I-4, or Didn't Your Mother Ever Tell You Not To Accept Rides from Gorgeous Boys In Tow Trucks
by saabira
Howie's car was a piece of
crap. It wasn't a surprise, as The Car had already been owned by all four of
his older siblings. It had started shaking a month ago, and the A/C had been
out for about two years. Howie was nauseous and stickyhot when smoke began
seeping out from under the hood.
The rosary hanging from his rear view mirror kept him from screaming
profanities. He just sighed the sigh of the oft-put-upon, before trying to
steer the piece of junk onto the shoulder without being killed.
It coughed and died the second it was clear of traffic.
"Shit," Howie moaned. The clock on the dash said 8:53, and he was going to be
completely late for work. On his second day at his new job.
He opened his door, carefully, and started to head around to the hood, before
remembering that it wouldn't do any good. To Howie, everything looked the same
under there. Instead, he unclipped his phone from his belt and dialed his
supervisor's number.
Chris was, unsurprisingly, not happy to hear from him. He apologized profusely
and the call put Howie in an even worse mood.
With the sun beating down on the top of his head, Howie dialed 411 to get the
number for a tow service. The dispatcher told him it would be an hour’s wait.
His morning had started out rather well. The alarm went off when it was
supposed to. There was no line at Starbucks, and the bored blonde at the
drive-thru had remembered to give him soy milk in his coffee.
But then there'd been that accident at his on-ramp, and now his car was dead
and he was going have to sit here in the heat for an *hour* waiting for some
redneck in a tow truck to come haul his *only* method of transportation away.
Howie took a minute to breathe and calm down, before going to the trunk to get
a bag to hold all his personal belongings from the car. As he was buried
head-first in the trunk, he heard the rumble of a truck dangerously close to
him, and he figured the only thing that could possibly mean was that he was
now going to be hit, and really what else did he expect from this day? But
when he looked up, it was just the tow truck, pulling to a stop in front of
his wrecked car.
He watched as the driver- a tall slender brunette in capri pants, purple
t-shirt, trucker's hat, shades and...thong sandals?- climbed down from the
cab.
"Hey. You need help?" And his voice was like music to Howie's ears. He sounded
more like a surfer than a redneck.
Howie started. "Oh, hey. That was fast."
"What was fast?"
"Well, I just called, like 10 minutes ago, and he said it'd be an hour before
you got here," Howie said.
"Oh, naw, dude. I was just going by, and I decided to stop. Help out my fellow
man."
Howie couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face. Cute, he thought.
"Thanks, man. I appreciate it. I'm Howie, by the way," Howie said as held out
his hand.
"JC," he said as he shook Howie’s hand.
"Alright. Just let me grab the rest of my stuff, and you can haul this useless
mess away."
"No problem," JC said, as he turned back to his truck to start pulling out
chains and hooks.
Howie stood back to watch JC work. When he was bent over to connect the chains
to the car, Howie could see the tan sliver of skin at the small of his back as
his t-shirt slid up. And his day was certainly looking up.
After about fifteen minutes, they were all set to go, and Howie climbed up
into the passenger seat. The air conditioner was blasting into the cab of the
truck, and JC took off his shades to ask Howie where he wanted a ride to, and
his eyes were a brilliant shade of blue.
Howie rambled off his address as he tried not to stare.
They talked easily for the twenty minutes it took to get back to Howie's
apartment, and after JC had deposited The Car into a parking space, Howie
invited him in for lemonade. JC smiled, squinty-eyed, and accepted.
They went upstairs together.
[Domesticity] - A really, really dorky first date. (AU) * bg