Cupid was at it again. I didn't want to be in love. But here I was, that gol-durned arrow stickin' out of my backside, a couple inches above the leather seat on my Harley Fat Tail. The third arrow in the past 10 miles. Cupid didn’t want to give up.

I needed to be free. Sun on my head, wind tanglin’ what hair was left, smashin’ dragonflies with my teeth.

Low on gas, I pulled into the run-down Sinclair off old Route 66. A scrawny guy called from a lawn chair. “Nice ride. Did ya know ya got an arrow stickin’ out yer butt, there?”

Without a word, I reached back and yanked on it. It wouldn’t budge.

 “You know, I’m plumb out of gas,” the skinny guy said. “Got a truck comin’ in tomorrow.”

I swallowed hard to hold down the anger, and the smell of Magnolias snuck up on me from behind.

 “That’s OK,” a familiar voice said, as I felt her hand on my shoulder. “I can take him where he needs to go.”

I turned toward the breath in my ear, looked at her fiery hair and deep brown eyes. The arrow didn’t hurt anymore.

© 2008 Ron Chalice. Original for CCF (Chalice grants CCF first electronic rights for one month; CCF may archive the material indefinitely and include it in an eBook anthology).