...."You don't want their help," the teenage driver says, as the car careens down the street. I sit behind the driver and get doused as he shakes water out of his tousled, blonde hair. I brush the water off and notice his strong shoulders and slim body as he drives the car. The only direct glimpse I see of his face is through the rear view mirror. He looks in the mirror past me to the pub where the last of the teenagers has finally entered. His face relaxes, but his foot hits the accelerator.
“Thank you, I think,” I say, still bewildered. “I haven’t told you where I’m going yet.”
"Don't mind the landy gobdaws," he says.
"Landy gobdaws?" I ask. “Do you even know where I’m going?”
"Aye, you know the snooty chatterboxes." Why won’t he answer my questions? Why are we heading out of town? And where is he taking me?
“Where are we going?” I ask, starting to get concerned.
“Where are we going, she asks,” he says to himself, laughing.
"Excuse me, this could be kidnapping."
"Kidnapping? Funny, we call it saving your arse."
“Are you serious?
“Of course, I’m serious.”
“My ‘arse’ isn’t going anywhere with you. I don’t even know you.”
"I'm Flynn. Grand to meet you," he says, turning his face to give me a winning grin. Now I can see his face: a mischievous teen with curious eyes, a pointy chin, lips that curl into a permanent laugh line and blonde hair as shocked to be on his head as I am in his car.
“You have to let me out, for real. No one will pay my ransom.”“Not worthy of a ransom,” he says shaking his head in pity....
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