#dragonflylady77

And this happened! Happy 80th Harringrove work to me! This number includes 23 poems and some doodles.

“Fuck!”

Billy kicked the now shredded front tire of his precious Camaro. He knew he only had himself to blame, swerving to avoid a doe and her fawn and driving over sharp rocks that lined the road as a result. The stupid, remote, isolated country road. At least there wasn’t any snow.

He put on his fur-lined denim jacket over his hoodie, doing up the buttons because the temperature had dropped since he’d left the highway. He left his scarf on the passenger seat before making his way to the rear of his car. Cursing some more, he emptied the contents of the trunk onto the shoulder so he could gain access to the spare tire.

He lifted the floor panel and looked at the spot where the spare should have been. He stared at the empty space in confusion, trying to remember what he could have possibly done with it and coming up blank.

He patted his pockets for cigarettes, regretting his life choices. He’d quit for over a decade, but every once in a while he still craved that sweet hit of nicotine when he was stressed. Out of the blue, he remembered Max borrowing his car for work a month ago.

“That little bitch…” 

Billy threw all the bags and boxes back into the trunk, then slammed it shut, hard. He leaned in on the passenger side to find his phone, cursing when he struggled to locate it, then cursing some more when he saw the stupid thing was on 2% battery. 

He heard a vehicle approach and moved back out too fast, hitting his head on the frame. This time, he couldn’t resist the urge to scream, from a mix of pain, frustration and anger.

“You okay, there?” came the male voice from behind him. 

Billy spun around to face the newcomer and nearly dropped his phone on the gravel from the shock of suddenly being faced with the prettiest man he had ever seen in his entire fucking life. Holy fuck. No way this guy was real. Billy was sure he must have given himself a concussion and was still halfway into his car, passed out, imagining things.

Thick hair that made Billy’s fingers twitch with the need to dig into it, big brown eyes that Billy felt staring into his soul, moles dotting his cheeks and a mouth he was dying to get his lips on. His eyes darted to the guy’s left hand. No ring, not that it meant much anymore.

The door of the truck creaked when the stranger opened it and jumped out. He was wearing dark grey coveralls he’d tied up at the waist, and a light grey Henley that had seen better days. He shrugged into a red parka as he stepped closer, and Billy dug his nails into his palms when he spotted the guy’s chest hair peeking out of the unbuttoned collar.

He hadn’t even talked to the guy yet, and he wanted to jump his bones.