Junk

by Komal Kant

  “Listen here, Mr. Backwards Bumpkin, I do not pee myself! You’re just a grumpy man with no manners and-and you bother the living hell out of me!” I yelled back, struggling up the hill. Yikes. I needed to exercise—exercise some self-control when devouring double stuffed golden Oreos.

  Mmm, Oreos…Focus, woman! Rip his head off!

  “Oh, yeah? Well, what about you, snobbying it up in your fancy clothes, expecting everyone to bow down to you.” He switched to a posh British accent, doing a skip with his arms flouncing on either side of him as he ascended the hill. “I’m so sorry you spilled coffee on yourself, ma’am. Would you like me to buy a new four-hundred-dollar shirt, ma’am? Right away, ma’am, I’ll just do that with all the money I’ve got lying around.”

  When I reached the top of the hill, I was more than a little out of breath. My chest was about ready to explode, my breathing ragged and uneven. Seething with rage, I noticed he was headed to where his hulk of a truck was parked on an access road not too far from the small cemetery parking lot where everyone’s cars had all dispersed but my lone Corolla.

  “Why do you have such a huge truck, anyway?” I shouted, trying to get a rise out of him and hoping it would make him pause. “Are you trying to overcompensate for something?” I sneered again, but really, I knew by just looking at him, he wasn’t overcompensating. I knew it deep down.

  Although he didn’t halt, he did slow down long enough to glance back at me. His expression was smooth as glass, impervious to my remark. “Trust me, darlin’, I don’t need to overcompensate for anything.”

  “Ha! I bet that’s just a-AAAAAAHGHH!”

  The world beneath me spun. My stupid heel got stuck in the muddy grass and I lost my balance and tumbled the rest of the way down, gathering speed as I went.

  Bearded Jerk let out a “hmmmph” sound as I knocked him off his feet, and we both flew down the slope, landing at the bottom in a mess of tangled legs and curse words.

  During the tumble, my back had landed splat in the mud, Bearded Jerk had partially landed on me, and somehow his muscular legs had managed to entangle themselves beneath mine. It was like a game of Twister gone to hell.

  If someone had told me last night that I would end my grandmother’s funeral sprawled at the bottom of a hill, covered in mud, grass, and my mortal enemy, I would’ve asked them what they were smoking.

  “What the fuck, Blair! Are you trying to kill me?” Bearded Jerk demanded, trying to pull his leg free from mine. In the process, my knee-length black dress rode up to my mud-streaked thighs, showing way too much skin than was funeral appropriate.

  His eyes lingered on my legs for a quick second, and my body flamed up like it had never flamed up before. A part of me desperately wanted to know what had crossed his mind, but I let my anger flare up, instead of exploring the man between my legs.

  “Stop!” I swatted his hand away, attempting to sit up and regain my dignity, which was a little difficult considering I was stained with mud. It clung to my unruly hair as I sat up. Maybe it could treat the frizz this humidity had brought on.

  “I’m trying to get you off me!” He tried to twist away from me, but once again, my dress rode up in a way where I was sure I’d flashed him my crotch. Under any other circumstance, this could’ve passed as erotic, but in my case, it could only be described as mortifying.

  Realizing what was happening, Bearded Jerk froze. His blazing cobalt eyes locked with mine and for the longest second, we simply studied each other, bottled into the silence of the cemetery. His body was warm against mine, his scent one of pine and earth and mud and violet grass. It was the most masculine scent I had ever inhaled and it was awakening an urgency inside me.

  It was an urgency of wanting this obnoxious, frustrating man to push me down into the mud and do unspeakable things to me, because as obnoxious and frustrating as he was, he was hotter than most men I’d seen, and splattered in mud, he was hotter still.

  Give me a break, I hadn’t touched a man, let alone been this close to one in three years.

  My heart hammered violently as he reached out, grabbing me around the waist. His hands were firm over my dress—my dress that was now the greatest obstacle between us—moving lower until they rested on either side of my thighs.

  Sitting there together in the mud, my breathing and dress both hitched, the sensation of his muddy fingers against my skin, I caught something in his gaze, something maybe I wasn’t supposed to see. Before I could make sense of it, my world was uprooted again, this time by his firm hands digging into my sides as he lifted me inches off the ground long enough to unravel his legs from mine.

  The spell broke instantly. Under the blanket of thick, swaying oaks, it had been easy to forget myself, but now my senses came crashing back.

  “Hey! I’m not done with you yet!” I hollered at him, slipping and sliding as I failed to get to my feet.

  It was during that moment of struggle when I realized I was missing a crucial element of my attire—my stupid shoe was still lodged somewhere on that stupid hill.

  As though catching a thread of my thoughts, Bearded Jerk cast his gaze towards the incline. As usual, his expression was mostly undefinable, aside from the deep furrow of his brow.

  Sighing and simultaneously swearing under his breath, he walked around my splayed body and headed up the hill to retrieve my shoe and returned it to me. “Don’t say I never did anything for you, Goochee.”

  “I didn’t ask for your help,” I said in a bratty way.

  His gaze was scalding as he retracted his hand, taking my shoe with him. “Well, I guess if you don’t need it then I I’ll hold onto it.”

  And with that twisted Cinderella turn of events, Bearded Jerk absconded with my shoe back to his truck.

  “Hey! Get back here, you!” I flailed my arms around pathetically, clambering to my feet in the slippery mud. “Give me back my shoe!”

  This could only happen to me. Blouse stolen. Shoe stolen. Covered in mud. It was all because of him. That stupid, country hillbilly asshole!

  With a tempest brewing inside of me, I pulled off my other heel and clambered to my feet. I was fifty yards away from the parking lot, but it felt like I cleared the distance in a single bound.

  Reaching my car, I scrambled inside and gunned the engine, throwing it into reverse and pressing down on the accelerator with so much fury, I was surprised I didn’t run myself into the embankment.

  Slamming my foot down on the brakes, I threw the car into drive and waited, eyes trained on the path in front of me. There was only one way he could leave here and he would have to run me off the road trying.

  Just as this thought flashed through my mind, I saw his black truck coming down the road towards me.

  HONK! HONK!

  He was pounding his fist down on horn, warning me to get out of the way.

  Screw him. He could stop if he really wanted to.

  Seeing him coming at me with such force, triggered me into action. Pushing down on the accelerator, I drove at him head on, determined not to back down.

  The flash of lights.

  The roaring of his engine.

  His furious face.

  And I was chicken, because at the last minute, I swerved to the right to avoid hitting him.

  HONK! HONK!

  Asshole! He was about to-where had the freaking tree come from?!

  Terror seized a hold of my chest.

  What the hell was I doing?! Was I crazy? This wasn’t me!

  As I struggled to maneuver the car, a small oak shot out in front of me—or maybe I shot out in front of it—and just before my life ended forever, I managed to turn the wheel sharply to the left but-

  CRASH!

  Shit.

  Blair Fonseka was fucking insane!

  Where did she come off trying to run me off the damn road at her own grandma’s funeral?

  Sure, I’d spilled a bit of coffee on her, but after the crap she’d pulled in the twenty-fours since she’d arrived in town, ther
e was no way in hell she was getting an apology or anything else from me.

  She’d tried to get me arrested for fuck’s sake! Luckily, she hadn’t realized that she’d reported me to my own best friend. All Edgars had done was call me right after his encounter with Blair, hooting and hollering with uncontainable laughter. Ass.

  A part of me wanted to turn back around and check on her just to make sure she was okay, but I had a feeling I’d only be at the receiving end of one of her infamous tantrums again.

  She really had it in for me. I needed a freaking restraining order to help contain that woman. Preferably one that forced her to move to another country.

  Not that shit like that mattered to me anymore, but I wasn’t used to a woman hating me so much. The women in town, well, they were just waiting for me to welcome them into my bed. That wasn’t going to happen. Between busying myself with my work and being a hermit, I didn’t have time to get dragged into a relationship.

  But Blair—she hated me with a fire and brimstone kind of passion. And for whatever inexplicable reason, it only made me think about her more than I liked. Wrapped up with her in the mud like that, I had to admit, pushing her down into it and seeing her with more than just her shoe off had been a huge temptation.

  God.

  Get a fucking grip.

  I was acting like a hormonal teenage boy who’d never seen a girl naked and didn’t know how to control himself around one. Boners for Blair were only going to push me down a hole I didn’t want to go down.

  There was also that familiar feeling that seemed to encase me every time she was around me. It was more than a childhood connection. It was deeper and darker, even though it was faint.

  I wanted to trust that gut instinct and stay the hell away from her, but for whatever twisted reason, she kept finding me again and again.

  At least her grandmother’s funeral was over now and there was no reason for her to stick around in town any longer.

  Still, I couldn’t help wondering if she was alright. People had called me some pretty shitty things behind my back—some of them truer than others—but I wasn’t that much of an asshole that I’d leave Goochee high and dry in a cemetery.

  Sighing, I pulled over and grabbed my phone, shooting Cole a quick text.

  Blair hit a tree in the cemetery. Can you check on her?

  If I didn’t hear back from him in two minutes, I was resigned to turn back around and check on her.

  My phone dinged.

  WTF! What happened?

  Relief. Relief that I didn’t have to go back and be berated by her.

  She’s crazy. Just check on her, I texted back.

  OK but what is it with you two?

  That was a good question, which I didn’t bother responding to. As long as I knew Cole would check on her, she’d be fine.

  Throwing my phone on the passenger seat, I pulled out onto the road again, heading towards my lone home and hoping that any day now Blair Fonseka would be out of my life for good.

  It was dawning on me that I needed anger management classes.

  The fact that I’d even thought for a second that my tiny Corolla had a chance against a huge truck was complete insanity. I guess the point was, I hadn’t really been thinking—all I’d seen was a lot of red. As much as that bearded asshole was my trigger, I couldn’t keep letting him get to me the way he did.

  And now I had run right into a tree.

  Not my brightest moment.

  Backing my car up with a crunch, I jumped out and rounded the side of it to appraise the damage the tree had done.

  Oh, crap.

  The back right end of the car was smashed in, mostly the door. Could my luck get any worse? At least there didn’t appear to be anything seriously wrong with it. No smoking, no bits falling off, no leaking fluid.

  Still, it was damaged enough to ruin my already downhill day. Literally.

  Hurling all the swear words I could think of, I popped the trunk of my car and proceeded to the back to pull out my flip-flops. I found it harder to drive in heels, so I’d only changed into them once I’d arrived at the funeral.

  Which was lucky for me because now I wouldn’t be forced to be a one-heeled hobbler.

  Changing into them, I pulled my phone from my purse so I could call my mom and tell her about the catastrophe that had befallen me.

  Before I could hit ‘call’, my phone rang and an unknown number flashed across the screen. Who the frick was that?

  “Hello?” I answered with caution.

  Who knew who it was? Maybe that Bearded Jerk had somehow gotten my number and had called to gloat.

  “Hey, are you okay?” asked Cole’s concerned voice. “I heard you got into an accident.”

  “Who told you?” I asked, staring around the deserted cemetery and feeling a bit paranoid. “And how did you get my number?”

  Unless some of the undead had risen and spread gossip about me, it was impossible for him to have known about my fender bender. Unless…

  “Your mom gave me your number,” he said dismissively, ignoring my other question. “Seriously, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, slumping into the driver’s seat, digging my flip-flops into the asphalt parking lot. “Just a little run-in with a tree.” That, and a big jerk.

  “Was that the only thing you ran into or does this have something to do with your blouse stealer?” he asked, a hint of knowing in his voice.

  “I can’t get into that right now,” I said, although I had a feeling that with my dismissal, I had probably answered his question.

  In all honesty, what could I say? That we’d flirted in the mud together and he’d stolen my shoe? That after years of not caring about men and dating, a bearded hillbilly with an attitude problem was getting me hot and bothered?

  “Do you need me to come get you?” Cole’s voice broke my thoughts.

  “The car seems fine, aside from the back door. Any chance you can give me the directions to the nearest mechanic?”

  “The only mechanic in town is at the salvage yard,” Cole informed me. Of course it was. “Oh, and ask for Wade when you get there.” There was a snicker in his voice.

  “Wade?” If that wasn’t a hillbilly name then I wasn’t sure what was. On the hillbilly name scale, it was eclipsed only by an ‘Earl’ or an ‘Otis’.

  “Yep, Wade,” he confirmed. “You’ll find him on Lane 56, off Clarkson Road. It’s about four miles from the estate. I’ll come get you once I drop Delilah off at the reception.”

  Wow. They named lanes in this middle-of-nowhere town.

  “Okay, thanks. I’ll see you there.”

  Even though I’d originally wanted to call my mom, I decided against it. She was going to freak out with worry if she heard about this and she was already going through enough today. She didn’t need extra on her plate.

  Once I left the cemetery, it took me about five minutes to get to the salvage yard, which was somewhat redundantly called ‘Junk Yard’. The turn was indeed off of Clarkson Road, which led me to a small dirt road that rose up a slope where this establishment was located.

  Large heaps of scrap metal piled the expansive property which was a few acres. There were beat up cars and trucks among the scrap, some with broken windows, others with missing tires, all miserable and forlorn.

  It looked like a place where metal came to die.

  A small, run-down cabin, attached to the side of a large garage finally came into view. There was a small lake a few yards away, past all the scrap, surrounded by a line of trees.

  It was pretty peaceful if you overlooked all the ruined metal.

  Hopping out of my car, I took a minute to survey my surroundings. The scrap piles were smaller here, enough for me to make out the shapes of crushed and melted objects in them. A bit of gold glinted at me, standing out against the silver and dull colors, and I wondered what it was from.

  With a final glance at the pile of scrap, I headed to the open garage that was attached to the sid
e. There was loud music coming from inside and I wondered if I should wait for Cole or just head inside and introduce myself.

  Casting a glance around the property and deciding I was safe enough, I headed towards the entrance of the garage. There were a few cars in here, but no signs of life.

  Weird.

  Doubling back, I found myself at the front door of the wooden cabin. Maybe the owner was in there. It was the weekend, so I wasn’t sure if they were open or not. That would be just my luck.

  Taking the front steps to the door, I knocked on it a few times.

  No answer.

  I called out. “Helllllloooooo.”

  Nothing.

  Frowning, I gazed out at the scrap yard again. There was no sign of human life. I wished Cole would pull up right about now.

  Noticing that the blinds were open, I headed to the window on my left and peered inside. My eyes fell on a single room that housed a living room and kitchen combo. Empty beer bottles lined the counter, clothes were strewn across the couch, but still no person in sight.

  Just as I was about to give up, I caught the flash of a figure. It was a man, only his back visible to me, his attention on the flashing TV.

  In the second that I lifted my hand to tap on the glass, he began shedding his clothes; first his dirty flannel shirt and then his mud-splattered jeans, showing off his large biceps and rippling back muscles.

  Dirty flannel shirt and mud-splattered jeans.

  I gasped.

  Before I could turn away or tumble backwards off the front porch, the man turned around and my first reaction was to take a giant step back.

  It was him! The man of my nightmares! And just like a nightmare, I couldn’t tear myself away.

  Bearded Jerk’s bronzed body was sheened with sweat. His broad shoulders tapered down to a deep six-pack that distracted me for a good second, until my gaze plunged to his, er, junk. He’d been right—he didn’t need to overcompensate for anything. Nothing. Not. A. Thing. Everything was looking enormously well down there.

  There was a storm of fire burning on my face and sweeping rapidly through my body. Embarrassment, desire, embarrassment again. I was backing away, but I couldn’t stop staring. What the heck was wrong with me?