I was waiting for the next bus to D.C. and couldn’t help but feel that I was in for another long, boring ride.

It was dark outside the bus depot. Dallas never looked so miserable.

As soon as I turned away from the window, a voice came over the intercom: “Schedule 1257 to Washington, D.C., now departing from Gate 9. Please have your tickets and reboarding passes ready.” I picked up my suitcase and carry-on and dragged them over to the entrance marked gate 9. I dropped them with a groan and blew my bangs out of my eyes.

“Bloody heavy pieces of junk,” I muttered to no one.

“You need help?” a voice asked from behind me in heavily accented English. I turned, and there stood an absolutely gorgeous man of Latin descent. I’d noticed him when I got on... Read More