Come and Rescue Me
I recently found out that I g et a little weak in the knees for a dark-haired butch in a tight tank top. The eagle tattoo on her right arm I could do without, but the rippling bicep underneath made me think maybe I could overlook the ink. This all came to me in a single flash of cognition, as my rescuer casually slipped out of her leather jacket and tossed it on to the front seat of her truck.
Looking at the emblem on the door , J & R Towing, I briefly wondered if the striking woman I was drooling over was J or if she was R, but she beat me to it .
“ Hey,” she said, putting on a smile and extending her hand, “I’m Roz. Looks like you’re having a bit of a bad day.”
I looked at the cloud of steam still flowing from the front grill of my little Kia and nodded.
“Wanna
