The leather of the passenger seat burns her thighs as she sits down. With the smallest of squeals she pops her legs up onto the dash, leaving only the tiny bit of her covered in denim to the scorching summer heat.
“If you were wearing clothes that wouldn’t happen.”
“I thought you wanted to see my legs.”
“I thought you wanted my eyes on the road.”
“I like living dangerously.”
His eyes drink her in. From her feet, precariously perched on the heels of her flip-flops, up and down and up and down again her legs, starting to bronze from the early summer sun, though a far cry from her usual late summer ocher.
“Red light, darling.” She grins, big and toothy. The car lurches to a stop, seat belts biting into both of their shoulders.
“Dangerous, you said.”
“Gonna make me eat my words?”
“I’m not even going to touch that one.”
The car hums again into motion. The sun beats down through the windows. The trees whiz by, one after another, a green blur. His hand finds the soft smoothness of her leg, which has finally drifted down into the seat proper. Their eyes meet the horizon.
“Is the air on?”
“Can’t you feel it?”
“All I feel is hot.”
“Getting ahead of yourself?”
“You’re bad.”
His hand strokes up and down in slow, purposeless circles, ever widening, until they reach from her knee to just under the hem of her shorts. He doesn’t follow with his eyes. She doesn’t doubt where his focus lies.
“Say cheese!” She holds her phone horizontally up to her eye.
“I’m driving.”
“Cheese.” She pouts. He shows his teeth. Click. She beams. He squeezes, hard, the tips of his fingers sinking deep into her thigh. “Easy, mister. Play nice.”
“Maybe I ain’t so nice.”
“Maybe.”
The miles and miles multiply before them. She starts to hum along to the radio. He turns it up, just a touch, then returns to tapping out the rhythm with his fingertips, against her skin. The shadows grow longer.
“I’m glad we’re doing this.” She squeezes his arm.
“Me too.”
“I mean, I’ve thought about it for, well…”
“Hey. Don’t spoil it.” His arm wraps around her. She leans into him.
The car pulls off the interstate in a nameless town with little more than a sun-bleached gas station and a few muddy roads leading off into evergreen mystery. They stop at the station, and he parks at the furthest pump. He turns to her, her head against the rest, eyes welded shut, stranded of her hair sticking to her face. His finger gently runs up and down her cheek, until she starts to stir.
“Why don’t you stretch those legs somewhere that won’t smudge my windshield.”
Eyes blinking, bleary, she sticks out her tongue and kicks a bare foot at him, though she connects much more with steering wheel than him. She winces, he laughs. She pouts. He takes her foot into his hands, gently kneading it between his thumbs, pecking the top with his lips.
“Better?”
“Much.”
“Good. Now go get me a drink.”
The back of her hand smacks against his shoulder. He grins. Their car doors open in tandem. He rifles through his pocket for his wallet, while she skips toward the peeling, yellow convenience store. Read more »