Driving to Distraction - Chapter 1

Pulling the ringing cell phone from her pocket, Buffy Summers gave a dirty look to the man who was carrying her luggage down the stairs to where she stood on the pavement, basking in the sun.

“Hello?” She pressed her finger into her ear to block out the noise of the early morning Manhattan traffic that was passing her by.

“Buffy?” It was her father.

“Hi, dad. Everything is going super. Wait…” Buffy frowned and pointed at the man as he dropped her precious bags to the floor unceremoniously. “Hey, I’m not paying you to be a clutz. They are Prada…can you say Prada? Sorry, dad, what was that?”

“I said I’m glad you’re okay, honey. Sorry I couldn’t be there to see you off. I hope the car share that the agency set up is good enough. Are they there yet?”

“Sure, just loading up now.” Buffy lied without flinching as she stared at the empty parking space she was stood next to and then turned and waved to her friend as she approached. “Got to go, Cordelia is here. Love you, daddy.”

Blowing a kiss down the phone, Buffy clicked it shut and embraced her friend, kissing both of her cheeks.

“How’s it going?” Cordelia beamed at her.

“Aside from the help not being any, it’s going great. Just waiting for this William guy to show up.” Buffy smiled broadly and congratulated herself on arranging everything she’d needed for the trip across the country to Sunnydale.

“I can’t believe you’re going off to college without me. Another year and I’ll be heading over to the west coast. You better be ready for me.” Moving over to the steps, Cordelia leaned against one of the stone pillars that towered either side of the entrance to the apartment building.

“You’ll be there before you know it. Hope this guy shows up soon. I still can’t believe I’m car sharing. Dad seemed so proud when I mentioned making my own way and trying to gain a little independence. Little did I know my own way was not being able to afford the cost to air freight all my things and me to California.”

“I’m sure he’ll be divine. William…sounds so…charming.”

As Cordelia spoke the last word, Buffy stared open mouthed at a dirty black car that looked so old it was barely holding itself together as it ramped the curb. It knocked over one of her precious suitcases and promptly backfired, causing both girls to duck and scream.

“Summers?” A husky, accented voice reached out to her through all the confusion.

Looking up with her hands clasped over her ears, Buffy was greeted by a vision in black. Leaning against the roof of the car with his left hand on the top of the open door was a platinum blond mess with crooked sunglasses and a cigarette hanging from his mouth so casually it looked as though it was about to fall off his lip. Oh God, no.

Buffy couldn’t stop herself from picturing the newspaper headlines.

Promising college student found brutally murdered by raving psycho.

Straightening herself out, she took a deep breath and gave him her best ‘you don’t scare me, I’m above all this’ look while she silently thanked God that her father wasn’t there to witness what was happening—her independence would have flown straight out the window.

“I have a first name, and I will not bring myself to get in that.” Buffy pointed at the offending vehicle that was parked half on the pavement and half on the road.

“And I couldn’t bring myself to say your first name, sweetheart.” Spike grinned at her—she was a prissy little thing all right but she did have something about her, something fiery.

Buffy glared at him for a moment. Who the hell is he calling sweetheart?

A second later she whined quietly and cursed herself as she turned around to her friend, realising she had no choice now but to go with him and hope for the best. Hugging her tightly, Buffy pulled back to see Cordelia staring shamelessly at the blond thing that was going to be driving her to Sunnydale.

“Cordelia, call me. I can’t believe I’m doing this. You think there’s some mistake, he’s not William?” Buffy watched as Cordelia looked thoughtful for a moment, and then returned to staring at the man in question.

“You’re William, right?” Cordelia smiled broadly at him and he flicked his cigarette out into the road before blowing smoke in her direction.

“Suppose. Most people call me Spike.” Tapping the roof of his car, Spike watched as the two girls whispered to each other again.

“Interesting name, why do they call you that?” Cordelia gave him an expectant look.

“Interesting it is. Look, are we going or what? Just I don’t like sitting about wasting my time.” Spike slid back into the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut.

“He seems nice, if a little rude.” Cordelia smiled at Buffy and patted her shoulder reassuringly. “And he’s English.”

“And the English don’t kill people? Hello…Jack the ripper? I can’t believe I’m doing this…I’m barely eighteen, I’m too young to die.” Buffy was rudely interrupted by the car horn sounding several times. She groaned. “He’s going to kill me.”

“Be positive. It’ll be an experience and college is about experiences. It’s like you’re getting a head start on everyone else.” Cordelia smiled at her again and Buffy rolled her eyes.

She walked across the pavement to where the car was situated and tapped on the window.

“Can you pop the trunk?” She leaned over and smiled at him but he just pulled the little switch and ignored her.

As she walked around to the back of the car, she muttered about her bags. The man who was helping her before had left and there was no sign of her new car buddy offering her a hand. Pulling the trunk lid up, Buffy’s eyes grew wide. It was empty, not one scratch of luggage in it, just some dirty oilcans and a few rags. She imagined herself bound and gagged in there, and shuddered.

Lifting her bags feebly, she placed each one into the trunk as far away as possible from the oilcans and then slammed down the lid as hard as she could manage in a vain attempt to show him how pissed she was at him for not lending a hand.

She walked back over to Cordelia and hugged her friend one last time while the car horn sounded again. She muttered. “For God’s sake already. I’m coming.”

As Buffy yanked the door open, she wrinkled her nose at the sight in front of her. There were pieces of paper and empty drink cans littering the floor. Clearing off the seat, she got a red lollipop stuck to her hand and grimaced. She was astonished when her co-driver leaned over and took it from her with a frown, like she’d done something wrong and not vice versa.

“Call me.” Buffy tried to drown out the note of desperation in her voice as she waved at Cordelia before sitting down as far away from him as she could.

Before she’d even managed to shut the door properly, Spike had the car squealing into the early morning traffic.


Two hours later and they still hadn’t spoken one word to each other. They were speeding down the highway and Buffy was already lost. She couldn’t keep up with all the switching and changing of lanes this guy did. As he squeezed the car in behind a truck, Buffy grasped the door and cringed.

“Nothing to fret over, love.” Spike kept his eyes focused on the road but could feel her unease. “Not going to kill you. I’m a good driver.”

“Oh, bet you say that to all the girls…right before you kill them.” Rifling through her purse, she smiled at her pepper spray. Thank God, she’d remembered to pack everything.

Wanting to look at anything but him, she took to looking around the car. It was ancient. She’d never been in anything this old in her life. It must have been at least twice her age. Looking over her shoulder, she realised there was a reason he had no luggage in the trunk of his car—it was all on his back seat.

She frowned a little as she tried to see what he had shoved on the back seat. There were a few articles of clothing but the thing that caught her eye the most was the guitar. It was laid on top of everything, almost carefully, and she realised that he prized that one possession of his above everything else, even his clothes.

Her nose wrinkled up as she saw the dozens of crumpled cigarette cartons that littered the floor in the back and her breath caught in her throat as she saw a few empty bottles of whisky.

Did he drink and drive?

She cast a glance at him, silently telling herself she was stupid for thinking she’d be able to see if he had been drinking just by looking at him, but looking all the same.

As he shifted his head slightly, indicating that he was looking right back at her, she turned her attention back to her bag, rifling through it to cover the fact she was lost in her thoughts.

They were only a few hours outside New York and she already felt different, more independent. She’d taken her first real chance, her first big step and showed her father that she could stand on her own two feet.

The only trouble with leaving New York was that she felt as though she was leaving behind all the security she’d felt, and things were beginning to creep back in that she’d always been able to ignore, always able to pretend never happened.

In New York she could be anyone she wanted to be, could push away from everything and just laugh it all off with her friends.

Did he really drink and drive?

She shuddered at that thought and resisted the temptation to look at him. If he had any sense, he wouldn’t be drinking now, and he did say he was a good driver so maybe he didn’t drink and drive, maybe he just went somewhere to drink sometimes.

Maybe he used to drink and drive.

Maybe she needed to stop thinking about this.

Pulling her seat belt even tighter across her chest, she took out the magazine she’d packed in her bag and tried to ignore how sick his driving was making her as he cut across lanes again and put his foot down on the gas.

She was half way through an article on Johnny Depp when he started humming.

Glancing over at him, she rolled her eyes just for the sake of it. He was tapping his knee with one hand while the other was lax on the steering wheel. His lips were slightly pursed as he sung quietly to himself, his eyes fixed on the road. She grasped the chair as the car swung to the right in one fluid motion. He was right, he was a damn good driver, but even good drivers got careless.

Buffy frowned at that thought, the memories still haunting her. She hadn’t thought about that day in a long time.

In her New York life, it was so easy to forget, but out here without her safety blankets, things just kept coming back and she couldn’t deny them.

Spike looked furtively over at her for a split second and only had time to make out that she was frowning.

“Problem, love?”

She frowned again. He kept calling her pet names like they knew each other. Every time he spoke to her, it was laced with ‘love’, ‘pet’ and ‘sweetheart’. It made her stomach bubble and flip. It wouldn’t do.

“Yeah. Stop calling me that.” She kept her eyes fixed on the magazine on her lap, concentrating on pretending to read and ignoring the innocent look on his face.

“What, love?” he asked her, his brows raised and his lips slightly pursed.

“That! Love. I’m not your love.” She shook her head and willed herself to ignore him. Jerk.

“Sorry, pet.” He smirked at her. Prissy little bitch.

“Ugh!” Fighting the overwhelming desire to retort, she stared at the article on Johnny Depp again and could practically feel her driver grinning at her.


Four hours later and silence was reigning in the car. Even when they stopped for gas, they didn’t pass one word with each other. He just pulled the car into the station and got out.

She couldn’t believe what he was wearing. She’d never seen anything like him other than in the movies. He looked like an evil James Dean, head to toe in black. She watched him in the mirror as he ran his fingers over his hair while filling the car. When she’d first seen him, she’d figured it must have been rock hard with gel, but his fingers seemed to slip through it with ease. Everything about this guy was fluid and graceful.

When he walked over to the shop, she scrutinised what he was wearing. He had on large heavy boots along with tight black jeans and a tight black t-shirt. They were both impossibly tight. He looked like someone had just painted him black so it looked as though he was wearing clothes.

As he stepped out of the store, she took to looking him over again. He had a six pack of sodas under one arm, causing his biceps to stand out and Buffy fought hard to pull her eyes away from them. He was lean, not one ounce of fat on him, and she imagined that if he were naked, he’d be beautiful. She shook her head to get rid of the thoughts dwelling there, not wanting to know why she was imagining him naked now.

Raising her eyes to his face she couldn’t deny the boy had looks, with high sculptured cheekbones and soft lips that would draw any girl in. At that moment, she wished he’d take his infernal sunglasses off so she could get a look at his eyes. She hoped they’d be beautiful like the rest of him. She checked herself again. He’s a jerk, a beautiful jerk but he’s still a jerk. A loser, with a capital everything. Just a guy. He’d probably kill you given the chance. Jerk.

He ran his free hand over his hair again as he rounded the car and by the time he was back in the driver’s seat he looked as though he’d just got out of bed. Buffy felt her temperature rise at the thought of that.

“Ooh!” She gasped as he placed the icy cold sodas on the seat and they brushed against her thigh.

Spike moved them away from her slightly and smirked, sucking his cheeks into a grin.

Buffy fumbled with her magazine. So far, she’d not read any of it. All she’d managed to do was stare at the pictures while trying to ignore the gravity of the guy next to her.

Gravity was bad and this guy had the gravity of a black hole, pulling everyone to him and probably spitting them out at the other end.

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