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"Oh, for god's sake," you mutter, kicking softly at the wheel of your car. You really should've thought about getting a better car before making a cross-country trip, but you've never been one for common sense. Unfortunately, this oversight has led you to your current situation; stranded in a tiny town in Buttfuck Nowhere, Texas, with a broken car and clothing much more suited to your usual Washington climate than the extreme Texan heat.
You groan, removing your glasses for the express purpose of slamming your head down on your car, eyes sliding shut as you admit defeat. You don't know a single thing about car maintenance; you have enough trouble filling the windscreen wiper tank things, you don't think you could ever fix a car. You're probably going to die in this shitty little town and get eaten by vultures before anyone finds your body. Maybe they'll make a movie about you, starring Nic Cage as someone. You don't know who, but you know that if they make a movie about your life then Nic is going to be in it. You're pulled out of your life-movie considerations by a thick Texan accent calling out to you.
"Hey, city boy! You need a hand?" You lift your head from its current spot against your car and look around for the source of the call. You realise that there has actually been someone sitting at the café across from where your car gave up on working for the whole time you've been there, meaning he's witnessed your little hissy fit. Oops.
"Uh, yeah," you yell back. "I think I broke my car." From your position behind your vehicle, all you can see is the back of his platinum blonde hair and a bit of his shoulders. As he stands, though, you get a much, much better view, and it's all you can do to not get caught staring because this man is undoubtedly the most attractive specimen of human that you've ever seen. His tight singlet is leaving literally nothing to your imagination; you can see his back muscles ripple as he stretches, lightly tanned skin stretching over drool-worthy biceps. He's not ridiculously muscled- he's pretty skinny, but everything seems to be perfectly defined. His black jeans are very tight, and if you weren't so distracted by his ass, you might be asking yourself why he's wearing black skinny jeans in this weather, but you really could not care less about the reason right now.
Finally he turns around, allowing you to see his face for the first time. Or, at least, what's visible of his face, since at least a third of it is covered by aviators. The bits you can see, however, are really not helping your situation. His nose and lip are pierced, and you're pretty sure he's smirking a bit and shit he's noticed you staring. You pull your gaze away quickly, blushing furiously; hopefully you can attribute that to the burning sun and not the fact that a very attractive man just caught you staring at him. Good going, Egbert, you giant idiot.
You hear footsteps against the tarmac and cringe. Wonderful, he's coming over, probably to beat your gay ass into tomorrow because this is Texas and from what you've heard they don't exactly take kindly to people like you. The footsteps stop on the other side of your car and you try to glance subtly in his direction, but you know he sees you and you flinch, waiting for the incoming abuse.
"What's up?" Huh, well that's not exactly what you were expecting. You must look a bit dumbfounded because he raises an eyebrow at you and continues. "With your car? The one you've been chuckin' a tantrum at for the last 5 minutes?"
Oh, right, your car. "Well, um, I was kinda driving from Washington down to Florida cos there's a big family gathering and I didn't wanna catch a plane because, y'know, those things are dangerous and could be filled with criminals-"
"I didn't ask for your life story kid, what's up with the car?"
You blush, again, for like the 4th time in 3 minutes. You think this is a new record. "I'm not a kid," you reply, petulantly and, to your chagrin, childlike.
"Uh huh."
You cross your arms and huff. "I was just driving then my car decided not to work, is that acceptable for you?"
You can tell he's not really listening as he indicates for you to pop the bonnet. You sigh and do so, and he gives you a quick thumbs up, before reaching up and taking his shirt off. Oh. You swallow, hoping that your jeans are tight enough to stop any, ah, problems you may have from showing.
"Is that, um, necessary?" You ask, voice cracking a bit on the last word.
"Nah. Why, you uncomfortable?" You shake your head minutely, eyes glued to his chest. He snickers and indicates for you to come closer. You inch forward, hoping to god he doesn't decide now's a good time to mug you. Instead, he points into the engine of your car.
"Okay, you see that thing there?" You nod before realising he probably can't see you from his position, but he keeps going anyway. "That thing is the source of all your shit. Basically, what you need to do is-"
He doesn't finish his sentence, instead reaching in and turning it. You know you should be watching, but your gaze is too focused on his biceps as he struggles to twist it. Evidently, he succeeds at his task as he stands with a satisfied grunt, stretching his back out. You quickly school your features to make it look like you've actually been paying attention, but he's clearly not fooled. He smirks at you (again with the smirking? Fuck this guy and his sexy face, damn it) and grabs at his singlet, pulling it back down over his head.
"Did you have to get to your family shit straight away or do you have time to come get lunch with your saviour?"
You don't have to be there for another few days, so you agree without hesitating. "I, uh, think my family can deal without me for a bit."
You have never been so happy to have a shitty car.