The Redheaded Driver

I woke up feeling like somebody had replaced my brain with a bag of hammers. Sunlight poured through the screen window. Birds were conducting some kind of loud, cheerful meeting outside.

Every sound hurt.

I sat up too quickly. Big mistake. The room tilted. I waited for the cabin to stop moving.

Apparently this was a hangover. Nobody had mentioned this part.

I stumbled outside and found a tree overlooking the lake. The morning water was perfectly still, reflecting the sky like polished glass. I relieved myself and watched the sun dance on the surface.

A beautiful place to suffer.

I tried to reconstruct the previous night: the bachelorette party, the blonde bartender with the big tits stretching a tank top, the stars spinning, the ride home.

Then it hit me.

I never got her name. The goddess in the BMW. The one with the glasses and the messy bun.

I knew her family owned the camp. I knew she looked prettier in sweatpants than most people looked dressed up. I knew she thought I was weird.

I did not know her name. This felt like a tragedy.

My stomach growled. I followed the smell of breakfast toward the dining hall.

Inside, the cafeteria was nearly empty. A few staff members sat at scattered tables.

The kitchen windows steamed. On the serving line sat scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon. Actual bacon.

I stared at it.

Maybe my mother had been wrong. Maybe God did want me to sin.

I loaded a tray.

The first bite nearly made me emotional. I was halfway through my eggs when someone sat across from me. I looked up.

A redhead. Tall and skinny. Freckles. Long hair pulled into a ponytail.

She smiled like we’d already met. “You must be the new guy.”

I swallowed. “That obvious?”

“You’ve got that lost look.”

“I’ve been told.”

“I’m Maggie.”

I introduced myself.

She shook my hand.

Her accent carried the soft musical sound of the South.

“You’re not from around here.”

She smiled.

“Eastern Tennessee. Rocky Top.”

I nodded, faking like I knew what she meant. “I thought I heard an accent.”

“I hear one too. And where are you from? Definitely not from Maine.”

I told her. “Crossroads of America.”

She grinned.

“Long way from home.”

“Apparently I do things the hard way.”

“I respect that.”

I liked her immediately.

She had one of those faces that made people tell her things. And one of those bodies that would make me do anything. Those long legs could strangle me and I would die happy.

“What do you do here?” I asked.

“I drive.”

“Drive?”

“The bus.”

She pointed outside.

“I pick up counselors from the airport and eventually the campers.”

“That sounds important.”

“I like to think so.”

I looked out the window.

“Do you get to leave camp?”

“Everyday,” she grinned.

I was suddenly very interested in the transportation department.

She smiled again. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m apparently a gopher.”

She laughed, “A gopher? What’s that?”

“I do whatever nobody else wants to do.”

“That sounds awful.”

“It probably is.”

I made her laugh again. I liked that. Maybe a little too much.

By the time breakfast ended, I’d developed the beginnings of a crush. Not that I needed another one. Apparently I was collecting them.

By eight o’ clock I was sitting on a riding mower in the middle of a downpour.

The universe has a sense of humor.

Rain hammered my face. The grass stuck to my legs. The mower roared beneath me. I was soaked all the way through and somehow still sweating.

Lynn had pointed toward the field and said, “Make it shorter.”

Then she’d disappeared.

So I made it shorter. By noon I looked like a swamp creature. I parked the mower and headed toward lunch.

The dining hall had filled considerably since breakfast. I grabbed a tray and looked for a place to sit.

Then I saw her.

The goddess from the BMW.

She stood beside Lynn, speaking with the camp director.

Even from across the room she looked completely different than she had the night before.

Dark hair down. Crisp blouse. Tight black slacks. Confident posture. Coffee in one hand.

She looked expensive. Successful. Entirely out of my league.

I found myself smiling anyway.

Lynn noticed me. She waved me over. I walked across the room, tray in hand.

“Hey!” Lynn said. “How’s our new guy?”

“Wet.”

She laughed. “Yeah that happens if you don’t wear a jacket.” She gestured to the goddess. “This is my cousin, Amanda.”

Amanda. Finally. A name.

She looked at me politely. The faintest smile. Like we were complete strangers.

“Nice to meet you.”

I blinked.

Nice to meet you?

We’d spent twenty minutes alone in a car twelve hours earlier. She had seen my hard throbbing cock!

I waited for a wink. A joke. Something.

Nothing.

She simply sipped her coffee.

Lynn continued.

“Amanda’s in consulting. Big important job.”

Amanda rolled her eyes.

Lynn continued, “She’s always traveling somewhere. So many big companies that need help. Luckily for us, she has time this summer to help us.”

I looked at Amanda.

“You help people that struggle?”

“Companies that struggle. People only if they’re drunk and desperate in the middle of the night.”

A tiny smile appeared. Then disappeared.

“Well,” I said, “nice to officially meet you.”

“Likewise. I’m sure we’ll come up with a process where you don’t cover the cafeteria in grass every time you walk in.”

And that was it. A little insult about my appearance.

No mention of the ride. No mention of the stars. No mention of me talking nonstop all the way home. No mention of her shock at seeing my hard dick.

I suddenly felt very young.

Because I was.

She looked at me the way adults look at kids who say something amusing.

I understood.

She lived in another world entirely.

Lynn started talking about schedules. I nodded along. But my attention had drifted.

Across the room.

Maggie was sitting at a table by the windows. She caught me looking and smiled. I smiled back.

There were plenty of pretty women in Maine. Maybe I didn’t need to spend my summer chasing a goddess in a white BMW.

Maybe I should aim a little closer to earth.

I sat down next to the pretty redhead. “Got any trips plan this afternoon?”