I'm waiting at the stop light from hell the next night, trying to keep the car running. It's cold. My breath makes little white clouds in the car as I breathe. I'm wearing an ugly old sweater over my dress, with my sneakers tied onto my feet. I watch the RPMs and give it more gas. I feel the car shake and know that it's going to stall out if the light doesn't change soon.

I stare at the light, willing it to change. "Change already! Change, you rat bastard, change!"

The light remains red. The car shudders and dies. Exasperated, I slam my head on the steering wheel. The stoplight flips to green and the honking starts. I mutter curses as people move their cars out of my lane and go around me. I reach behind me and grab a can of ether from the back seat. Throwing the car door open, I march around to the front. This is the last can and I don't get paid for three days. Damn it.

Lifting the hood, I spray the engine and sigh. FML. I can't stand this. I didn't get to study as much as I needed, work sucked, and now this. It's part of my life. This car symbolizes my life, the damn whole thing. I stare blankly at my car as my insides twist with grief.

I hear his voice before I notice the bike. "So, do you come here often?"

When I slam the hood, I see those sapphire eyes and that boyish smirk. Motorcycle man winks at me. My heart races when I think of his picture, of what he wants, and that he could do it to me if I took that job. He's wearing the helmet, so I can't see his hair, but I'm sure it's him.

"You know it. This is my favorite place." I round the car and intend on driving away. The guy on the bike moves out of traffic and waits for me to start the car. I turn the key and engine makes an awesome noise, but it won't turn over. I try again and again, muttering, "This can't be happening."

I try one last time and know that it won't start. I have a test at 8:00am. It's going to take hours to get a tow truck, which I can't afford. I lean my head against the steering wheel to gain some composure before freak out tears flood from my eyeballs. My head lightly brushes against the horn. The thing blares like I smacked my face on it. I flinch back, jerking my hands away, but the horn continues to wail. I sit there for a moment and blink before hysterical laugher works its way up my throat.

I kick the door open and get ready to push the car out of the lane. As I throw my weight against the metal between the door and the frame of the car, Motorcycle man appears next to me. I feel him there, pushing with me. The car is instantly lighter and it rolls forward, horn blaring. I cut the wheel and turn it into a parking lot. I'm wondering if I ran his bike over. I don't see it and I sure as hell can't hear anything but the horn.

When we get the car into a parking spot, the guy steps past me, pulls the emergency brake, and disappears under the hood. Suddenly the horn dies, and then the hood drops. "That's better," he says.

I'm rubbing my arms. Nerves creep up my stomach and try to choke me. "Thanks."

"No problem. Glad I was here."

I glance up at him. "Me too. I mean, I'm glad I didn't have to push the car out of traffic by myself."

He's smiling at me. I let me eyes slip over his body and try not to drool. My God, he's beautiful. "Like what you see?"

My face flames red as my eyes widen. "Wow, you're blunt."

"Sometimes it pays off, and other times..." he shrugs.

"Other times what?"

"Other times it gets me smacked." He smiles wickedly at me before lifting his helmet off. That dark hair is all rumpled like he's been rolling around in bed. I try not to let him get to me, but there's something there, some carnal attraction.

"Mmmm. Well, you were out of reach." I smirk at him and wonder what I'm doing. Something's wrong with this guy. He wants a virgin hooker. That's like the biggest oxymoron ever.

He laughs. "What's that look?"

"Yeah, it's the why is this guy here when ever my car breaks down, look."

"Hmmm, and I thought I left my crazy stalker helmet at home. Is this the one with the warning label?" He flips his helmet around and pretends to look at it. The corners of my mouth pull up, but I try not to smile. I don't want to react to him. I want him to walk away and leave me alone. No, that's a lie. I want to know what's wrong with him, why he wants a hooker.

I can't help it, I laugh. "You forgot to take your meds, dude."

"Is it that obvious? And here I thought I was just being a good citizen, stopping and helping the crazy girl with the spray-start car." He's smiling at me and steps closer. My heart tries to jump up my throat and run down the street. I can't swallow. I can't breathe. When did it get so hot out here?

"Stalking isn't usually considered being a good citizen, in fact, it's kind of frowned upon." I have no idea what I'm saying. I just want to hear his voice and see that smile.

He presses his hand to his heart like I've wounded him. "Is it, now? I thought helping a damsel in distress was chivalry."

I laugh at that. "Chivalry? I think you mean being creepy."

"You know what I think, spray-start car girl?" He steps closer to me and looks down into my eyes. "I think you're enjoying this conversation."

"I have no idea what you're talking about Motorcycle Man. Where is your bike, by the way?" He jabs his thumb in the air back to the intersection where I stalled. The bike is fine. "Thank God. I thought it was stuck under my fender."

"That bike would have eaten your fender."

"Would it now?" A gust of cold air blows my hair away from my face.

Motorcycle man's eyes drink me in before he nods. "Indeed." His voice is rich. It slips over me and I shiver. Our eyes lock and I can't look away. We stare at each other even though we've run out of things to say. The wind whips a curl over my lips. He lifts a hand and tucks the hair behind my ear. After a second he breaks the trance. "We need to call you a tow truck."

"No," I say a little too strongly. He glances at me. I explain, "I'll come get it tomorrow. It just needs to sit. I probably flooded the engine." It's the only thing I can think to say.

Instead of calling me on it, Motorcycle man nods and says, "Then, let me take you home."

I stare at him for a moment, a wisp of a smile skirts across my mouth. "Ah, but then you'll know where I live, and I don't think we should encourage your stalker habits."

"I can be more of a bastard, if you like. I could drive away and leave you here in the cold, but then I wouldn't be around to reap the rewards of my actions. Let's just cut to the chase, Miss..."

"Smith," I lie, not wanting to give him my name.

He gives me a crooked grin, like he knows that's not my name, "Very well, Miss Smith. How about I take you to the general area you'd like to be dropped off. If that's too creepy, I could call you a cab, but you're likely to get someone way creepier than me." He's smiling at me, and it's a perfect smile.

Looking into his eyes, I say, "Tell me your name."

He looks surprised for a second and then says, "Mr. Jones."

The corner of my mouth tugs up slowly. He's lying. We're both demented lunatics because we both seem to like it. "Mr. Jones, will you please drop me off at Frist and Lexington?"

"By the college?"

I nod. "Yup."

"No problem. I was headed that direction anyway."

"You were not," I say and follow him to his bike. Suddenly I notice my dress and sneakers, and my total lack of the correct kind of clothing. The dress is sheer. It'll blow up to my waist again. Plus I have no jacket and the weave on this sweater is so lose you could throw a rock through the holes.

As if he can read my thoughts, Mr. Jones opens a saddle bag and tosses me a jacket. It's some kind of microfiber. I slip it on. It's thin, but it's warm. I swing my leg over the back of the bike and tuck my skirt in as tightly as possible. He feels me moving around after starting the bike. "You ready?"

"Hold on. I'm trying to get my skirt to stay up."

He laughs. "That sounds so wrong."

"Yeah, well, I bet you wish I was flashing you right now instead of all the cars driving by."

He looks over his shoulder at me before flipping his visor shut and says, "I can feel your thighs around me. I'm good."

Before I can say anything, the bike jerks forward and cuts into traffic. I cling to his back and tighten my knees against his sides. Bastard.

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