I hate driving alone at night, especially down creepy back roads. I really wish they would just finish the construction on the main highway already so it wouldn't be shut down at night. I don't get a cell signal out here and I just know one day I'm going to end up stranded out here.

THUD

Seriously? Of course I would jinx myself. I pull off onto the side of the road and curse under my breath. I grab the flashlight that I keep in the console and slowly open my door. I look all around me, and thankfully, there doesn't seem to be any danger. The ground is still muddy from all the rain we had yesterday, and I cringe as I feel the cold, wet goo cover my toes. What a great day to be wearing sandals. I shine the light on my front tire and see exactly what I expected to find - a flat. But it appears that this didn't occur just from running over a screw or something; the sidewall of the tire was completely blown. Which also means I have to come up with the money for a new tire. Perfect. Never in my life have I changed a tire, but I already know that I'm not about to sit here and wait for some serial killer to murder me, so I slosh through the mud around to my trunk. I can barely lift the piece of wood that lays over my spare tire and tools, but finally I manage to wiggle out the jack. From what I understand, this thing is also supposed to get the bolt-things-that-keep-the-tire-on off. I guess I'm supposed to lift the car up first, though.

I try a few times to put the jack where it goes and twist the handle-thing to lift the car up, but I can't seem to figure out what I'm doing. I groan and flop down onto the ground, cringing when I land in a puddle of mud. There goes one of my favorite pairs of shorts. When I look up, I see headlights approaching me and my pulse quickens. This could either be someone that wants to help me, or someone that wants to kill me, and with the luck I've had lately it's probably the latter. I stand and attempt to wipe some of the mud and then pick up the handle-thing just in case I need a weapon. I guess I can bash them in the head with it, or something. As the car comes closer the lights get brighter, and then more lights turn on - flashing blue and red lights. The car is that of a King County Sheriff's Deputy. I guess I won't die tonight, at least. The officer cuts the engine and gets out of the car, walking over to me slowly, an eyebrow raised.

"Need some help, ma'am?"

He's got dark, somewhat curly hair and a deep southern drawl. He's considerably taller than me, though I'm only about 5'4", and fills out his uniform quite nicely. I try to shake the thought from my head as my nose scrunches up.

"Flat tire and no cell reception," I shrug.

"And an acquaintance with the mud," he smirks.

"Um, yeah," is all I can think to say back.

"Got quite the death grip on that tire iron," he chuckles.

I had forgotten that it was still in my hand, and I unintentionally was gripping it so tightly that my knuckles had turned white. I can feel my face turning red.

"Lemme see," he holds his hand out as he walks closer.

I hand it to him and he walks past me. He cranks the jack and makes sure it's secure before he turns back to me.

"Spare?" Is all he says.

"It's in the trunk," I nod. "I, uh, couldn't get it out."

As the words come out of my mouth, I can't help but feel small and inadequate - the opposite of how I usually feel in everyday life.

"Right," he nods with another smirk.

I can't tell if he's being condescending or just making a general statement. When he walks around to my trunk, the headlights from his car reflects onto his already-tanned skin and makes his dark eyes seem silkier.

"This ain't gonna work," he says when he pulls the tire out. "It's practically as flat as that one."

I can feel myself blush again. Jackson had told me that he had taken care of that the last time that I'd had a flat. Apparently, he didn't.

"I had a flat a few months ago," I nod. "That was sposed to be taken care of. Guess not."

"I could call someone," he says simply. "But it'll take a while. There's a station up ahead a little ways. I can go put some air in this to get you home."

He doesn't wait for my response, he just takes it and throws it in the back of the squad car.

"Come on," he waves me over. "Don't feel right leaving you here by yourself."

"Thanks," I say quietly, sliding in past the passenger door that he's holding open for me.

"Shane Walsh," he holds his hand out once he's back in the driver's seat.

"Alaina Yearwood," I extend my hand to meet his.

I'm expecting his hand to crush mine, but he's surprisingly gentle.

"Got a middle name?" He asks casually.

"Grace," I manage to say.

My heart hasn't stopped pounding since he touched me.

"Alaina Grace," he repeats. "Well, Alaina Grace, what is it that you're doin out here this late all by yourself anyway?"

I see his eyes glance over my body quickly before he places his eyes back on the road. I casually look down at my clothes and feel more heat come over my body. Rehearsal ran late tonight and I have an early class tomorrow, so when we got done I just threw on a pair of shorts over my leotard. I've done this many times before, except this particular rehearsal was a dress rehearsal, meaning this leotard is the one for our performance - our hip hop performance to be exact. When we picked it out, everyone wanted it to look like something that would be in a music video, so they chose a leotard that was made to look like leather and that had a zipper down the front. The zipper rests at our sternum and there is a built-in lacy push up bra that sticks out of the v-neck of the leotard. All of the other girls decided on the push up bra because they wanted to enhance the little that they have. I, on the other hand, don't want to enhance what I already have - yet here I am, stuck with the push-up-bra-leotard and daisy duke combination riding with an officer who probably thinks I'm a hooker.

"I was at a rehearsal," I answer. "A dance rehearsal."

And now I sound like a stripper.

"A dance rehearsal?" He cuts his eye at me.

"I'm a student at King Community University for Performing Arts," I say quickly. "We have a big recital coming up as our final for the semester. We had a dress rehearsal tonight."

My words run together as I explain this, trying to take the thought of me being a stripper out of his head.

"I'm not a stripper," I blurt out.

So much for subtle.

"Didn't think that you were," he mumbles with a grin. "Idea may have crossed my mind, but I knew you couldn't be."

"Oh," I say quietly.

I am now slightly embarrassed that I drew attention to my attire and that I automatically assumed he would find me attractive enough to think I could be a stripper.

"You just don't seem like the type," he elaborates.

"What exactly is the type?"

"I can just tell, okay," he grins again. "Here we are."

He pulls into the station and leaves the car running and the door open while he fills my spare. He puts it back into the trunk and we head back to my car. It doesn't take him long, once we make it back, to have the bad tire off and the spare on in its place. He places the tools and the bad tire into my trunk and then pulls his wallet out.

"In case you need something," he says, handing me a card with his name and work number on it.

"Thank you," I nod. "For everything."

"My pleasure," he nods again and then heads back to his car.

I dig a sweater out of my bag just in case something else happens while I'm on my way home. Officer Walsh pulls away as I slide it onto my shoulders. Just before I get back into the car, I notice a white rectangle laying in the grass that I didn't notice before. I bend down and pick it up, and when I turn it over, I see that it's his license. It must have fallen out when he gave me his card.

Shane Elliot Walsh

I could just drop it in a nearby mailbox so it can be returned to him, but that feels so impersonal. Taking it to his house seems a bit too creepy, though. I guess tomorrow I can take it down to the precinct before I go to rehearsal. I check the time and see that I am now very late. I hope Jackson is already asleep so I don't have to explain what happened. When I pull into the driveway, all the lights are out in the house, so I creep inside and put my bag away in the hall closet. Just as I tiptoe into the bedroom, the lamp in the living room comes on and I freeze.