need to wear it and drink this.”

Where had the dripping bottle of water come from?

The guy pulled it away when Keely reached for it and shot him a stern look. “Seatbelt first.”

“O-oh, okay.” Fumbling, Keely locked the belt in place, adjusting where it fell across his shoulder and chest until it no longer felt like it was riding up and choking him. He gratefully accepted the ice-cold bottle and moaned with relief at the feel of that fridged water as he started gulping it down.

“Slowly,” the man cautioned. “You don’t want cramps, and I’d prefer it if you didn’t throw up in here.”

“I won’t…throw up,” Keely said as he slowed his guzzling to little sips. “Promise.”

“Thanks for that,” the guy said as they headed down the blacktop. “You picked a hell of a day to be out here.”

The hot asphalt radiated shimmering waves of heat, making it seem like the world was melting, while in the distance, those dark clouds were growing blacker, the occasional flash of lightning a promise of the lightshow to come. There was no denying that the guy had a point, even if Keely had been faced with fewer options than he had hoped for the last time he’d gotten dropped off.

“It wasn’t exactly a choice,” Keely admitted. “There was nothing appealing about the last town, or the town before that, so I just kept moving.”

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