"Hey!" The man in the tuxedo in the back had woken up. He looked around, eyes wide, smoothing his lapels. "Is this the airport shuttle? Because I’m fairly certain we are not at a terminal."
Danielle looked up. The driver, a man named Earl who usually drove with the enthusiastic urgency of a sloth, was hunched over the wheel. He took a sharp right onto Miller’s Peak—a road that led straight up the mountain pass, a road strictly forbidden to vehicles heavier than a sedan.
Danielle Renae (@missbustyfitness) • Instagram photos and videos. www.instagram.com·missbustyfitness Danielle Renae - Biography - IMDb
"What is happening?" Julian asked, his voice cracking. "I have a wedding to get to. Or a funeral. I can't remember which."
She grabbed the steering wheel, or tried to. Her hands phased through Earl’s arms.
"I'll drive," Danielle said, pushing past him. "You... look nice in the tux. Don't want to wrinkle it."
"Strokes generally don't involve gear shifts," the man noted. He stumbled forward as the bus took a hairpin turn. He was younger than she’d thought, maybe late twenties, with a bow tie slightly askew. "I’m Julian."
"Hey!" The man in the tuxedo in the back had woken up. He looked around, eyes wide, smoothing his lapels. "Is this the airport shuttle? Because I’m fairly certain we are not at a terminal."
Danielle looked up. The driver, a man named Earl who usually drove with the enthusiastic urgency of a sloth, was hunched over the wheel. He took a sharp right onto Miller’s Peak—a road that led straight up the mountain pass, a road strictly forbidden to vehicles heavier than a sedan. danielle renae bus
Danielle Renae (@missbustyfitness) • Instagram photos and videos. www.instagram.com·missbustyfitness Danielle Renae - Biography - IMDb Because I’m fairly certain we are not at a terminal
"What is happening?" Julian asked, his voice cracking. "I have a wedding to get to. Or a funeral. I can't remember which." maybe late twenties
She grabbed the steering wheel, or tried to. Her hands phased through Earl’s arms.
"I'll drive," Danielle said, pushing past him. "You... look nice in the tux. Don't want to wrinkle it."
"Strokes generally don't involve gear shifts," the man noted. He stumbled forward as the bus took a hairpin turn. He was younger than she’d thought, maybe late twenties, with a bow tie slightly askew. "I’m Julian."