Page 2 of When in Rome

I scream and jump in my seat, bumping the top of my head on the ceiling. I look out the window, and oh shit, there’s someone standing outside my car! This is it. This is the moment I will get murdered, and after the true story of my death airs onE HollywoodNews,all I will be remembered for is my grisly cornfield demise.

“Everything all right? Do you need help?” comes the muffled voice of the man outside my car. He beams a flashlight through my window, temporarily blindingme.

I hold my hands up to shield my eyes from the light, and also obstruct his view so he doesn’t recognize me. “No, thank you!” I yell through my closed window, my heart beating wildly against my ribs. “I’m fine! I-I don’t need any help!” Definitely not from a strange man in the middle of the night.

“You sure?” he says, finally realizing he was piercing my eyes with his flashlight and turning it away from my face. He has a nice-sounding voice, I’ll give him that. Sort of rumbly and tender at the same time.

“I’m sure!” I say in a cheery tone, because everything around me might be falling apart but at least I still know how to muster up pleasantness. “Got everything under control!” I make the okay sign with my hand for added measure.

“Looks like your car broke down.”

I can’t admit to that! I would basically be telling him that I’m asitting duck.My phone’s out of service, too! Would you like for me to step out so you can abduct me or would it be more fun for you to break the window yourself? Choose your own adventure!

“Nope. Just…taking a break for a minute.” I smile tensely, keeping most of my face turned away, hoping he won’t realize a performing artist worth millions is sitting in this beat-up Corolla.

“Your engine is smoking.” He shines the flashlight on the dense cloud of smoke billowing out from under the hood of my car. That can’t be good.

“Oh…yeah,” I say as casually as possible. “It does that sometimes.”

“Your car engine often smokes?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I can’t hear you.”

“Mm-hmm,” I say louder and perkier than before.

“Right.” He’s clearly not buying my story. “Look, I think you need to get out. It’s not safe to stay in a smoking vehicle.”

Ha! He’d like that, wouldn’t he? Well, there is no way in hell I’m getting out of this car. Even if he has a nice-sounding voice.

“No, thanks.”

“I’m not going to murder you if that’s what you’re thinking.”

I gasp and look out at the darkly silhouetted man. “Why would you say that? Now I really think you’re going to murderme.”

“Thought so,” he says, sounding irritated. “What do I need to do to prove I’m not a murderer?”

My forehead creases as I think about it. “Nothing. There’s no way you can proveit.”

He grunts softly and walks to the front of my car, standing in front of the lights. I can see him now, andwow. Hillbilly Joe sure looks a lot like Wilderness Ken. He’s wearing jeans and a plain white T-shirt. His sandy blond hair is cropped shorter on the sides but has a bit of play on the top. A scruffy short beard covers his strong jaw, and let me tell you, it pairs nicely with the wideshoulders, lean body, and biceps that jump enticingly when he knocks on the hood of my car. The entire effect is…rugged in a way that makes me wish my air-conditioning was working.

“Can you pop the hood so I can make sure nothing is on fire?”

Uh-uh. Sorry, but no. Sexy or not, there’s no way I’m opening that hood. What if he…well, honestly, I know nothing about cars and have no idea what he could do to make this situation worse, but I’m sure he can do something.

“Thanks, but I don’t need your help! I’ll wait until morning and call a tow truck,” I yell loud enough for him to hearme.

He crosses his arms. “How are you going to call a tow truck? We don’t get cell service out here.”

Well, shoot. He’s got me there.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll figure it out. You can go back to wherever you came from now.” Probably a nearby bush where he’ll be waiting to pounce on me the second I’m out of my safe vehicle. And yes, I realize I’m being a little over-the-top paranoid, but when you’re used to stalkers trying to climb the gated fence outside your house, pose as a plumber to get past your security guard, and/or send you locks of their hair asking you to place it under your pillow at night, you tend to develop a sense of paranoia toward strangers. Which is why I should have NEVER left my house alone. I need to accept the fact that I’m not justmeanymore and never will be again.

Wilderness Ken doesn’t walk away. He returns to my window and leans down again, one hand firmly planted above my door, showing me just how ample his wingspan is. “A smoking engine is not good. You need to get out. I promise I’m not going to hurt you, but you will be hurt if this car goes up in flames. I promise I’m a trustworthy person.”

“That’s what all the murderers say…before they murder someone.”

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