The first time she spotted him, she didn't even slow down. He was hiking along side the highway as she sped past. Short hair, faded army jacket, blue jeans, boots, and a shoulder bag. When the sound of the engine reached his ears, he stuck out a thumb without stopping or even turning his head. She chuckled "yeah right," and edged the jeep over slightly to give him a wider berth.
The second time she saw him, she was surprised at how young he was. She had stopped at a gas station to fill the tank and use the washroom. He came around the corner while she was trying to choose the least-unhealthy bagged snack. She turned her back as he went down the aisle. She felt embarrassed for some reason. Guilt?
She tried to stare at him discreetly. He was facing the other direction, looking at drinks in the refrigerator case. He couldn't be much older than 30, and that puzzled her. She noticed five o'clock shadow on his face. He grabbed a beer and a sports drink, then turned gracefully and caught her eye, smiling, as if he'd known she was looking and planned this. "Hey," he nodded at her. Crap, he was good looking. She muttered "hey" back, flustered, and turned back to the rows of snacks. He paused beside her for a moment, and she felt her face get hot. He grabbed a candy bar and walked away. She let out her breath, then scolded herself for holding her breath.
The third time she saw him, she swore under her breath. She'd wasted enough time at the gas station that he wouldn't see her get into her jeep, and maybe so she wouldn't have to pass him on the road again. Then she had picked a direction at the last fork in the road, hoping he'd taken a different one. It didn't matter, there was no mistaking his figure in the distance. She studied him as she got closer. He walked quickly. Not the leisurely pace of someone expecting to get a ride, but the deliberate march of someone who will get there either way. She found herself turning down the radio. Again he held his thumb out without slowing.
Her foot moved to the brake. She was surprised at herself. Picking up a hitchhiker was a fantastic idea if she wanted to get murdered and left in a ditch somewhere. She coasted by him, riding the brakes and arguing with herself. He looked normal enough, but kidnappers probably do. She frowned as she turned the wheel and pulled onto the shoulder of the road a few hundred feet ahead of him. She watched him in the rearview mirror and noticed he was a bit bowlegged.
He approached her jeep from the passenger side. She had already rolled down the window. She braced herself for his charming smile when he recognized her from the gas station. Instead he studied her with a cool expression. "You," was all he said.
"Where are you headed?" she asked him. Why did she have the impression that he was suspicious of her? No, that would be silly.
He kept his eyes on her, and one hand slid onto the clasp of his shoulder bag. "Arizona."
She was absolutely puzzled by him. "Well, I can take you most of the way." He made no move to open the door. "I'm going to Nevada," she offered. Why was she trying so hard to convince him? "What's your name?"
"Greg." His face was unreadable. "Greg Allman."
She couldn't help but laugh. "Right, and I'm Stevie Nicks."
His eyes softened a bit. "Alright," he decided, "let me toss this in the back," he said, shrugging the strap off his shoulder. She rolled up the window as he circled around behind the jeep.
She heard a knock on the back hatch, and turned in her seat. He was saying something and motioning. "It's unlocked," she shouted. He made a face and she could hear him rattle the latch. She hopped out to see what the problem was.
His bag was on the ground against the back tire, open. She looked at him suspiciously and he took a step back. As she reached for the door handle, she slipped her hand around the pepper spray in her jacket pocket. She pulled the handle up and the hatch swung open. At the same instant something cold hit the back of her neck. She spun around with the bottle held out at him.
His stance alarmed her. His feet were wide and his arms were out, like he was bracing himself for something. The sun caught a flash of silver in his hand.
They stood there, frozen, for a long instant. She could feel her heart pounding in her ears. Then his expression softened. "Is that… mace?"
"Yeah. Walk away or I'll use it."
He made a sound in his throat. Then she saw his face crack into a grin. His posture relaxed, and she found hers relaxing too, against her better judgement. He shook his head as he chuckled to himself.
"What?" she demanded. "What!"
He opened his hand towards her. The silver thing was not a weapon, but a flask. The lid was off.
"Did you splash that on me?" She lowered the pepper spray a few inches.
His smile was irritating. "Sorry. My bad." He fastened the lid back on.
She felt the back of her head with her free hand. Her hair was wet, and the collar of her jacket. Her face went hot again.
"Thanks anyway," he said, scooping up his bag as he walked past her. He still wore that infuriating grin.
"Where are you going?"
"I already told you, Arizona," he called over his shoulder.
"Wait!" She jogged to catch up to him. "We obviously got off on the wrong foot. The offer still stands if you want a ride. Promise I won't pepper spray you." He turned and met her eyes. "Unless you deserve it," she added.
He looked over his shoulder at the road, then back to her. "If you're sure," he said, seriously. She didn't budge. "I'll pay for gas."
She closed the back hatch as he settled into the passenger seat. He was fiddling with the radio as she climbed back in. She swatted at his hand, "nope."