What Was I Thinking? – Dierks Bentley
Just a bit of fun after a mission at the Rodeo. Pure fluff. Thanks to ne71 for the read through and for catching what all of those squiggly green and red lines didn't.
"CHUCK! DRIVE!"
Chuck startled from a half-doze at his post at the steering wheel and turned to see Sarah vaulting into the bed of the old Ford step-side pickup truck they were using for the mission. Hot on her heels were five very angry-looking cowboys. As soon as her boots hit the boards, he threw the truck into gear and stomped on the gas, the tires throwing up a fantail of dust in the loose dirt of the arena's parking lot.
"Lookin' for this boys?" Sarah teased, grabbing a ridiculously oversized gold and diamond belt buckle with one hand and drawing a gun from the waistband of her oh-so-tight Wranglers with the other.
Chuck guided the truck through a sliding fishtail and glanced over his shoulder to see Cowboy Number One launching himself over the rail and into the bed of the truck. He kicked Sarah's gun out of her hand as she turned to aim at him. Sarah reciprocated with a knee to the groin and a spin-kick that sent him hurdling out of the truck into the dirt where he lay grabbing his man parts and groaning.
Cowboy Number Two made a running dive and latched onto the truck's tailgate, the toes of his boots dragging in the dust. Chuck whipped the truck from side to side until the man lost his grip, somersaulting behind a row of parked cars.
Number Three was running alongside the truck, Terminator-style. As he managed to get a leg up onto the step-side, Sarah tore off her flannel shirt, wrapped it around his head and pulled down hard, sending him spinning under the chassis. Chuck felt a jolt as the rear wheel ran over his legs.
Cowboys Four and Five were now too far behind to catch up. Number Four pulled out a twelve gauge and pulled the trigger. Sarah dove for cover as the shot peppered the truck's tailgate.
Four and Five ran for their truck. Turning his attention back to the front, Chuck found his escape route blocked by Cowboys Numbers Six and Seven in a big black Silverado. He turned the wheel hard to the right, sending Sarah crashing into the wall of the bed.
"Sorry!" he called over his shoulder.
Scanning the front of the arena, he saw Casey jogging out of the employee entrance. His face was red, his eyes puffy and teary, his nose swollen, and he was wheezing heavily. As Chuck circled and slowed down to pick him up, there was another boom of a shotgun blast and a jolt as they were rear-ended by the Silverado.
"Just drive Chuck!" Sarah yelled.
"We can't leave him behind!"
"Just go! We'll draw them away from him." Chuck threw a dubious look over his shoulder (Leave Casey? What is she thinking? There's going to be hell to pay for this.) but he did as Sarah said, stomping on the gas once more. Casey had, after all come in his own truck, not wanting to spend 5 hours crammed into the cab with Chuck and Sarah.
"Dob't you dare leabe be, Bartobski!" Casey wheezed as he disappeared into the sheet of dust kicked up by the three speeding pickups. Chuck shot an apologetic look over his shoulder but kept on driving.
Sarah reached through the rear window and picked a bottle of Claritin up off of the seat. She tossed it in Casey's direction as Chuck tore out of the parking lot and onto the paved road.
"Well that wasn't very nice darlin'," Chuck drawled as Sarah climbed through the window and into the cab.
"What? I told him to take it before he went into that barn," she retorted, still laying on the thick Southern accent she had adopted for the mission. "I told him not to touch his face either, but does he listen to me? No!"
"What happened?"
"He sneezed. Just as I was getting the buckle out of the safe, he sneezed and let every damn person in the place know we were there."
"Still, I don't think he's going to take too kindly to us just leaving him at the Rodeo."
"He'll get over it. Chuck! Watch out!"
The truck rocked as they were rear-ended again by the Sliverado. A matching black truck pulled out from behind and began to overtake them on the side.
"I've got the gas to the floor! They're faster than us! What do I do now?"
"Turn off the headlights!"
As Chuck fumbled with the knob, Sarah grabbed the wheel and yanked it hard to the right. The old truck flew across the ditch and into a cornfield.
"I can't see a thing!"
"That's the point. Keep going!"
Chuck held his breath as the tall rows of corn slapped against the windshield and the sides of the truck. He eased off the gas, terrified that they were going to slam headfirst into another ditch, or a house, or a barn. Driving through a cornfield in the dark, leaving Casey behind, what the hell am I thinking?
"Faster Chuck!"
Sarah slid into the middle seat and put her foot over his, pressing down on the accelerator. Chuck tried not to think about the feel of her leg wrapped around him, tried not to look down at that little white tank top pressed up so close against him or to be distracted by the feel of her hair whipping across his face as she turned to look behind them.
"Do you see them?"
"No. Keep going."
They flew out of the cornfield and onto a gravel road. Chuck swung the wheel hard to straighten them out and barely managed to keep the truck from tipping over as it fishtailed back and forth.
"Hide behind that barn up there."
Chuck turned into a quiet farmyard and killed the engine after they were concealed behind the barn. Both spun around to look at the road and heaved a big sigh of relief as the two Silverados passed by without seeing them. Chuck slunk down in his seat, heart racing from the adrenaline rush.
"Nice drivin' cowboy." Sarah plucked Chuck's Stetson off of his head and tossed it into the passenger seat. She grabbed a handful of his hair, pulled him down and kissed him long and hard.
"Who the hell are you kids? And what do you think you're doing here?" An angry-looking farmer was striding across the yard towards them, shotgun in hand.
"Crap!"
"Drive!"
Chuck cranked the engine and they peeled out of the farm as another shotgun blast sounded behind them and the tailgate picked up a few more dents.
"Which way?"
"Head South. We're supposed to meet our contact and pass off the chip at a bar just outside of town."
"It's in the buckle like we thought, right?"
Sarah shimmied around to detach the buckle from her belt. Oh my God, those jeans, and that little white tank top . . .damn. She popped a microchip out from its hiding place in the back of the buckle.
"Yeah, it's here. What is it about guys and their belt buckles anyways?"
Chuck just grinned at her and put an arm around her shoulders as she snuggled up next to him.
"You smell like horses," he teased, kissing the top of her head.
"Well, better than sausages, right?"
"I don't know. I do miss those pigtails sometimes."
Sarah ran her fingers teasingly up the hem of his jeans.
"Hey! Mind on the mission!" he shot out, voice cracking on the last syllable.
"Mmm hmm," she replied, her fingers not stopping.
"I'm trying to drive here!"
"Mmm hmm."
"No fraternizing on missions. General's orders."
"Mmm hmm."
"Aahhhh . . ."
The truck veered over towards the side of the road, its driver's attentions being suddenly directed elsewhere. Sarah was tossed away from Chuck as two wheels dropped into the ditch.
"I'm sorry Chuck," she said after Chuck brought the rig back onto the road, "was I distracting you?"
"Mmm hmm!"
She laughed and gave him a wicked, teasing look before easing herself back up under his arm again, this time keeping her hands to herself. "Turn right up here."
"So, um, Casey?" Chuck asked, primarily to fill up the awkward silence. "Who would have guessed he had hay fever, huh?"
Sarah grunted a very Casey-like grunt.
"Nice one! I think that was the number four – exasperated with a dash of frustration."
"Thanks, but I was going for the number eight – complete and utter disgust."
"Hey, he can't help it."
"He should have recused himself as soon as he found out what kind of mission this was. The two of us could have handled it."
"And miss a chance to wrastle with the cowfolk? I doubt that. Still, I can't believe we just left him there. You think we should go back to get him?"
"Nah. He's probably halfway home by now. Besides, I like it better with just the two of us." Her fingers started tracing the inseam of his jeans again. Chuck bit his lip and desperately tried to keep his concentration on the road.
Twenty tension-filled minutes later they pulled up at a bar that could only properly be described as a honkey tonk. The parking lot was full of trucks and the crowd milling around had obviously come straight from the rodeo. Country music blared out the open front doors and they could see a live band at the far end of a large dance floor. Chuck and Sarah pushed through the crowd to the bar and Chuck ordered them a couple of beers. They leaned against the bar and scanned the crowd as they drank.
"You see him?" Sarah asked.
"I don't know. What does he look like?"
"Don't know. You're supposed to flash on him."
"Nothing so far."
Sarah checked her watch. "Well, we are early. Guess we need to go blend in."
Chuck looked down at his Western duds and the beer in his hand, "I thought we were blending in."
"Nope. You, Agent Carmichael, need to dance with me."
"Ah . . . I . . . "
"What?"
"Well, I don't know how to . . . country dance."
"It's called two-stepping, goofball. It's not hard, I'll show you."
"That doesn't mean I have to dance the girl's part again does it?"
"Nah. I'll just back-lead until you catch on. Come on!" She took the beer out of his hand and pulled him out onto the dance floor. Chuck sighed and let himself be dragged; she obviously wasn't going to take no for an answer.
"Put your right hand on my waist. Now pull me in closer . . . closer. Good. Now just count – one-and-two-and-three-four. Got it?"
Chuck swallowed. God, that tank top . . . so tight . . . so close . . .heads up soldier. Look at her face, not her . . . "Er, got it."
And she pulled him forward. Ok . . . left, together, left, together, slide right, together, left, together, left, together . . . hey! This isn't so hard! Chuck was feeling pretty good about his two-stepping skills until they reached the end of the floor and Sarah led him into a turn. His feet tangled up hopelessly and the spin ended with the heel of his boot coming down hard on Sarah's toes.
"Ouch!"
"Sorry," Chuck mumbled.
"That's ok, you'll get the next one."
Three more turns and he had it. Chuck took over the lead, marveling at the way she effortlessly followed, how pliable she was, moving like she was an extension of him. His hand slipped lower onto the seat of her jeans, hers moved to the back of his neck, idly playing with his hair in the way she knew drove him wild. He laid his cheek against the side of her face, breathing in the scent of her hair. Ok, so maybe horses are better than sausage. This was obviously more than just cover dancing. Chuck thought about the long kiss in the barnyard and wondered where the rest of the night might lead once they had passed off the microchip.
As he raised his eyes to negotiate the next turn, he noticed a man at the edge of the crowd around the dance floor. He hardly needed to flash – the man's cheap gray suit and his stiff demeanor gave him away as an agent right off – but flash he did. As his eyes were rolled back in his head, he stumbled, accidently pushing Sarah into the mountain of a man standing behind her.
"Hey! Watch where you're going, jackass!"
"Sorry, sorry," Chuck mumbled. This guy was seriously big. The sleeves of his T-shirt were cut off to reveal bulging, rock-hard biceps and a tattoo of a skull with the words "Born To Kill" stenciled over the top. The man glared at Chuck, but then his expression changed when he noticed Sarah.
"Well, hello darlin'," he said, stepping in close to hover over her. "Don't you think you should be dancing with a real man?" He put his hand on Chuck's chest and roughly pushed him away. "I'm cutting in." He grabbed the stunned Sarah and pulled her in, fondling her ass roughly with his giant mitt.
At the sight of the thug's hand clamping down on Sarah's rear end, Chuck saw red. Before he could form a coherent thought, he reeled back his fist and punched the brute square in the jaw. A tooth went flying out onto the dance floor. Holy crap! I can't believe I just did that! What was I thinking?
With a roar, the guy started after him.
"Gotta go!" Chuck yelled, taking Sarah's hand and running across the dance floor. As he passed the agent in the gray suit, he took the microchip out of his pocket and tossed it towards him. "Here ya' go buddy!" The agent caught the chip and stared after the two of them, nonplussed. Chuck supposed that this was hardly standard CIA protocol.
Chuck and Sarah (who was apparently finding the situation hilarious) ran out of the bar and into the parking lot. Chuck dove towards the truck, sliding across the hood a la Bo Duke. Sarah climbed into the cab, tears running down her face she was laughing so hard.
"That was awesome Chuck!" she said as he peeled out of the parking lot.
"Well, I couldn't just let him grab you like that."
"My hero!" she teased, sliding back into her familiar position next to him.
"Anything for you, darlin'."
"Anything?"
"Anything."
Despite the fact that Chuck was driving, Sarah pulled his face down into another kiss. Chuck turned and looked at the road just in time to swerve out of the way of an oncoming car. Sarah laughed again as she was tossed over into the passenger seat.
"God, I haven't had this much fun since high school," she said, pulling off her boots and wiggling her toes. She turned on the radio and tuned into a country station, blasting the music into the cab.
"Oh really?" Chuck asked, trying to remember how to breathe. "And what else would you do in high school?"
"Pull off on the next dirt road and I'll show you." She smiled that wicked smile again. Chuck gulped and started looking for a turnoff.
Six hours later, Chuck cruised down the Echo Park street leading to his apartment, only to find the entrance to the parking lot blocked by a Ford F350 attached to a horse trailer. Sitting on a lawn chair in front of the truck was Casey; his face still swollen, a shotgun across his lap. As Chuck pulled up and put the truck in park, Casey stood and strode towards them, pumping the gun menacingly.
"Bartowski, you're going to pay for leaving me back there!"
Chuck turned to face Sarah, eyes wide.
And she gave a come-and-get-me grin.
And like a bullet they were gone again . . .
Lyrics:
Becky was a beauty from South Alabama,
Her Daddy had a heart like a nine-pound hammer,
Think He even did a little time in the slammer.
What was I thinking?
She snuck out one night and met me by the front gate,
Her daddy came out waving that twelve gauge,
We tore out the drive, he peppered my tailgate.
What was I thinking?
Oh I knew there'd be Hell to pay,
But that crossed my mind a little too late!
.
(Chorus)
Cuz' I was thinking 'bout a little white tank top sitting right there in the middle by me.
I was thinking about a long kiss, man just gotta get goin' where the night might lead.
Well I know what I was feeling,
But What was I thinking?
But What was I thinking?
What was I thinking?
.
By the county line the cops were nipping on our heels,
Pulled off the road kicked it to 4 wheel,
Shut off the lights, tore through a cornfield.
What was I thinking?
Out the other side she was hollerin' "Faster!"
Took the third road had the radio blastin'
Hit the Honky Tonk for a little close dancin'
What was I thinking?
Oh I knew there'd be Hell to pay,
But that crossed my mind a little too late!
.
(Chorus)
.
What was I thinking?
When a mountain of a man with a "Born to Kill" tattoo
Tried to cut in I knocked out his front tooth.
Ran outside hood sliding like Bo Duke
What was I thinking?
I finally got her home at half past too late,
Her daddy's in a lawn chair sittin' in the driveway,
Put it in park as he started my way,
What was I thinking?
Oh what was I thinking?
Oh what was I thinking?
And she gave a come and get me grin,
And like a bullet we were gone again!
(Chorus)