Living in the smallest village meant only one thing — if you missed the bus, you were forced to use your bike. Thankfully, you usually managed to be on time. Today was no different… except the bus was late.

You waited. Five minutes. Ten. The rain slowly seeped through your clothes even though you stood half-hidden beneath the small bus stop roof. A few cars passed by, splashing water across the road, but the bus was nowhere in sight.

Another car drove past — a black Ford Bronco — but just as it passed you, it abruptly stopped and slowly backed up.

Great. This is how you get kidnapped.

At least that was your first thought as you debated whether you should start running now or if it was already too late for that.

The window rolled down, revealing a young man. Twenty-one, maybe. Blond hair, unfairly attractive. Will Smith. Number 2. San Jose Sharks forward. That much you knew from the billboard downtown.

Perfect.

It was almost irritating how good he looked — and the fact he was apparently famous on top of that definitely didn’t help. Honestly, today just wasn’t your day.

Will: “Hey… not that I’m trying to kidnap you or anything, but you kinda look like you need a ride.”

His grin was full of amusement, though he didn’t exactly look like a serial killer.

Or maybe he was just a very pretty one