“Bon Jovi? Okay, now I actually am offended.” He squinted down at me. “Do I look like I spent three hours with a round brush and a can of Aqua Net this morning?”
“Well, no, I—”
He cut me off. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
Not that it was any of his business, but if it got him pumping my gas, I’d engage him in conversation. “No. I’m from Long Island’s North Shore, or more specifically, the Gold Coast.”
“Never heard of it.”
“You know—fromThe Great Gatsby?”
He shook his head.
“The book? It’s a classic.”
A shrug.
“The Gold Coast is between New York City and the Hamptons,” I tried again, but Iron Maiden was rapidly losing interest, so I wrapped it up. “I’m vacationing. We have a summer home here.”
He leaned against the door. “Do you now?”
“Yes. Right on the ocean.”
“I wouldn’t assume anything less.”
“Look, I really need to get going, so…”
“Right. I understand. I’m sure you’ve got some big shopping spree to get to, but for your information, here on the Pacific Coast, we pump our own gas.”
My brows furrowed. “Wait… so you wantmeto get out and pump itmyself?”
He nodded in a slow and deliberate manner. “Yes, all by your lonesome.”
“Well, then, what are you going to do? Stand there and watch me?”
“No, I’m going to go fill up my own tank. And then I’m going to drive to my place, smoke some joints, and head bang the night away to loud, fuckin’ music.”
Slowly, the pieces connected. This guy… he didn’t work here. Holy hell! He didn’t flippin’ work here. The tan I’d worked so hard on this summer drained from my face. “I’m so… I’m… I thought…”
“I know what you thought.”
“I’m so embarrassed.”
“As you should be,” he said, pushing off my car with his hip and chuckling as he turned away. “Enjoy your stay, Gold Coast.”
I watched him walk to his pickup truck, which happened to be parked directly in front of me. If I weren’t cruising on empty, I would’ve already peeled out of the gas station, screaming my stupidity into the wind. But no. I was now committed to this awkwardness.
Ignoring his stare, I stepped out of the convertible and assessed the situation. Right, so… the nozzle thingy went into the car somewhere. I was a bright girl. It wasn’t like this task was beyond my comprehension. I could fill my tank like Pacific Coast people did.
Circling the vehicle, I discovered the gas cap and twisted it off. So simple. Proud of myself, I returned to the pump and grabbed the nozzle thingy. Not so hard. I shoved it into the tank and waited. Nothing happened.
I glanced over at Iron Maiden. He was watching me, enjoying the show.
“You got it in the hole,” he complimented, even sparing a clap for me. “Congrats.”
“Yes. Thank you. Is there a trick to getting the gas to come out?”
“No trick at all.”
