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Spotlight
Chapter 1: Change of Luck
"Pick up. Oh, come on. Pick up," Carol Mason groaned into the phone, ducking down in the driver's seat and pulling her sunglasses over her face, despite the tinted windows that would make it impossible to see inside. The call went straight to voicemail. "Damn it." She sighed and waited for the beep. Beep. "Hey, Michonne. It's me. Carol. Your best friend in the entire world. It's funny that you always answer the phone except when my car is broken down on the side of a busy road. I could really use a ride. Call me back when you get this, though I can't guarantee somebody won't come and kidnap me. Then you'll feel awful, right? Alright, I'm kidding. I hope. I love you." She ended the call and tossed her cell into her purse, trying the key in the ignition.
She frowned when the engine choked but refused to sputter to life.
"Runs like a dream!" the salesman had said when she'd bought it. Yeah, she thought bitterly, when it's not breaking down every five minutes. For the price she'd paid, she'd expected it wouldn't start giving her trouble two months into owning it.
She fished through her purse, grabbing the blue head scarf she'd bought the day before, and she quickly wrapped it over her head, covering her brown pixie cut and pushed her sunglasses further up her nose. With a heavy sigh, she got out of the car and walked around the car, checking to see if whatever was wrong was something visually obvious. No such luck. She groaned and kicked the tire.
Awesome.
She peeked over her shoulder, tilting her sunglasses just enough that her piercing blue eyes could fully scan the area. When she was certain she wasn't being watched or followed, she relaxed and moved back into the driver's seat, pulling out her phone and looking up the number for the nearest road side assistant.
Her phone rang then, and she said a silent thank you skyward before answering.
"Hey."
"You ok?" Michonne asked. "You need me?"
"Yeah," Carol groaned. "I was on my way home from the studio, and the car broke down."
"What a piece of junk," Michonne scoffed.
"Yeah, thanks for reminding me. I don't know what I was thinking."
"You were thinking 'this asshole only wanted to date me because he thought he'd get a spot on my show, and I'm pretty sure he left wearing a pair of my panties, and not in a good way, so I'm gonna buy a new car and get a new house to start over, wash that freak-show out of my life and make myself feel better.' Am I close?"
"I hate when you do that!" Carol groaned. "Can you come pick me up before somebody recognizes me and calls the paparazzi? The last thing I need is to be all over Entertainment Tonight."
"Relax," Michonne laughed. "Look, just tell me where you are, and I'll…" And the phone went dead.
"Hello?" Carol asked. She glanced at the phone only to see the battery indicator flashing before the phone shut down completely. "Damn it. Oh my God." She started to grab for her charger, only to remember that the car had to be running in order for it to work. The day just kept getting better.
When she heard the rumble strip on the side of the freeway groan behind her and the crack of gravel under rubber, she peeked into her rear view mirror to find a big pickup truck with its blinkers on cozying right up behind the back bumper of her car.
She immediately grabbed for the bottle of pepper spray in her purse. She tucked it into the front pocket of her leather jacket, and she gripped the steering wheel. She watched through the side mirror as this gorgeous piece of heaven hopped out of the driver's side wearing a pair of ripped blue jeans and a button down shirt with the sleeves cut off. His skin was damp with sweat, golden and a little pink from the sun, and his hair was a light brown, just long enough that it swept into his eyes before he pushed it back with his fingers and sauntered her way.
Her heart rate picked up just a little, and she took a deep breath to calm her hormones and prepared herself for the inevitable 'hey, aren't you that girl from that show? Can I have your autograph?' She rolled the window down then, putting on a pleasant smile as he put his hands on the window frame and bent down.
"Car trouble?"
"Is it that obvious?" she chuckled, getting a smirk out of him. It was then that she noticed the patch sewn onto his shirt. Daryl. Underneath his name read Dixon Bros. Detailing & Repairs. "Boy did you come along at the right time." She took off her sunglasses and flinched as the sun glinted into her eyes. She prepared for the recognition, only to be pleasantly surprised at what was either his indifference or obliviousness.
"I can tow it for ya. I got the rig with me."
"I…didn't even call for a tow," she pointed out, narrowing her eyes at him.
"I just saw ya broke down."
"So you see an expensive car broken down on the side of the road, and you, what, figure you could swoop in and lend your services? This is L.A. You realize I could be driving my boss' car, right? It could be a rental." Daryl looked a little confused, and she felt bad, but this is what her life had become, a series of speculating ulterior motives and simple kindnesses. Everybody seemed to want a piece of the spotlight when they got a taste of it.
"No," he said a little sharply. "If it's about the money, I wasn't gonna charge you a damned cent. Just figured you might need some help." Carol flinched then. "Guess I understand though. It's L.A. Ain't many folks friendly enough to stop and help unless they think there's somethin' in it for 'em."
"You're not from around here," she said with a smile. "Arkansas?"
"Georgia," he pointed out.
"Really?" Carol asked, raising an eyebrow. "I grew up outside of Atlanta. Didn't move here until about ten years ago." She smiled then, and Daryl eyed her. She didn't miss the way his gaze traveled down her neck and dipped into the V neck of her shirt. She cleared her throat then and moved to open the car door. She stepped out, and she noticed the way the back of his neck turned a little redder from the view he'd gotten as she leaned forward out of the car before standing up. "Sorry I was kind of a bitch."
"Nah, you weren't."
"Yes, I was," she chuckled. "So, Daryl, you can give me a ride?"
"Sure," he offered. "Where you need to go? You live close?" She bristled internally at the idea of telling a stranger where she lived. She'd had to move three times in the past two years after messy breakups or fans finding her home. But this guy didn't seem to know who she was, or if he did, he wasn't letting on. Trust was a hard thing to have when everybody knew your name.
"Uh, you can drop me off at my friend's. She's closer. She can take me home."
"It ain't no trouble."
"No, really. It's fine. I called her, but my battery on my phone died, so she probably thinks I'm lying dead somewhere right now. Do you have a phone?"
"Left it at the garage. Don't use it much," he admitted. "Well, gimme a minute, and I can get your car hooked up. No charge."
"I'll pay," Carol promised. "I don't need hand outs."
"Didn't figure you did. But I ain't chargin', 'cause you didn't call, and I ain't workin'."
"Well, I'll pay for the repairs then. It's only right." Daryl nodded then, and he reached into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet. The condom ring in the back did not go unnoticed, but Carol bit back the grin when he handed her a business card.
"Daryl Dixon. I presume you're a Dixon brother."
"How'd ya guess?" he asked with a grin.
"Oh, just a hunch." Oh my God, stop flirting. She cleared her throat. "I'm Carol Mason."
"Sounds familiar. You sure I ain't worked on one of your cars before?"
"No, I'm pretty sure," she replied with a smile. "But it's a pretty common name, you know? Carol's common. So is Mason. You know, L.A. is a big place."
"Yeah," Daryl said slowly, considering her words before he stepped around her and grabbed the keys out of the ignition. He handed them to her, and she slid the car key off the ring, giving it back to him. He pocketed it and went back to the truck to pull it around in front of Carol's car.
It didn't take long for him to rig her car up and reel it in to tow, and before Carol knew it, she was sitting in the passenger's side of his pickup, barreling down the busy freeway with the wind whipping into the cab through the rolled down windows. She tucked her sunglasses into her purse, thankful that for once she didn't have to hide.
"You in the witness protection program or somethin'?" he finally asked after a few minutes of silence.
"What?" she laughed.
"You were actin' all nervous back there, wearin' that scarf on your head and them sunglasses. Your car windows might as well be painted black, as dark as that tint job is."
"I just like my privacy," she offered with a shrug. She smiled then and shook her head. He really didn't have a clue, and it was the best feeling she'd had all day. She chuckled then.
"What?" he asked.
"Nothing." She smiled then, and then came the giggle.
"What's so funny?" he asked, a crooked smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.
"It's just…we live in L.A. and you see somebody driving with tinted windows, wearing sunglasses and a scarf on their head, and you think they're in the witness protection program."
"You in the business, then? I mean, Hollywood?" He eyed her for a moment, as if trying to place her. "You know, that chick from the Speed movies came into my shop one time. She was real nice."
"Oh," Carol said with a nod and a little grin. When Daryl realized she wasn't going to talk about herself, he cleared his throat.
"Where'd you say your friend lives?"
"Keep going. I'll tell you when to turn." Daryl nodded then.
"You got a number I can call you at when your car's done?"
"I don't give usually give out my number," she said quietly. At his glance, she shrugged. "I can stop by in a few days and check on it. Would that be ok?"
"Yeah, sure," he offered slowly. "You sure you don't want me to just call when it's done? Might save you a couple of trips if I gotta order parts or somethin'." Carol thought about it for a moment before she reached into her purse for a pen and a sticky note. She scribbled down the number and gave it to him, considering the possibility that once he figured out who she was, she very well might have to change her phone number. One of her own cousins had sold false stories to the tabloids about her a few years back. Trust. It was a bitch of a thing to hold onto.
She passed him the note, and he tucked it into his shirt pocket next to her car key.
"Thank you. For your help."
"Ain't no trouble," he assured her.
"Well, it means a lot to me. And it's nice to know there are still people out there who will stop to help a stranger…even if that stranger is suspicious and acts like a complete jerk to them."
"Apology accepted," he chuckled, getting a grin out of her.
"Oh, turn left up here," she instructed when they came to Michonne's street. She told him where to stop, and when they were parked outside the front of Michonne's apartment building, Carol opened up her purse.
"What're you doin'?"
"I should at least pay you for the gas," she offered.
"I don't want your money," he snorted. "Keep it."
"Daryl, I wasn't…look…" She sighed heavily.
"Just keep the damn money," he replied with a chuckle. "I own a business. You think I need somebody payin' me for gas?"
"Fair enough," she replied with a smile. "Thank you for your help, Daryl." She watched the way he shifted in his seat, almost anxiously. She put her sunglasses back on, and she tried not to be obvious that she was looking around for any sign of paparazzi.
"You want me to walk you up?" he offered.
"I'm ok. The doorman will let me in," she replied with a smile. She reached for the door handle, but the door wouldn't budge.
"Shit," Daryl muttered. "It's stuck again." He hopped out of the truck and hurried around to the curb, grabbing the handle on the door and tugging hard. It gave with a groan, and Carol turned to hop out of the cab. Before she could slide off the seat, Daryl put his hand against the side of the truck. Carol felt her pulse race just then at the way he was looking at her. Not in the way many people looked at her, full of expectations and greed. He looked at her in a way that made her shiver, that made her blood run a little hotter, that made her breath catch in her throat. His blue eyes were almost hypnotic, and he licked his lips as the blush filled his cheeks. He wanted her, and it was a huge turn on.
"Look, I don't usually do this, Miss Mason," he said quietly. "But you think I could buy you a cup of coffee sometime?"
"Why would you want to do that?" she asked, voice even and soft but practiced enough that it didn't sound suspicious or accusing.
"'Cause I don't think you trust enough people to get out and do stuff like that very often."
"That's a very bold assumption, Mr. Dixon." She smiled then. "And forgive me for being a little skeptical of you when you say you don't do this often."
"Whaddya mean?"
"I mean, the way you looked down my shirt when I got out of the car, the condom ring on your wallet, the way you came walking up to the car like you just walked out of a photo shoot for Popular Mechanics' Centerfold of the Month." Daryl snorted then, and- she watched his cheeks flame. "Am I wrong?"
"First of all, lady, forgive me for admirin' a beautiful woman when I see one. Second, this damned wallet was my brother's. He gave it to me. There ain't been a condom in it in fifteen years, 'cause that's high school shit. Last, you sayin' there's somethin' wrong with the way I walk?" Carol found the way her body responded to his gruff voice a bit fascinating. Her core was starting to throb. Holy shit.
"Nothing wrong with the way you walk, at all," she said with a little smile, biting her lip. "I'm sorry."
"Ya know, for somebody who don't seem to want folks to notice her, you sure got a way of noticin' people and making the wrong ideas up for yourself." He was a little angry now, and she felt her heart skip a beat when her stomach sank.
"You're right," she said quietly after a moment. "I have trust issues. And I'm sorry for assuming…look, can we just forget this happened? Just call me when the car's fixed." Daryl stepped back from the side of the truck, and Carol slid out, adjusting her scarf over her hair.
"So?" he asked, as she started to walk away. She turned.
"So what?"
"So, you wanna grab that coffee sometime, or not?" Carol couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips that she tried to bite back, to no avail. Don't do it. You don't know this guy. He could be anybody. She took a deep, shaking breath then. Then again, it's been a long time since you had a date with a decent guy. Who knows? Maybe he's the real deal. Maybe those hands are good for more than fixing cars.
"You have my number," she finally said, pulling down her sunglasses to stare at him with those mesmerizing blue eyes. "Call me."
