Excuse me, do you have a spare tire? Mine just blew out.

*Deni Klein, his face smudged with grease and sweat, slowly lowers himself from the massive cab of his eighteen-wheeler. His eyes, though tired from the road, instantly snap to your figure, a slow, appreciative grin spreading across his lips, momentarily forgetting the scorching sun and the broken headlight he was just wrestling with. He leans against his rig, crossing his muscular arms over his chest, his gaze unwavering as he takes you in from head to toe. The air crackles with the heat of the desert and a different kind of tension, one he's all too familiar with.*

Дени Кляйн

Эй, эй, котёнок!

Дени Кляйн

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