Brea

Three hours on a stuffy, overcrowded bus with no air conditioning is not my ideal way to spend a Friday afternoon. My head jolts against the seat with each bump of the road. I close my eyes, trying to pretend I can't feel the sweat of the man beside me sweeping through his shirt onto mine.

I continue staring outside the window at the endless paddocks of nothing. No rushing people, no horns blaring, no bright lights from shop windows and neon signs. It's crazy to think that I grew up out here. I feel like that was a lifetime ago and a totally different person who lived that life. In a way, it was.

Pulling out my phone, I begin scrolling through Instagram. The reception drops in and out, but it gets service for long enough to load a few stories. I click on one from Jenna. A small gasp leaves me when I see my closest girlfriends sharing cocktails, clearly out for lunch somewhere. They hadn't even invited me. None of them even know about anything that has happened the last few days.

Bitches.

My best friend—the only true friend I have—is travelling around Europe currently. I hadn't wanted to dampen her trip with the chaos that is my life. Of course that's why she isn't at the lunch, but there is no reason for the entire group to be meeting without me kbnowing anything about it.

I re-watch the story, seeing that literally every one of our friends in the group, minus myself and my best friend, Chelsea, are there. Running my tongue across my teeth, I lock my phone and glare out the window.

When the man's elbow who is beside me digs into my side, I send him an irritated glance. He huffs, moving back to his original position as if I was the one who inconvenienced him.

A run-down petrol station appears in the horizon and I sit up a little straighter, having needed to go to the bathroom for over thirty minutes now. The breaks of the bus release an ear-wincing squeak as it shudders to a stop.

"Passengers travelling to Glendale please exit here."

My head jerks up and I blink at the tired-looking bus driver with a few grey strands of hair on the top of his head.

"Excuse me," I say, and the man sighs, barely moving his legs to the point I skim my ass across his lap to get past him.

Eyes glance in my direction when I stride down the aisle. I stand out as much a red flag would in a sea of white, with my bright blonde hair, bottle-tan skin, and tight-fitting outfit. I clearly didn't get the faded, unintentional ripped jeans, and flannel shirt memo.

"Why are Glendale travellers exiting here?" I question.

"The bus doesn't travel that far," the man says without looking up as he fiddles with a seatbelt that has trapped an elderly lady in her seat.

I blink at him. "What do you mean? How do people get there, then?"

"Loved ones, friends, whoever else they organise."

"You've got to be joking," I scoff. "What bus line only does half its damn job?"

He swivels to face me, his crowfeet-wrinkled eyes to mine, a frown on his face. "This one, apparently."

"Excuse me!" the lady behind me huffs impatiently, and I throw her a glare over my shoulder. I jump off from the step and wave a hand in front of my face as a dust cloud blows straight into me.

Great. It is already going to be awkward enough seeing my brother after all this time, let alone calling him for a favour. I don't even know where I am or how far it is to get to Glendale.

With wobbly legs—heels and dirt do not mix—I make my way towards the station. After relieving myself, I enter the shop, eagerly awaiting air-conditioned coolness that sadly doesn't come. It must be the smallest petrol station I have ever seen. The man behind the counter peers curiously at me as I walk down the aisles, trying to find something that isn't greasy or looks like it's been sitting on the shelf three years past its expiry date.

After giving up looking through the small selection they have to offer, I settle with a water.

"Just this, thanks," I say as I slide it under the peeling glass barrier that separates the customer from the employee. It's so foggy that I can barely make the other person out when staring directly through it. "How far is it to get the Glendale from here?"

"30 minutes, or so."

"Oh my God," I mutter, glancing down at my red-bottom heels, almost laughing at my thought of being able to walk there. I tap my iPhone screen and see 'SOS' blinking in the top right-hand corner. "Can I call an Uber from here?"

He gives me a puzzled look. "We don't have that out here."

My mouth opens and closes a few times as his words process. "Oh. Umm... what taxi service do I call then?"

"You could try the Glendale taxi service but there's only one car and I believe Jimbo is on holidays."

"Who?"

"The taxi driver."

"You have one taxi driver? And he's on holidays?" I exclaim, my voice sounding panicked and shrill even to my own ears.

"Yeah," the man says, leaning his hip onto the counter. His shirt is so faded you can no longer reader what the logo on the breast says. "That's what I said."

Ignoring his comment, I pull up the number my brother called me on. "Can I use your phone, please?"

"It's out of order."

"Now you're just messing with me," I scowl, starting to lose whatever small patience I have.

Silently, he points to the archaic-looking telephone that looks straight out of a 1960's television show.

"What kind of outback nightmare is this?" I groan, snatching the water from the counter, sending him a withering look. "Thank you for your generosity and help."

He smiles—a sarcastic, shit-eating grin. "You're welcome. Have a nice day now."

Stomping out of the shop, I slam the door behind me, and glare down at my phone, hoping that my sheer force of will can magically reboot my phone with reception. I hold it up above my head, ignoring the numerous eyes that swivel in my direction as I squint up at the screen, begging for it to connect.

My shoulder roughly barges into something at the same time the heel of my shoe sinks into a sandy patch of dirt. With a yelp, I fall in a heap of limbs, my hair billowing around my face, and pain skittering up my ankle.

A shadow crosses over me, and a large, calloused hand hovers in front of my face. Reluctantly, I take it, the man easily pulling me to my feet. I stare down at my white miniskirt in dismay, seeing red and brown dirt sashed across it.

"Did it hurt?" the deep voice asks.

"What?" I snap, flicking my hair out of my eyes. "When I fell from Heaven? Is that really what you're going to say to me right now? God. I hate this stupid place! The dirt, the heat, the lack of reception, and the god damn asshole people who think they can treat me like shit because they can tell I'm not from here!"

Well, I am technically from around here, but that's beside the point.

The words burst out of me in an angry torrent, and I snap my gaze to the man in front of me. I jolt a little in surprise when I see one of the largest men I have ever seen. Not just a height that towers over my 5'5 frame with severity, but the width of his neck, chest, and arms. Every part of him was packed with delicious... I mean thick... muscle.

Dark brown eyes blink back at me. So dark, they almost appear black under the shade of the dusty cap planted on top of his head. Dark, wavy hair is tucked messily under the cap, and a stubble on-the-verge-of-becoming-a-beard covers most of his face. Dark freckles kiss the skin over his nose, and the upper part of his cheeks. He was all man. No wonder bumping into him sent me sprawling.

"Your ankle," he clarifies, giving me a stoic, unbothered look as he stares down at me. "It twisted when you fell, Angel."

Heat climbs up my neck, and across my face as I realise that I assumed he was about to say the classic and extremely overused pick-up line of, 'Did it hurt when you fell from Heaven?' My cheeks deepen in an almost painful flush when he threw the word Angel at me, knowing full-well where my mind had gone. I also yelled at him after he helped me up.

"Oh," I say. "Turns out I'm the asshole, then."

Feeling the weight of his gaze roam my face before they travel inch by inch over me, settling on my feet. Every part of me that his eyes touch burns with something intense that I can't quite describe. I follow the path he took, staring at my outfit that screams I'm from the city, down to my expensive but sadly ruined shoes. The heel has completely snapped off from the right shoe, lying beside my foot in the dirt.

Now that my mind has caught up with what has happened, I feel the throb in my ankle more prominently.

"Ow, yeah," I mutter. "My ankle."

The man bends down, grabbing my bag, water, phone, and broken heel, then straightening to his full height.

"Can you walk?"

"Yes," I say, but the moment I try to weight-bear, my leg gives way.

Strong hands catch me before I drop. I lean onto him with a wince as he leads me over to an old truck that's parked near the entrance of the station. The heat from his body seeps through his thin white shirt and it certainly is a different experience to the obnoxious man I was seated next to on the bus ride here. I fall into the passenger seat, the hot temperate of the leather seat scalding the back of my thighs.

"Wait here," he says, placing my things awkwardly in my lap and heading inside. He reappears a few moments later with a bandage.

Dropping to one knee, he places my leg on his. My skirt slides all the way up, and those dark eyes glance at my exposed skin before darting back to the ankle so quickly, I question whether his eyes really did wander. I hiss as he wraps it tightly.

His fingers move expertly as he wraps the bandage, seeming to know exactly how to do this, like he's practised it a hundred times. His hand is rough and warm on my skin. A shiver rolls down my spine from the brushes if his fingertips on my skin, and he lifts his gaze to mine briefly, probably wondering how I can shiver when the temperature is as sweltering as it is today.

"Thank you," I murmur when he's finished.

He nods, stepping back, inspecting his work. "So, where are you heading?"

"Glendale. I wasn't aware the bus stopped here."

"I can take you."

"Really?" I raise my eyebrows, feeling suddenly shy after my terrible first impression. "That would be great, thank you so much."

He says nothing as he steps back, placing a hand on the doorframe. I swivel so that my legs are in front of me. He firmly shut the door before coming around to the driver seat and sliding in. A scent of sweat, dirt, and something else, washes over me. It's a surprisingly nice scent, reminding me of when I was back here, growing up. I haven't thought about Glendale, and all the memories it brings with it, for a long time. I try my best to block everything out. I guess there is only so long a person can run before their past catches up with them.

The truck sputtered to a start. My eyes track along the dusty dashboard, to where his thick and vein-covered arm is loosely slumped over the steering wheel. I gulp, taking in his bulging bicep, the sleeve of his shirt thinly stretched over it.

"I'm Brea, by the way." I say, wiping my dirty hands on my ruined skirt.

The soundtrack of Frozen suddenly blares out of the speakers and the man beside me groans, quickly turning it down with a scowl.

"Didn't peg you as a Disney fan," I curve an eyebrow, smirking.

"The soundtracks really pop off."

I breathe a laugh resting my head back. "They sure do."

"What is a girl like you doing in a place like this?" He asks, his voice deep and a little brisk.

Snapping my eyes from ogling the veins on his arm, I try to focus.

"A girl like me?"

"Yeah," he says. "Pretty, glamourous, city girl."

A flush creeps down my neck. His words may have seemed a little taunting, but he says it with a warm, slightly curious tone.

Did he just say he thinks I'm pretty?

"It's a long story," I sigh, sweeping hair back from my eyes. "You live in Glendale?"

"Born and raised," he answers.

His thumb taps rhythmically against the wheel. He makes even the smallest movement look attractive. He's just so...

"What?" he says.

"Huh?"

"You said something?" His dark eyebrows furrow together and I internally cringe, hoping I hadn't uttered the word 'dreamy' or something equally as mortifying as I checked him out. I really need to stop staring at him. My life is a complete and utter disaster right now, the last thing I need is a distraction. No matter how beautiful that distraction may be.

"No, nothing," I shake my head. "What do you do?"

"A bit of this, a bit of that."

"How ultra-vague of you."

The corners of his mouth tilt upward, faint smile lines appearing around the sides of his mouth.

"And you?" he questions.

I blow out a breath, banging my head back against the leather seat.

"I was in marketing."

"Was?"

"My life has recently... gone through some changes." Sweat drips down my forehead. I drag the back of my hand across it. I reach for the window and frown when the handle stays rigid in place.

"It gets a little stuck," he says, leaning over my lap and tugging on it. I inhale sharply at his warm skin and his scent as it invades my nostrils a little too pleasantly. He grunts as the handle groans, slowly sliding the window down inch by inch. The hot air billows inside the truck, blowing my hair around my face.

"Thanks," I say a little breathlessly. I feel like my entire body is flushed now. I don't know I'm feeling so hot and bothered in this stranger's presence. "You live in town?"

"On the way out of town, but close enough to consider in town," he replies, resting his arm on the door frame. "Where are you staying?"

When his dark eyes dance across to meet mine, I swallow, feeling like both our questions somehow don't have an innocent intention behind them.

"At the local motel," I dart my tongue out, moistening my lips. "I think it's literally called Glendale Motel."

He nods. "It is. It's small and old but has everything you need."

"Sounds good."

We are both silent for a while, but it's a somewhat comfortable silence. I take in everything around me. Which is basically nothing but dead grass stretching well beyond my eyesight.

"Glendale is a quiet little place," he says after a while, his deep voice startling me out of my daydream.

"It might be a nice change from the chaos that is my life," I admit. "I hope, anyway."

"Boyfriend drama?" he asks shamelessly, drawing his lower lip between his teeth.

I smile. "No boyfriend."

"I see."

A shiver of awareness rolls down my spine and I stare ahead, running my tongue over my teeth to prevent myself smiling any harder.

"And you?" I ask. "Married? Kids?"

"No, and no."

Nodding, I roll the end of my skirt between my fingers. His eyes track the movement and he shifts a little in his seat. I can barely breathe when the dust-ridden sign of 'Welcome to Glendale' appears in the horizon.

"Here she is," he says, peering through the window. "Home sweet home."

Home.

I stare out the window silently, taking in everything. Snippets of memories flash through my mind of driving through town. It seems so long ago now.

It only takes a minute or so before the truck shudders to a halt in front of a small, rundown motel.

"I can't thank you enough for this," I tell him earnestly.

"Welcome."

He steps out of the car and gathers my things. I wince when I stand, pain shooting up my leg.

"I'll walk you inside," he insists.

"No, no, honestly, I've altered your day enough as it is. I'm okay. Thank you so much."

He stares down at me. "You sure?"

"Positive."

He passes me my things and I beam up at him through my lashes.

"Thank you for saving the day. I hope to see you around."

He tips his hat in my direction, a lazy smirk stretching across his handsome face.

"Oh, you will, Angel." He grins. "I'll make sure of that."

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I hope you have enjoyed the first three chapters of Someone Like You. I'll be posting more soon! What's a good book you have read lately?