once again, this is auslly. ooc. btw, i deleted "did you know i'm in a band?" because i honestly didn't really like how it was going, once more than five characters are involved, things get messy and just don't make sense. hopefully, this will be different.

this will be a two-parter (as in it'll be two different stories; i'm dividing it because it will happen in different years or maybe i'll just keep it as one, i don't know yet.)

i do not own austin or ally or any of the places/things mentioned.

I wondered if the vibration would feel good between my legs.

The sun caught the chrome of a Harley Davidson parked a few spots over, gleaming in the sweltering midday sun. I waited until Maroon Five finished playing on the radio, oddly fixated on the two-wheeled-man-toy as I fished in my purse for my cell phone. The motorcycle was simple—high gloss black and shiny silver, worn leather saddlebags with a skull embossed below the initials A.M.

How good would it feel to ride? Wind blowing through my long hair, arms wrapped around a man with a tough sounding nickname, engine purring beneath my jean clad thighs. Horse? Drifter? Guns? Wait. No. Pres. My imaginary biker was most definitely called Pres. And he'd look just like Charlie Hunnam.

I glanced down at my iPhone and found a half dozen new messages from Dallas. Inwardly, I smirked. Certainly, there is no one named Dallas that ever rode a Harley. Tossing my phone back in my bag, I cut the engine of my packed BMW and glanced behind me into the backseat. Boxes piled to the ceiling were beginning to make my full-size car feel claustrophobic.

A bus full of travelers pulled into the rest stop. Great. I'd better go in now and get my lunch, otherwise I'd never get out of here. Ten hours into a cross-country trip from New York to California, I was somewhere in the middle of Nebraska with about another twenty some odd hours to go.

After a fifteen-minute wait inside for Pepsi and Popeyes fried chicken bites that I planned to eat back in the car, I stopped into the small souvenir shop. I was so tired and didn't really feel like driving the additional five hours I had to go before finding a place to sleep for the night. Yawning, I decided to stall and browse for a few minutes. Checking out some trinkets, I eventually picked up a Barack Obama bobblehead and shook it mindlessly, watching its maniacal smile as the head bounced up and down.

"Get it. You know you want it," a deep, raspy voice said from behind my shoulders. Startling me, it caused a knee-jerk reaction that resulted in the bobblehead slipping from my fingers and falling to the ground. The head broke off of the spring neck and rolled away.

The woman at the register shouted, "I'm sorry, ma'am. You'll have to pay for that. Twenty dollars."

"Damn it!" I spewed, following the path of the rolling head. As I bent down to pick it up, there was the voice again from behind me.

"And to think, some people say he's got a good head on his shoulders."

"You think this is funny, asshole?" I asked before turning around and getting my first look at the man behind the voice.

I froze.

Oh. Shit.

"You don't need to be a fucking bitch about it." His mouth curved into a wicked grin as he handed me the bottom half of Obama. "And for the record, I did think that was really funny."

I swallowed and seemed to lose my ability to speak as I took in the Adonis standing before me. I wanted to smack that cocky smile right off his face, though—his gorgeous, chiseled, framed by a thick head of blond hair. Fuck me. This man was insanely hot, not someone I expected to come across out here.

I cleared my throat. "Well, I didn't think it was funny at all."

"Then, you need to take the stick out of your ass and lighten up." He reached out his hand. "Give it to me, Princess. I'll pay for the damn thing." Before I could respond, he grabbed the two broken pieces from me, and I cursed at the shiver that ran down my spine from the brief contact of his hand brushing against mine. Of course, he had to smell amazing on top of it all.

I followed him to the register as I fished through my messy purse for money, but he was too quick and had paid for it already.

He handed me a plastic bag containing the broken bobblehead. "There's some change in the bag. Buy yourself a sense of humor."

My jaw dropped as he walked away and out of the store.

What an ass.

It was. A fine one. A thick, juicy, round ass hugged tightly by his jeans. God, I really needed to get laid, because it didn't seem to matter that this guy had just insulted me to my face; my panties were practically wet.

After several minutes of staring into space at a shelf of Nebraska Cornhuskers t-shirts, I gave myself a mental kick in the butt. My reaction to the incident proved that fatigue had gotten the best of me; I wasn't usually that short-tempered. It was time to shake off the bizarre encounter and get moving. My stomach was growling, and I was looking forward to breaking into the fried chicken once I hit the road. I snuck a piece out of the box in my bag as I walked out of the building. My chewing ceased when I noticed him two spots down from my car—sitting on the very motorcycle I'd been fantasizing about earlier.

Approaching slowly, I hoped he didn't notice me. No such luck. Instead, when he spotted me, he flashed an exaggerated smile and waved.

Frantically searching for my keys, I rolled my eyes and muttered, "You again."

He snickered. "Did you end up buying a sense of humor?"

"I used the change to buy you some couth instead."

Chuckling, he shook his head at me. Running his hand through his hair, he put his shiny black helmet on and cranked the Harley. The rumble shook me to my core.

Getting in the car and slamming the door, I couldn't help taking one last look over at him, seeing as though I'd never see this guy again in my lifetime. He winked through the helmet, and my pathetic heart fluttered.

I watched through the rear view mirror as he backed out of the spot. I expected him to take off like a bat out of hell, but after moving away slowly, he abruptly stopped. He kept trying to rev the bike to get it to move, but nothing was happening. Eventually turning off the engine, he removed his helmet and ran his hand through his hair in frustration before getting off to inspect things. I should have just left, but couldn't take my eyes off him as he struggled to get it to run. Man, that sucks.

I dipped one of the chicken bites into the honey mustard sauce and popped it into my mouth, continuing to watch this like a spectator sport for several minutes. At one point, he took out his phone and made a phone call as he paced back and forth.

Putting his phone away, he looked in my direction and glared at me. Caught in the act of watching him, I let out a nervous laugh. I didn't mean to laugh at the situation, but it just came out. He raised his brow, and that made me cackle harder. He slowly walked toward me, clutching the helmet by his side. He knocked on my window, and I lowered it.

"You think this is funny, Princess?"

"Not really… maybe." I snorted.

"Well, I'm glad you finally managed to find your sense of humor."

God, his voice was sexy.

He arched his neck to look into the backseat and took notice of all the boxes. "You homeless or something? Living out of your car?"

"No. I'm in the middle of a cross-country move."

"Where you headed?"

"Temecula."

"California." He nodded. "Me, too."

I looked toward his Harley. "Well, it looks like you're not exactly headed anywhere anytime soon. I guess it's payback for calling me a bitch."

"Well, that would seem to be the case."

"That it's payback?"

"No, that you're a bitch."

"Very funny."

"You know what's even better than payback?" he asked leaning into the window, his cologne intoxicating me.

"What?"

He wiggled his brows. "Karma."

"What are you talking about?"

"Come around and have a look at the back of your Beemer."

I got out and walked around to the back of my car to find my right rear tire was completely flat.

What? This cannot be happening.

With my hand on my forehead, I looked over at his smug expression. "Are you kidding me? Did you know my tire was flat all this time?"

"I noticed it right around the time I caught you popping chicken and laughing at me, yes. It was real hard for me to keep a straight face at that point."

I didn't know how to change a tire to save my life. I couldn't believe what I was about to ask of him.

"Do you know how to change a tire?"

"Of course I do. What kind of a man would I be if I didn't know how to change a tire?"

"Will you help me? I know you have no reason to want to… after our little altercation, but I'm seriously desperate. I don't want to be stuck out here all alone at night."

"Let me ask you a question."

"Okay…"

He rubbed the scruff on his chin. "How badly do you want your tire changed?"

I backed away from him. "What exactly are you getting at?"

"Get your mind out of the gutter, sweetheart. I'm not fucking propositioning you if that's what you think. You're not my type."

"And what exactly is your type?"

"I typically go for women who don't have the personality of a door knob."

"Thanks."

"My pleasure."

"So, what are your conditions?"

"Well, as you clearly know from your laughing fit, my Harley is experiencing a technical malfunction at the moment. It needs a part that I don't have. I just called a tow company. But I'm on a deadline, and like you, I need to get to California."

"You're not suggesting…"

"Yes. Yes, I am. If I change your tire, you let me ride with you."

"Ride with me?"

"Ride me, yes."

"What did you just say?"

"You're hearing things."

I shook my head to rid the images now flashing through it. Did my tired mind only imagine that he just said that, or was he messing with me?

"I cannot drive hundreds of miles with a total stranger," I said.

"It's a fuck of a lot safer than driving alone."

"Not if you're a serial killer!"

"Look who's talking. You're the one who decapitated a U.S. president."

I couldn't help but laugh. This situation was seriously insane.

"Holy shit, Princess, is that a laugh at your own expense, I see?"

"I think you're making me delirious."

He stuck out his hand. "So, you in?"

I crossed my arms instead of taking it. "What choice do I have?"

"Well, you could always have him change your tire." He gestured to a large and scary-looking man who seemed to be watching us. This guy looked like Herman Munster in the flesh.

Letting out a deep breath, I conceded. "I'm in. I'm in! Just get me out of here."

"I thought you might say that. Please tell me you have a spare."

"Yeah. But I have to move some of my boxes so you can get to it."

He started to crack up when he got a load of the situation inside my trunk. "Damn, what the hell is all this crap?"

I looked into his eyes and answered honestly, "My entire life."

I temporarily piled the contents of the trunk onto the pavement. He got the spare out and immediately got to work.

As he was changing the tire, his white t-shirt rode up, exposing his tanned, rock-hard abs and a thin trail of hair that ran into his underwear line. Unwanted tension built between my legs. I needed a distraction, so I walked over to his bike and sat on it, gripping the handles and imagining what it would be like to ride in the wind. But all I could envision now was him in front of me, and that wasn't helping.

He slid his body from under my car. "Be careful, little girl. That's not a toy."

I hopped off and ran my finger along the letters emblazoned on the saddlebags. "What does A.M. stand for anyway?"

"Those are my initials."

"Let me guess… Asshole Much?"

"See… I would have told you my name, but since you're so clever, I think I'll just let you guess."

"Whatever, Asshole."

He lay back down on the ground. "I'm just tightening up these nuts, and we'll be ready to go."

"Nuts?"

"Lug nuts… on the wheel, dirty girl."

"Oh."

Hopping up, he lifted his shirt and used it to wipe his forehead. "All set."

Damn.

"That was quick. Are you sure it's on right?"

"I've got a few screws loose, darling, as you'll soon find out, but none of them are on your wheel." He winked and for the first time, I noticed his dimples. "We should probably stop tomorrow and get a new tire put on. This spare is really not meant for long term use."

Tomorrow. Wow. This was really happening.

"We should get going," I said. "I'll drive. I need to be in control of this situation."

"Whatever you want," he said.

I could feel the tension in my neck as I backed out of the spot. This was going to be very interesting to say the least. He wasted no time digging into my chicken bites.

I playfully slapped his hand. "Hey, lay off my food."

"Honey mustard? I prefer barbecue." He licked his thumb, and I swore at myself for getting turned on a little. This was going to be a long ride.

He smirked and lifted the plastic bag from the souvenir shop. "Did you even open it?"

"No. What's the point? It's just a broken bobblehead."

Handing it to me, he said, "Is it?"

With one hand on the steering wheel, I took out the bobblehead which was… in one piece.

"What the… how did you?"

"You seemed to like it, so I paid for the other and bought you a different one. You were too busy looking through your purse to notice."

I couldn't help but smile and shook my head.

"Well, whaddya know. A genuine smile." He held out his hand. "Here… gimme." When, I handed it to him, he took an adhesive strip off the bottom and stuck it to the dash. Obama's head was now bopping up and down with every movement of the car.

I broke out in laughter at the ridiculousness but also couldn't help the warm feeling that came over me with that sweet gesture. Maybe he wasn't really a bastard at all.

We were quiet for a while as he lay his head back and shut his eyes. Somewhere along I-76 after the sun set into a bright orange glow that illuminated the horizon in the distance, he turned to me.

His voice was groggy. "I'm Austin."

After several seconds of silence, I said, "Ally."

"Ally," he repeated in a breathy whisper, seeming to contemplate my name before closing his eyes again and turning his head away.

"You just gonna keep letting that go to voicemail?" He narrowed his eyes on my cellphone buzzing on top of the center console. The damn thing was going off every half hour or so, but now the break between calls had shortened to ten minutes.

"Yep." It stopped dancing around, and I offered no further explanation. I'd thought maybe he'd let it go.

Of course he didn't. Five minutes later it buzzed again, and Austin grabbed it before I realized what he was doing.

"Dallas's calling." He dangled my phone between his thumb and pointer, swinging it back and forth until I snatched it out of his hand.

"It's none of your business."

"It's a long ride, Princess. You know we're gonna talk about it eventually."

"Trust me, we won't."

"We'll see."

Only a few more minutes passed, and my phone was at it yet again. Before I could stop him, he had it in his hand once more. Only this time, he swiped and held it up to his mouth.

"Ello."

My eyes bulged from my head. I almost swerved off the road, yet I sat there like a mute.

"Dallas. How's it going, bro?"

Dallas's voice rose through the cell, although I couldn't make out the words. I glanced over at Austin's cocky face. He shrugged at me, smiled, and leaned back into his seat, quite enjoying himself. At that moment, I decided our little road trip was over. As soon as we got to the next exit, his ass was getting kicked to the curb. That perfectly round mass of muscle could walk through bumfuck Nebraska for all I cared.

"Yeah, sure. She's here. But we're kinda busy right now."

I heard the next question loud and clear. Austin pulled the receiver away from his ear as Dallas roared, "Who the fuck is this?"

"Name's Austin. Austin Moon. Some of my friends call me Asshole," he said with the perfect melody of intonation that I visualized causing the vein in Dallas's throat to throb a deep shade of purple.

"Put. Ally. On. The. Fucking. Phone." Each word was a short staccato burst of anger. Suddenly, I was no longer mad at Austin for answering the phone. I was livid that Dallas had the audacity to be angry at what I was doing.

"No can do, Dallas. She's… indisposed at the moment."

Another growl of expletives came through the phone.

"Listen, Dallas. I'm going to tell you this man to man, because you sound like a good chap. Ally has been avoiding your calls to be polite. The truth is, she just doesn't want to talk to you."

My anger was rapidly bouncing between the two men. Yet… The way he said my name. I wanted to strangle Austin, although at the same time, I really wanted him to say my name again. What in the hell was wrong with me? I missed Dallas's response, busy replaying the sound of my name spoken from the blond beauty. The way it rolled off that cocky bastard's tongue made my belly do a little flutter. I might have had a momentary lapse in time as I imagined it being whispered in my ear with a throaty strain. AL-LY.

I blinked myself back to reality as Austin released an exaggerated sigh into the phone. "Okay then, Dallas. But you're going to need to stop now. We're taking a nice long trip, and your constant buzzing is getting our girl's knickers in a twist. So be a good mate and knock off the interruptions for a while. Yeah?"

Our girl. That vein had to be ready to explode in Dallas's neck.

Austin didn't wait for a response before disconnecting the call.

For a full five minutes, neither of us said a word. He must have been expecting the tirade to come.

"You're not going to lay into me about my chat with Dallas?"

My knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. "I'm processing."

"Processing?" His voice was almost amused.

"Yes. Processing."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means I don't say the first thing that comes to my mind. Unlike some people, I think about what I'm feeling and verbalize it appropriately."

"You filter shit."

"I do not."

"Yes, you do. If you're pissed off, say it. Scream it if you have to. But bitch once and get it over with, and stop being a bitch all the time."

The road was pretty barren, so it wasn't hard to slam on the brakes and pull over to the side of the road. I crossed three lanes and jerked to a stop. It was dark, the only light from my headlights and the occasional car passing. I got out and walked to the passenger side of the car and waited for him to join me.

Hands on my hips. "You have a lot of nerve. I save your ass at the rest stop and you proceed to get in my car, eat half my food, change my radio station and then, to top it off, you answer my phone."

He folded his arms over his chest. "You didn't save my ass, I ate one popcorn chicken, your taste in music sucks, and Dallas with the stick up his ass was upsetting you."

I glared at him.

He glared right back.

Oh My God. The light from a passing car lit his face, and there it was. Number thirteen. His angry eyes were exactly the color of number thirteen. I used to have to peel the paper off in the Crayola sixty-four pack before the other crayons had even lost their points. I liked it so much, it wasn't just the color I'd shaded the ground. There was a whole year of my life when all the faces in my coloring books were that beautiful brown with a mysterious touch of gray.

I was half gone. And then he took the other half.

"Ally," He stepped forward.

Damn him. I didn't say a word. I was busy… processing.

"I was trying to help. Dallas needed that. I don't know who he is to you, but whoever he is, he's obviously done you wrong. And you don't want to hear his apologies anymore. They're bullshit, and you know it. Let him stew on the thought of you taking a trip with another man for a while. Woman like you, he should know men would be circling. Shouldn't need reminding."

Woman like me?

I tried to keep up the façade of being pissed off, but I just wasn't feeling it anymore. "Well, don't touch my phone again."

"Yes, ma'am."

I nodded, needing to feel some sense of victory. I couldn't just let go of my anger because he had a sexy voice and number thirteen eyes. Could I?

"How about I drive for a while?"

My night vision wasn't great to begin with, and I was starting to get a little blurry eyed. "Okay."

He opened the passenger side door and waited for me to get in, then closed it and jogged around to the other side. Before slipping into the driver's seat, he bent down and picked something up from the street, dropping it into his bag in the back before adjusting the seat where he wanted it.

"What did you pick up?"

"Nothing." He blew off my question. "Driver picks the music." We pulled away from the curb.

"You changed the station every five minutes while I was driving."

He shrugged and smiled. "It's a new rule."

Being in the passenger seat gave me an opportunity to study him. God those dimples were deep. And the bit of stubble starting to shadow his chiseled jaw worked for me. Really worked. There was a good chance he'd be driving an awful lot.

Three hours later, it was almost midnight when we decided to stop for the day. We'd made it as far as I'd planned, even with having to waste a few hours getting a new tire.

The woman at the reception desk of the hotel was busy playing a game on her phone and barely looked up at us when we approached.

"We'd like a room for tonight, please?" Austin said.

"Ummm… two rooms, please," I clarified.

"What? I was going to get one with two beds."

"I am not sharing a room with you."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself." And turned his attention back to the front desk clerk. "She's afraid if we room together, she won't be able to keep her hands off of me." He winked at her. She had dark skin, but I could see her blush anyway.

I rolled my eyes, too tired to fight with him again and spoke to the clerk, "Can you make my room facing west, not on the ground floor, and an even number, if possible?"

"I'd like mine with a bed, toilet and television, if that's possible." He grinned, bating me.

"I can give you rooms 217 and 218. They're right next to each other."

"Perfect. She likes to be close to me."

I wasn't sure if his egomaniacal sense of humor was growing on me or if I was just slap happy from so many hours in the car, but I actually laughed a little.

He looked pleased.

The clerk handed us our keys along with a warm chocolate chip cookie each. On our way to the elevator, I offered him mine. "Want my cookie? I'm not going to eat it."

"Sure. I'll eat you."

"What did you just say?"

"I said I'd eat yours."

I really needed to get some sleep. And perhaps a nice cold shower.

He toted both our overnight bags to our rooms, and it wasn't lost on me that he let me in and out of the elevator before him. Austin had manners to go with his arrogance.

"Night, Princess."

"Night, Asshole."

I was glad he didn't say my name; I was bothered enough just sleeping next door to him.

Fifteen minutes later, I'd completed my bedtime ritual and slipped into bed. I took a deep breath in and out and let myself sink into the softness of the mattress.

A knock at the door made me jump.

With a huff, I got out of bed and stood on my tiptoes to look out the peephole. Why were those things always so high on the door anyway? I was surprised to find no one standing on the other side. Maybe I'd imagined it.

Another knock.

I flicked on the lights. The sound wasn't coming from the entrance door. It was coming from an interior door I hadn't even noticed before.

Austin's door.

I unfastened the top lock and cracked it open just enough so I could see what he wanted. And there he stood.

Shirtless.

Wearing only dark gray boxer briefs that hugged him like a second skin.

It took a minute to understand what he was doing there, even though he was holding up a toothbrush in question.

"I thought we had established I wasn't a serial killer already."

I opened the door wider.

He smiled.

Oh lord. Stop that. Right now.

"I must have left my toothpaste in my saddlebag in the car."

I swallowed hard. "Uh huh."

He cocked his head to the side, and his brows dipped in. "Can I borrow yours?"

"Oh. Yeah, sure."

He walked past me and let himself into my bathroom. I waited at the door.

"You got an awful lot of girly crap in here for one night," he said with a jumbled mouth full of toothpaste from the bathroom. "Private Collection Tuberose Gardenia."

He was reading my Estee Lauder perfume bottle.

I heard him rinse and spit. Then there was a gargling sound. He used my mouthwash too. Sure, help yourself.

He walked out and flicked off the bathroom light. "Is tuberose a rose?"

I shook my head, still confused by the whole situation going on.

"That's why," he murmured.

"Why what?"

"I couldn't figure out what you smelled like all day. Not sure I ever smelled a Tuberose before." He shrugged and walked back into his room but not before turning back. "Even those little black lacy underwear smell like tuberose."

My eyes bulged. I'd taken off my bra and panties and left them on the bathroom counter.

"You… you—"

"Relax. I'm teasing. Do I look like an underwear sniffer to you?"

Yes.

No.

Maybe?

"Night, Ally." He graced me with a dimple and disappeared.

Damn him.

I locked the door and checked it twice, unclear if it was for my safety or his. His voice saying my name was on audio replay inside my head, getting softer and softer like a soothing lullaby with each breath as I drifted off to dreamland.

Until the knock came again.

I think I might have actually fallen asleep for all of three seconds before getting up to open the door. Again.

"Wanna watch a movie?"

My room was pitch dark; he had every light in his room on. It took my eyes a minute to adjust. And when they did, they focused right on his underwear. Instead of saying no and shutting the door, I argued with him. Again.

"I'm not watching a movie with you in your underwear."

He looked down and back up at me. "What? It's not like I have boner."

My eyes widened at the inappropriateness of his comment, but then I started picturing him in his ridiculously tight underwear with an erection. Suddenly, I had no place to look. If I looked down, I was staring at his package. If I looked up at him, he'd surely see what I was thinking.

He chuckled. "I'll put shorts on."

I had no idea why I was even negotiating, when I really had no desire to watch a movie. He disappeared and came back a minute later with a pair of loose hanging shorts. I could still see the rim of his Calvin Klein underwear band sticking out. And now that there were no tight undies to focus on, I realized the shorts actually made it worse. They hung from the valley on his narrow hips where a deep V was carved. Covering up his tight buns only left me to pay more attention to the details of his chest. And his ridiculous abs.

"Your turn," he said.

My eyes asked for clarification.

"If I can't be in my underwear, you have to change out of that night shirt."

"What's wrong with my shirt?" My voice was defensive.

His eyes dropped to my chest and the corners of his lips curled to a delicious wicked grin. "Nothing at all. By all means, keep it on."

I looked down, having forgotten that I was wearing a thin white shirt with no bra. My nipples were standing at full attention, trying to pierce through the sheer fabric.

We argued over what to rent for twenty minutes before deciding on a horror movie I didn't really want to watch. Five minutes later, wearing a sweatshirt over my nightshirt, I fell asleep with Austin sitting on the twin bed next to me.