18+| Warning: Explicit sexual contents and mature language.
All that Claire needs is an adventure of a lifetime. Being a Rapunzel in the castle, surrounded with all lavish one could possibly need, she was still deprived of something very essential;...
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Window wipes flapped hence and forth against the windshield, and all the thundering and lightning pulled a frown on Ryan's face. It was still raining. Each time he glanced outside, he saw a set of trees bordering the asphalt road on the left and right, hardly spotting any living quarters.
But his corded fingers remained stoic around the steering wheel, his smoldering brown eyes tentative throughout the way, even though darkness had immersed the road as though it was past seven. If it wasn't for the headlights, he wouldn't have seen where he was going.
"I shouldn't have gone to that goddamn check-up! Did it have to be today? Driving in the storm is a one-way ticket to the damn afterlife," the old man complained in the passenger seat, still searching for some signal on his smartphone.
Ryan smirked.
At least it wasn't about the town's mayor's incompetence that his grandfather was now grunting. The signal was lost the minute it began to pour, and Mr. Stevens believed they needed new leadership in the upcoming election to solve this matter for good.
"Don't worry, I know this road better than you think," Ryan said confidently, and he meant it.
Growing up here, he wasn't a stranger to the bad weather and occasional storms. It was just another Saturday for him.
Ryan Stevens was the epitome of manliness; tall, athletically built, with facial features that deserved longer glances.
It's his confidence that was mistaken for arrogance more times than he could count, but he hardly paid attention to what other people thought of him.
No, he never gave a damn about anyone's opinion as long as they didn't affect him or his real estate business that required a heart of steel sometimes.
"Still no signal!" Mr. Stevens pulled a bottle of Scotch from God-knows-where, tired of searching for the phone connection for the last thirty minutes.
Ryan's eyebrows knit together distastefully, now speeding between 30 MPH and 45 MPH. "I thought Dr. Rys forbade that," he said, glancing briefly at the bottle of scotch.
Though he drank only occasionally, Mr. Stevens was crazy for that malted barley scent of fine scotch. American, preferably. He'd only smell it sometimes and feel satisfied.
"Son, if I die, I'll just die," he said. "Might as well do it as a happy man instead of a sad, old bag of bones!"
"That famous speech," Ryan muttered, rolling his eyes.
Another round of lightning cracked the sky, flashing the road and immediate landscapes to a day-light view, but he didn't flinch.
Ignoring the sarcasm, Mr. Stevens added, "I'm not spending a few of my last days in the world like a warrior who's left his wife and kids at home. No, thank you, and make sure to send my regards to Rys." He chugged a sip and cleared his throat at the burning yet thrilling sensation.
