About 63 Miles to Shelby

by Wil Rush
11 pages / 4000 words
Available file types - html, lit, pdf, prc

Trucker Jeremy thinks Shelby is the hottest thing he’s ever seen. Too bad Shelby, a waitress in another town, would rather have Jeremy’s driving partner, Carlos. Carlos wants Jeremy, and between the three of them, they’re a mess waiting to happen. When the beer flows heavily, though, it’s Carlos that Jeremy runs to. Who ends up kissing who in this short tale?

Sample

“Hey, I asked you a question.”

“I swear to God, Jeremy, I’m not playing your puerile games.”

I already knew Carlos was the smart one, but he still insisted on using words I didn’t know. I wasn’t going to let him get to me. There were bigger fish to fry. “I swear to God, Boss-Man-J,” I said.

Carlos pointed a red Slurpee straw at me. “Listen, you can give yourself whatever asinine handle your delusional ego can come up with but don’t expect people to use it.” He pulled on his shaggy black hair and sighed like a tire losing air.           

I counted five mile-markers before I tried again. “Hey, Carlos.” Shifting gears, I pulled out into the left lane. An ancient Honda Civic ate dust as we sped past. I shot Carlos a look.

“Jeremy, you can’t be serious.”

“Hey, who’s the boss here?” Until recently, when I’d remind Carlos that he worked for me, he’d try to deck me. Which was funny enough, considering I had five inches on him. Now, he just fussed and threw around big words. He tried to make it seem like he didn’t like me, but I never believed it. I called him my friend. Sometimes that annoyed him, and that cracked me up.

“I’m not about to comment on which shirt you look ‘hotter’ in.”

“Which shirt Shelby would think I look hotter in, Carlos.”

Carlos shook his head. “How the hell would I know what she likes?  I can’t believe I’m trapped in here with you, having this conversation.”

“The long-sleeved one that makes me look like the big Boss-Man-J, or the cut-off one that shows off my biceps?”

“Normally don’t give a damn how you look, or, for that matter, how you smell.”

“Come on, Carlos.” I smiled, trying to soften him up. “You’re a way better dresser than me.”

Barstow and Shelby were just sixty-three miles away. I needed to make a good impression this time. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have bugged Carlos about the damn shirt.

“That’s it,” he groaned. “Stop the rig. I’m getting out right here."