Good Company

by JL Merrow
16 pages / 5200 words
Available file types - html, lit, pdf, prc, epub, Sony-optimized pdf

Hitchhiking is a dangerous proposition. Aidan is just hoping for a ride and no trouble when a bloke named John stops to give him a lift. John seems a decent sort, though. When night falls, Aidan would do John a 'favor' to say thanks, just like he would any guy who seemed interested, but finds himself in a bit of a bind: he might be getting fond of the man. Can a stranger who's good company become more than that in one short day?

Sample

“Well, come on, lad. Get in, if you’re getting in. I’m not hanging round all day.”

Aidan pulled himself together and grabbed his rucksack hurriedly. “Sorry, mate. Didn’t reckon you’d've stopped for me.”

“See some other bugger hitch-hiking, do you?”

Aidan grinned, slinging his pack in the back and climbing into the passenger seat of the Merc. “Nah. ‘S not what I meant. It’s the posh car and all. Usually it’s the truckers what stop.”

“Oh, aye? You want to watch out, good-looking lad like you. Get some nasty sorts picking up young boys on roundabouts.” The bloke was giving Aidan a look, as if he was flirting or something, but it wasn’t threatening. Aidan knew threatening when he saw it. He gave the bloke one of his cheekiest grins.

“Takes one to know one, does it?”

“Pure as the driven snow, I am.” Yeah, this bloke was definitely flirting. Aidan gave him a frank stare. He was older than Aidan -- could have been nearly his dad’s age, assuming the old bastard hadn’t managed to drink himself to death yet. Nice smile. Broad in the shoulders, but far as Aidan could tell from inside the car, not too tall. Just how he liked them, really, although it made his chest hurt a bit to think it. Still, flirting back wouldn’t cost him nothing and, if he did it right, the bloke might buy him a burger at the services. After all, he had to be loaded if the Merc was anything to go by.

“So, you nick this thing, or win the lottery?” he challenged, smiling.

“Neither, you cheeky young bugger. Earned it with the sweat of my brow.”

“Yeah? Don’t see a right lot of navvies with Mercs, generally.”

The bloke laughed. “Them buggers aren’t doing it right. So, where are you heading, lad?”

“Glasgow.”

Sandy-colored eyebrows rose. “Long way to go just hitching lifts, lad. We’re hardly past Watford Gap. Started out a bit late, didn’t you?”