"Stanley?"
"Yes, Pa?"
"We have a customer," He said, pointing out the glass door of Uris Fuel and Snacks.
Stan put his ornithology textbook down, sighing. He'd never get to see any of these. Sure, there were Hawks, Quails, and even the occasional Loon, but nothing really cool. Nothing like a Red-Whiskered Bulbul. He shook his head as he pushed open the door; why was he worried about stupid birds? He was 19 and still stuck in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere Nevada.
"Howdy!" Stan said, trying his best to not sound upset.
A man stood across from him, his age and skin obscured behind biking gear. He wore a brown leather biking jacket, paired with black riding gloves. His helmet was black and pinstriped red, it's visor and shield smooth. He velcroed off his gloves, nodding towards Stan, before undoing his helmet. Auburn-red hair appeared from beneath it, straight, matted with sweat and stuck to his head. It was perfect. The man looked about Stan's age, maybe a year or two older. He looked up, squinting into the bright light with even brighter blue eyes. Plump lips parted in a half-smile, half-grimace at the glare and approaching Stan.
The stranger stood next to a black and silver motorcycle that stood just above his thigh on the stand. A collection of saddlebags and cases were arranged neatly on the back, clearly full. The engine ticked readily, and Stan could feel the block's heat on his legs well before he stood within arm's reach of it.
"Hi," The stranger said back, quietly. He turned towards the pump quickly, pulling out his wallet and debit card.
"We're actually a full-service station. I'll take your card and charge you from inside after I fill you up," Stan said for what must've been the millionth time.
The newcomer chuckled to himself, cracking a quick smile, "O-o-okay."
"So. 87, 89, or 91?" Stan asked, gesturing at the fuel options.
"Nin-n-n-ety O-one," He said, patting his motorcycle dubiously, "She's a cl-classy b-b-b-bitch."
"What's her name?" Stan chuckled.
"W-well she's a Suz-z-uki V-S-s-Strom 650, b-but I c-c-call her Ha-ha-hannah," He said, rubbing the front fender.
"Why Hannah?"
"C-cause I've never h-had an ish...issue w-wuh-ith a Hannah. So f-f-f-for a reliable-bike, it-t's a fitt...fitting name."
"What's your name?" Stan asked as he readied the nozzle and waited for the newcomer to remove his gas cap.
"Bill. Y-you?"
"Stan," He said, reaching to shake with his free hand. He held on for too long on purpose, looking directly into Bill's eyes. Bill's raised, not uncomfortable, but intrigued, and a bit taken aback.
"Well S-s-stan, wh-wh-what brings a y-y-young sss...s-soul like yours-self all the w-w-way ou-o-ou-t here?" Bill's face crumpled slightly in embarrassment.
"Family business, unfortunately," Stan said, finally releasing Bill's hand to point back at the 'Uris' on the sign, "What about you? You've been riding for awhile. What are you doing all the way out here?"
"Th-that's a sss...secret," Bill said, smiling glumly.
Stan made a point of looking to his left, and then to his right.
"Well, you're in luck. There's so much nothing out here the plants probably wouldn't hear it, even if you shouted."
"Funny." The gas pumped clicked to a stop at six gallons.
"Alright, I'll ring you up inside. You just wait here," Stan said, twirling playfully.
He stopped about halfway to the door, "You smoke?" More of a statement than a question.
YOU ARE READING
Wayward (Stenbrough)
Fanfiction"What about you? You've been riding for awhile. What are you doing all the way out here?" "Th-that's a sss...secret," Bill said, smiling glumly. Stan made a point of looking to his left, and then to his right. "Well, you're in luck. There's so...
