[[This story takes place circa 2006, when I first started writing it. Smart phones were not a thing, data rates and roaming charges could tank your savings, and "unlimited talk and text" was still two or three years away, as was Facebook's popularity. "Googling" was something you had to do from home without paying high data rates and waiting forever, and navigation required printouts from your desktop. This was the age of Mapquest, Myspace and those fabled indestructible Nokias that, no doubt, continue to work perfectly to this day no matter how many times they were dropped, thrown, or stepped on accidentally.]]
1
"Come on, come on," Aubrey pleaded with the 1998 Pontiac Firebird as it stuttered along at a mere fourteen miles an hour. The cherry red vehicle would push no harder, no matter how forcefully she stomped the accelerator, and barely crept into the right-hand turn onto the road from the off-ramp. She was begging it toward the only business this exit had to offer: a local motel called the Bern I-42. White smoke was pouring from under the hood, hindering her vision, but there was no traffic which (thankfully) demanded no braking at the stop sign. The clock on the dash was a hazy blue 10:02," which meant she remained five hours from southern Indiana, and home.
She fought the welling moisture in her eyes as she considered the extent of her dilemma. The entire trip to Atlanta for the conference in order to promote her business had not panned out as hoped. Instead of securing new clients and down payments, she had done little more than shake a few hands and pass out business cards. The place where her long-beloved car was now enduring its heart attack, Bern, Tennessee, was nearly four hundred miles from the safety of her driveway.
After the week's hotel booking, meals and fuel expenses, she was left with little beyond the ten-dollar bill in her purse she had reserved for gas for the last leg of her trip home after filling the tank in Atlanta. "Little" was not an understatement, either. "Little" meant just another three bucks and change left in her bank account.
She had hoped to make it back by three to crawl into bed with Gabe for a few short hours before he rose for work. After the past week of loneliness, her intent had been to pleasantly wake him with her throat and get in a quickie before passing out. Having this thought obsessively replaying in her head over the first two hours of the trip had soaked her thong. It was one of many parts of her outfit which had been worn purposefully to impress upon him how much she had been anticipating her return. In addition to that, she had chosen a knee-length pleated black skirt and low-cut, tight black blouse with no bra. Though not big by many measures, her C-cup breasts were enough to stretch the form-fitting dark fabric so it gave the barest hint of the outline of her nipples beneath. Though she doubted he would actually see her outfit tonight, she had been looking forward to him waking her in the morning for another round after discovering what she had arrived wearing. After the intense stress of this trip, it would have been the perfect homecoming.
Now, it had all gone to shit just as had the Firebird. Not only was she not getting home tonight, but she had no idea how they would afford the expenses of repairing the car, paying for another room, or even her meals until she could make it back. There was no way to even afford the gas it would take for him to drive here to pick her up until Friday when Gabe got paid. That meant two days of survival she could not begin to imagine how to weather. And worse, it was roughly forty degrees outside and likely to drop further.
The smoking wreck of her engine clattered, grudgingly carrying the car into the parking lot of the small motel and into the nearest space that faced the building. The harsh rattle died immediately with a thump of finality the moment the gearshift entered park. That sound was replaced by the hiss that accompanied boiling coolant. Growling in frustration and wiping angrily at her eyes, she drew the Nokia phone from her purse to call home. No signal.
Aubrey tossed the phone angrily and heard it thump onto the passenger floorboard. She crossed her arms atop the steering wheel and dropped her forehead onto them for a long moment. When she sat up again, she punched the steering wheel with the heel of a fist. The short blurt from the horn was not even mildly satisfying. The chill of the evening was already seeping into the interior of the car, stirring her bare arms and legs to goosebumps. She had plenty of clothes she could layer, but she was doubtful that she could get away with sleeping in the parking lot, particularly in so obvious a spot and with few other guests in attendance.
With a heavy sigh and an irritated sniff to clear her nose, her feet were shoved into the black heels she had also worn for the occasion. She threw open the door with a growl in tandem with the loud creak of the hinge. A flood lamp on the wall in front of the car accentuated the severity of the smoke vomiting from beneath the hood as she stepped out into the sharp late-winter/early-spring breeze. The goosebumps on her skin and the immediate stiffness of her nipples beneath the blouse made her intensely regret not waiting to change until closer to home; she had feared changing her mind after the long hours of driving.
"I'm really sorry, miss, that is really terrible," came a tenor from the doorway twenty or so feet away. A lean figure lounged against the wall next to the lobby door, smoking a cigarette. He approached languidly after another puff, seemingly unaffected by the cold. Though she normally stood at 5'6, she was just about the same height as he in her four-inch heels.
He was well-toned, well-groomed and fairly attractive in the blue long-sleeved button-down embroidered with the motel logo that was just a little stressed over his chest, and a pair of khakis. The cigarette was currently caught between the knuckles of his left hand while the right was soon planted against the stucco wall so he could lean just a few feet away. Moussed, dark hair was in shambles on his head, but his goatee was neatly trimmed. The name, according to the tag beneath the motel logo, was Rick and it titled him "Shift Manager." She estimated early twenties.
A sympathetic half-smile was on his lips, contrary to the exploration his brown eyes performed on her body. She could almost feel, as she watched, his gaze crawl over her exposed legs and other parts as she turned from slamming the door shut. Considering the focus of her thoughts for the past two hours, she was not surprised by his momentary intrusion into her thoughts despite the dire situation she found herself.
At least
, she thought,
I have a confirmation of how sexy Gabe would have found this outfit.
"I don't know what happened," she replied with a sigh, her arms wrapped across her breasts in an attempt at both modesty and to remedy the growing pain in her nipples from the cold. "No warning lights. It was fine. It's always been reliable."
"They always are, until they're not anymore." The southern drawl in his voice was not overly pronounced, mostly non-intrusive. It was somehow rather soothing. The consolatory tone befitting one in such a managerial role.
"I guess so," she said with a shrug, waving at a wisp of smoke that encroached on her nose.
"Got someone you can call?" he questioned as he raised the cigarette to his lips.
"I don't even have a signal." The extreme chill around the soaked thong was getting unbearable. She had tried repeatedly clenching her ass cheeks and vaginal muscles to ward off the cold, but it was not helping in the slightest. She had to get out of the wind. "Mind if I go inside?" she asked, her jaw quivering.
"Absolutely," Rick replied and gestured with an open hand.
Aubrey stepped by him, one arm now laid across her belly, her steps a little uneasy in the heels while her knees were quaking. Hunched against the wind as she was, head down, she caught a glimpse of the bulge of a hard-on behind the man's khakis as she passed. The pulse of heat in response to that sight helped briefly relieve some of the edge between her legs and the flush of her cheeks momentarily staved off the brunt of the wind. She heard him fall in step behind her as she tried to force the previous thoughts of the drive from her mind. As she reached the door, he reached past her to hold it open while she entered the lobby. "If it's local, I can let you use the office phone."
Once inside, she stepped aside of the door and paused to let him by while pushing blonde strands behind her ears. The interior was fairly plain and unassuming. Light brown Berber carpeting with two off-white chairs opposite the wood paneled counter and a couple of realistic looking plastic plants in front of the windows. "I'm from Indiana, and that's where I was headed." Aubrey sighed again, heavily, hopelessly. "So, not local," she said. Another piteous smile from the guy as he leaned against the four-and-a-half-foot counter beside the door.
"Ah, well, I'm sorry you got stuck so far away," Rick said, sounding genuinely apologetic. "Can I get you in a room, then?"
