Dude in Distress

by Helena Hunting

“I CANNOT BELIEVE I blew a tire. What the hell was that random piece of wood doing in the middle of the freaking road?” Nevah throws her hands in the air and kicks the deflated rubber. “I’m gonna have to put the spare on.”

  “Can you drive all the way to Colorado Springs on a spare?” I have no idea, so it’s an honest question.

  “Depends on the car. Most of the time you can go a hundred miles or so on a spare, but we’re a lot farther out than that, and I don’t really want to risk bending the frame on this baby.” She pats her car affectionately. “We’ll get the spare on and see how far we can go before we hit a garage.”

  We’ve made it most of the way through Utah. Over the past several hours, I’ve learned a lot about Nevah.

  As it turns out, we’ve attended more than one social gathering together. In fact, I’m fairly certain I had plans to hit on her while I was drunk, but my sister intervened before I could make a complete ass out of myself.

  Truth be told, I’m not very good at the whole relationship thing. Or talking to women in general. I’m awesome at social media and creating a brand and flirting on line. I’m also adept at picking up women at bars because there isn’t a whole lot of talking involved. It’s not that I don’t want to have conversations with women; it’s more that my job is weird, my family is well known, and I’m slightly socially awkward—see the En Vogue comment for reference.

  I now know that Nevah took public relations, business, and plumbing in college and decided none of them were the right fit. She’s always been fascinated with cars. While other girls were playing with Barbies, she was playing with Barbie’s corvette and spray-painting it black to make it cooler.

  She learned how to jump-start a car when she was sixteen while hanging out with some less than savory characters, one of which happened to be Barry, aka Bear. She’s narrowly escaped a criminal record more than once, and has a long history of dating jerks. She didn’t go into much detail about that, other than to say most of the time she liked their cars better than she liked the guys who were driving them.

  She pops the trunk and I move my suitcase out of the way. One of the dolls rolls out from under my shirt. It’s a brown-haired Amalie doll with a pretty sweet tan, wearing a two-piece halter tank that somewhat matches my current shirt.

  She glances from me to the doll and back again.

  “It’s not what you think,” I blurt, which obviously makes it sound like exactly what she thinks, even though I can’t be sure what exactly that is.

  Grown men who tote around kids’ dolls incite a lot of questions.

  She cocks a brow. “So you don’t have a doll with a bathing suit that matches your shirt in my trunk?”

  “It’s the family business. Amalie dolls. I was in California working with a company that uses all recycled plastics and materials to make dolls and their clothes,” I explain.

  “Amalie dolls? Holy crap! Amalie is your sister. Wow! I’m the slowest person ever. I can’t believe I didn’t make the connection.” She picks up the plastic doll and hugs it to her chest. “I wanted one so bad when I was a kid, but my parents said they were too expensive.”

  “You can have that one if you want.” I’m thankful that she knows what the fuck I’m talking about and doesn’t think I’m just some random weirdo with a doll fetish. I mean, I have a little too much fun posing them for photo shoots, but not in a creepy way, just in an if I have to pose dolls for photo shoots as a grown man, I might as well have some fun with it way.

  “Oh no, I couldn’t. I’m way too old to play with dolls.” She continues to hug it and stroke its hair.

  “Are you really, though?” I point to myself. “My job is to literally play with those dolls.” As soon as those words are out of my mouth, I wish I could stuff them back in with a hot fiery poker. Thankfully, she doesn’t mace me and run.

  “Hmm, you make a good point.” She chuckles and sets the doll back in the trunk, carefully, though, and frees the spare tire. I offer to help, but mostly it’s just me handing her things and trying to stay out of the way while she changes the flat.

  The sun is starting to creep toward the horizon, and by the time we make it to the next town, it’s nearing six, and the only garage in town closed an hour ago.

  Nevah drops her head against the rest and blows out a breath. “I don’t think we’re making it to Colorado tonight, Lawson.”

  “You’re probably right, unless you want to resort to hitchhiking.”

  “I’m going to say no thanks to that.” Nevah drums on the steering wheel. “There was a motel about a mile back. Should we see about getting a couple of rooms for the night?”

  “What do you mean there’s only one room left?” Nevah taps her hot pink nails on the pitted counter. There’s a chip in the index one and grease lines her cuticles. For some reason, I find that sexy. Possibly because her ability to change tires saved us from either having to hike the ten miles into town or wait until yet another tow truck came to pick us up.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but the sheriff’s daughter is getting married this weekend and all the other rooms are rented out ’cause the whole family is in town. Lots of aunts and uncles.” The teenager, whose nametag reads Lucifer, gives her an apologetic half-smile. “Grand Junction is about thirty miles down the road. They’ll surely have two rooms. They even have a Double Tree there, real nice and swanky. Kinda expensive, though.”

  Nevah raps on the counter a couple more times. “How do you feel about sleeping together?”

  My eyebrows pop and the kid chokes on a sip of his Mountain Dew.

  “I mean in the same room.” She rolls her eyes “Boys. So predictable.”

  “If you’re okay with it, I’m okay with it.” I’m actually more than okay with it, but I’m trying not to come across as douchey, since there’s been a lot of potential for that over the course of this day.

  “We can always hit up a church on Sunday if we’re feeling guilty about it,” Nevah mutters. “Okay, we’ll take the room.” She digs around in her purse for her wallet, which gives me the opportunity to be faster on the credit card draw.

  The motel is so old and out-of-date that they have to use one of those manual credit card machines. And the cash register looks like it was resurrected from the 1950s. The kid gives us a key on an actual keychain with the phrase He’s always watching stamped on it.

  “There’s a pool in the back and it’s open until ten, and ice machines are closest to rooms twenty-five and one. The vending machines only take quarters, but they’re open all night,” Lucifer says this in monotone, as if it’s something he’s rehearsed and still has trouble remembering.

  “Great, thanks.” Nevah’s tone implies she thinks this is anything but great.

  “Is there anywhere we can grab a bite to eat, or a beer?” I ask before we head to our room. Which we’re sleeping in. Together.

  “Oh, yes!” Lucifer perks right up. “There’s a bar about a five-minute walk down the road called the Pickled Onion and they serve food and beer until midnight. And there’s a 7-Eleven just down the street. The have really great taquitos and they sell beer, too.”

  “Fantastic. You have yourself a great night, Lucifer.”

  “You too. Enjoy your stay!” he calls after us.

  Nevah parks the car in front of room twenty-five and I grab both of our bags from the trunk. It’s the least I can do seeing as she’s saved my ass a lot today.

  She unlocks the door and steps aside to let me in, following on my heels.

  “Wow. I didn’t realize there were this many shades of shit brown.” Nevah drops her purse onto the brown table and surveys what is a very, very brown room.

  “Their commitment to shades of crap is astounding.”

  The carpet is a horrible yellow-brown that reminds me of baby poop, the walls are beige—although it smells like stale cigarettes and a very pungent, floral room spray in here, so there’s a good chance those are nicotine stains. Even the print on the wall, which looks like it might have been cut f
rom a calendar, consists of brown cattails. But the best, or worst part, is the shiny brown comforter with an orange geometric pattern.

  I motion to the bed. “This is like being on an acid trip without even doing drugs.”

  “Uh, I think we have an issue.” Nevah’s nose wrinkles as she takes in the hideous comforter.

  “You’re allergic to brown polyester?”

  “Ha-ha.” She gives me the side-eye. “Have you noticed that there’s something big missing?”

  “Class? Taste? A color that isn’t brown?” I’ll admit, I’m used to five-star accommodations. Even in its prime this place wouldn’t rank at a point-five.

  “Yes, it’s missing all of those things.” Nevah crosses her arms. “It’s also missing a second bed.”

  I See You Hanging There

  Nevah

  I’VE SLEPT IN some shitty places over the course of my life. My parents are great people, but we were firmly entrenched in the low end of middle class growing up. I had a single bed until I was eighteen, and the same mattress from the time I was four until I finally moved out. Incidentally, my parents sold the house at that time and bought an RV so they could travel around the US.

  We’re a family of nomads. Hell, I spent a number of months sleeping on my sister’s couch when I was going through a particularly rough patch that included one of my douche exes.

  But this motel is another level of shitty.

  Lawson rocks back on his heels. “I can sleep on the floor.”

  “It might actually be the more hygienic location.” I pick up the corner of the comforter and rub the fabric between my fingers. “This could double as a tarp.”

  Lawson jams his thumbs into his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “Do you think there’s a HomeGoods or even a Walmart close by where we could grab sheets? Or maybe sleeping bags and a couple of blowup mattresses?”

  “Oh my God!” I grab Lawson by the lapels of his shirt. Only one button is fastened, just below the center of his chest, so his incredibly perfect six-pack abs have been gloriously on display. I’ve been trying not to stare at them all day. Or his nipple ring.

  “Did you see a cockroach?” He makes a gagging sound.

  “What? No! And I really hope I don’t either. But I do have some very good news.”

  “Okay. I’d love some of that right about now.” His eyes are such a pretty blue and they’re currently locked on mine as he awaits my ray of verbal sunshine.

  “I have a set of bed sheets and a comforter in my car. They’re actually a gift for Cosy’s birthday. I realize that sounds like a weird gift. Especially for someone married to a freaking hotel mogul billionaire who can buy her a jet if he feels like it. Which he’s considered. But there’s a big long story to go with the sheets, and I’ll happily tell you the entire thing after we strip this down and put on fresh, fornication-free bedding.”

  Lawson cringes. “I was really trying not to think about that, but if I’m honest, it was the first thing that came to mind when we stepped inside this room.”

  I mirror his cringey face. “Same, unfortunately.” I release his lapels, realizing I’ve been right up in his personal space. “I’ll just grab the sheets from the car.”

  “Sounds good. And if you happen to have a hazmat suit or two, that’d be great.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” I head back outside and grab the comforter and sheet set I had custom designed for my sister. The great thing about a Cadillac Eldorado is that the trunk is huge, so I can store a lot of crap in here. I rummage around in the recess of the trunk, practically climbing inside to get to the back in case there are things in there that I’ve forgotten about.

  I snag the handle of Cosy’s very old, very worn-out backpack. While I was in Vegas, I visited with my parents, who were there for a friend’s retirement party. They’re also coming to the party, but they left a couple of days early with plans to stop along the way.

  I found the bag in their storage unit, along with some photo albums from our teen years, and thought Cosy might get a kick out of them. I didn’t bother checking the contents of the backpack before I tossed it into the trunk, but it doesn’t hurt to see what’s in there.

  I carry the load of stuff back into the motel room just as Lawson comes out of the bathroom, wiping his hands on his shorts while wearing a look of absolute disgust.

  “I’m guessing it’s pretty nasty in there.” I drop the backpack and the wrapped box containing my sister’s birthday gift onto the table because I don’t want to contaminate anything by allowing it to touch the bed.

  “I’ve seen nicer outhouses.”

  “It’s that bad?” Considering Lawson’s family are the creators of a doll that’s been popular for a good two decades, I’ll go out on a limb and assume he hasn’t had to use many outhouses in his lifetime.

  “Do you remember what the showers used to look like in high school locker rooms?” he asks somberly.

  I nod.

  “It’s worse.”

  There isn’t a whole lot of space between the bed and the ancient dresser boasting a tube TV straight out of the nineties, so we both have to turn sideways to pass each other. My chest brushes his diaphragm and my fingers skim the back of his arm, causing both of us to break out into goosebumps.

  We each mutter, “Sorry,” as I peek inside the bathroom. “Oh, wow.”

  “The wallpaper really adds a nice psychedelic touch.”

  “It’s definitely trippy.” Once again, the brown-orange theme is carried through in the bathroom. What was once a white sink is now beige with age and grime. The toilet seat lid is one of those shell numbers. The plain white plastic shower curtain has several holes in it. I peek my head in, noting the rust stains around the faucets and the very grey tint to the tub. “I think it’s probably a good idea to treat this like the gym and shower with your flip-flops on.”

  “I would one hundred percent agree with that statement. I also think air-drying is recommended over using one of those towels.” Lawson’s finger appears in my peripheral vision and I follow it to the brown towels folded neatly on the vanity.

  “Probably a good idea.”

  “Should we tackle the sheets before we brave the shower?”

  “Sure.”

  We strip the bed down to the mattress pad and immediately wish we hadn’t. I don’t even want to know what the mattress looks like based on the vast number of unidentifiable stains. We debate the merits of sleeping on the floor, which had originally been a joke, and decide it’s probably the safer of the two options.

  Before I open the gift box containing her sheets and comforter, I open Cosy’s old travel backpack. “Holy shit, Lawson! We just hit the mother lode!”

  I start pulling out items. It’s one of those huge backpacks that can hold an insane amount of stuff, including a two-person pop-up tent and a double-sized air mattress with pump and inflatable pillows. There are also some granola bars, but they’ve been expired for about two years, so unfortunately they get tossed.

  Twenty minutes later, the tent is set up, the air mattress inflated, and I’ve unwrapped my sister’s birthday present. I’m sure she’ll forgive me for giving it to her used once I provide her with the photographic evidence of our less than appealing accommodations. An actual campground probably would’ve been a better option, but we’re here now, and at least we won’t have to deal with bears and woodland creatures visiting us in the night—hopefully.

  I tear through the plastic and pull out the sheet set first. Lawson and I crawl back inside the tent so we can put them on the air mattress. We took turns stepping on the pump to inflate it.

  He frowns as he takes one end of the fitted sheet, leaning in closer to inspect the design. “What’s going on here?”

  “They’re Kama Sutra sheets.” I grin. Prior to meeting her husband, my sister was a virgin. A twenty-two-year-old virgin who also happened to work at an adult toy store. Yes, there’s a lot of irony in that.

  Lawson barks out a laugh. “Holy fuck,
they sure are. Where’d you get these? I want a set.”

  “I found them online.” I also bought myself a set because they’re hilarious and maybe one day I’ll find my own soulmate who will want to work his way through every single position featured on these ridiculous sheets.

  While we make the bed, I tell Lawson the story of how Cosy and Griffin met and eventually fell in love, despite the odds being stacked against them. He’d drawn the short straw for a bachelor party and ended up at the store where Cosy worked. She helped him check all the things off on his list, including a double-headed dildo. He’d been mortified and she’d had way more fun than was reasonable dealing with his embarrassment.

  He’d come back a few weeks later to ask her out on a date. At first she’d said no, but eventually she caved, and the rest is history.

  By the time we’re done making the bed, I’m flushed, and not because of the exertion. Looking at endless sex positions while inside a tent with a hot guy reminds me exactly how long it’s been since I’ve had actual sex.

  “So.” I prop my fists on my hips. “Based on the state of this room, I’m guessing the pool is probably not something we want to swim in unless we’d like to end up with an extra limb growing out of our foreheads.”

  “While extra limbs might be useful, I’m inclined to skip the pool.” Lawson pulls the elastic free and his hair tumbles down, reaching his shoulders in the kind of loose, beachy waves women spend hours at a salon to achieve.

  I’m still wearing a baseball cap and have been all day. I’m sure I have the worst case of hat head and my hair is extra greasy because I didn’t bother washing it this morning, thinking I’d be relaxing in a Jacuzzi tub by evening.

  “So showers and then check out that pub?”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Lawson thumbs over his shoulder. “Ladies first, of course.”

  I gather up my shower supplies and a change of clothes and lock myself in the bathroom. The hot water has two modes, scalding and lukewarm. Aware that I’ll be sleeping beside this man tonight, on a double mattress no less, I take it upon myself to shave my legs. I don’t want it to feel like he’s rubbing up against burrs should we accidentally make contact under the sheets. I have no reasonable explanation for shaving the rest of my important bits, apart from the fact that it’s habit. And maybe also because I have sex on the brain after staring at those sheets.