Doodles Truck Stop, just off the Florida Turnpike’s Pompano Beach exit, was quiet, as it usually was at 2:15 in the morning. Two rows of tractor trailers sat quietly as drivers, tucked into their berths, got some much-needed sleep.

There was one truck at the pump, a Kenworth T880. Sheila Jacks stepped out of the truck, carefully easing her way down to the pavement. Only 5’6,” and younger looking than her 43 years, she was rather petite for an over the road driver. She had her CDL, though and had been driving for three years now, almost accident free. She destroyed a small section of guardrail on an Interstate entrance ramp her first month on the job. 

As she started to fill the tank, a red Audi pulled up to the pump on the other side. A man who looked to be about 50 years old stepped out. He looked tired, but he was very handsome. When he walked over to his pump, he caught a glimpse of Sheila. “Do you work here?” he asked.

She pointed to her rig and said, “That’s where I work. My husband and I own it.”

The man let out a low whistle. “No offense, but how does a petite gal like you handle a monster like that?”

“They have power steering. Shifting is the challenge, with ten gears and double clutching, a royal pain sometimes. Know what I mean?”

“Not really. Where’s your husband?”

“Sleeping. He’s been sleeping all night. It’ll be his turn to drive soon, though.”

“Where are you headed.” He pulled out his wallet and selected a credit card.

“Naples. Need a lift?”

He laughed. Pointing to his Audi, he said, “I was about to offer you a ride. Naples, New Orleans, New York, you name it.” He inserted his credit card into the pump’s card reader and responded to the required prompts. “You’re too pretty to be driving a truck.”

Sheila smiled. No matter how many times a man told her she was pretty, she still enjoyed hearing it. “So, you look like a reasonably intelligent guy. Is that the best line you can come up with?”

“It’s the middle of the night and I started driving yesterday afternoon. Give me a break.” He inserted the nozzle into his tank.     

She continued to let diesel fuel flow into her 150-gallon tank. “Can’t help you there, pal. Been on the road nonstop for more hours than what’s legal.” She smiled and looked around to be sure there was no one else within earshot.  She noticed then that her nail polish was badly chipped, an occupational hazard. She put her free hand in her pocket, but Adam didn’t notice.

“What’s your name?” He asked.

“Sheila.”

“Hi Sheila I’m Adam. I might have had a better answer if you were single. Just saying.”

“Really? Like what for instance?”

Adam looked up at the sleeper section of the cab. “I always wanted to see the inside of a sleeper.”

She laughed. “With a line like that, you’d make a lousy lot lizard, you know that?”

“What’s a lot lizard?” He asked. He heard the click telling him his tank was full.

She pointed to a sticker on the truck’s door, showing a silhouette of a scantily clad woman with a lizard’s tail along with the universal prohibition sign.

Adam took a couple of steps toward the truck to get a better look. He grimaced a little and shook his head. He turned and got his receipt. “Have a safe trip,” he said and started walking around his car to the driver’s side.

“I didn’t mean to offend you, Adam. I thought we were flirting is all.”

“We were, Sheila. I just don’t care for that term, now that I’ve heard it.” He pulled his car key out of his pocket. “My sister was a drug addict. She spent time at truck stops. I guess some people would have called her that name.”

Sheila’s nozzle clicked. “Sorry, Adam. I didn't even put the sticker on the door. The previous owner did it."

"Why didn't you remove it? Just wondering."

"It keeps them from banging on my door when I need to sleep," she said. She pointed to the rows of trucks. "They assume we're all men, I guess."

He nodded. "Well, no need to apologize, Sheila. My sister just made some bad choices.

She smiled. "l lied a little about having a husband. It keeps most of the creeps at bay. I’m not due in Naples until tomorrow around noon. I’m going to crash here.”

“I see.” He opened his car door, but hesitated, looking at her.

She pushed her hair out of her eyes. “They make great coffee here and they serve breakfast 24/7. I’m still a bit too wired to sleep. Interested?”

“Do I get to see the sleeper later?”

“Not a chance.”

"You're on then. I'm buying."