Me & Timothy Cooper by Suzanne D. Williams Page B

lways took his keys, though this didn’t seem t o stop him from messing up the next time .
    “Grades. I failed my Science test.”
    Science. Figures. Eric hated science.
    “I should make you walk,” Tim said. T he clatter of the front doors preceded the rush of a fterno on heat in his face . He pulled his t-shirt from his already moist skin.
    “You should, but you won’t.”
    Tim dug his ke ys from his pocket and unlocked his car . No, he wouldn’t. Not that Eric ever paid for gas. Not that he lived on the way home.
    The purr of the engine brought serious satisfaction to a deep place in Tim’s soul. Running his hands around the steering wheel, he inhal ed the scent of warm leather and automobile protectant. This car was special. A 1970 Chevy Chevelle SS big block. As if that didn’t make it unique enough, h is father gave him this car before shipping out for Afghanistan on his second tour, and that made it more than the classic it already was. I t was a part of his dad, who he rarely got to see.
    The thunk of the passenger-side door brought him awake .
    “So tell me what’s this project that has you all tied up with Southern ?” Eric laid an arm on the ledge of the open window.
    “ Southern ?” Tim frowned as an elderly lady in a battered Corolla cut in front of him. Her head barely cleared the dashboard.
    “Yeah, that’s what I’ve always called her. She’ s got that sexy accent which pulls you in. ”
    Tim braked as the elderly lady made a sharp right-hand turn. Senior drivers.
    “ And s he’s all round and curvy ,” Eric continued, “a bout like this car.”
    Tim glanced at him . “You’re comparing her to my car?”
    “Yep. One’s sweet the other is sweeter. But you haven’t answered my question.”
    The light changed from yellow to red, and Tim brought the car to a stop . “We’re supposed to write a paper on each other. Something about what we would change about the other person and what we wouldn’t.”
    “I’d change her into something skimpy.” The smirk on Eric’s face stretched from ear to ear.
    Tim laughed. “ If you felt like that , t hen why haven’t you asked her out?”
    Eric’s smile faded. “Are you kidding? She won’t give me the time of day. Now, you on the other hand …”
    No sooner had the words left Eric’s mouth, than Tim spotted her. Only something was wrong. She was limping. “Check it out,” he said , nodding her direction . He pulled his car over to the curb and leaned across Eric’ s bulky form toward the opposite window.
    “ Taylor ? You okay?” he called.
    And she turned around. Her face was white as a sheet, and her shirt was ripped down the left-hand side.

CHAPTER 2
     
    Taylor clutched at her shirt with one hand, her purse and book bag with the other. “I … uhm … tripped,” she said. She tu rned her left side away from his view .
    “Why don’ t you get in?” He jabbed Eric in the side and mumbled, “In the back . ” Eric tossed himself over the seat.
    “Oh, I can’t … I shouldn’t.” S he took a faltering step forward.
    She’d keep walking?
    He tapped the gas and rolled after her. “C’mon, Southern, get in. You can’t walk with your ankle like that .”
    She screeched to a halt. “What did you call me?”
    Oops. Rule # 1 2. When you’re interested in a girl, never call her a nickname.
    “Southern. What’s wrong with that?”
    She leaned her el bow on the roof of the car, her breath hissing through her teeth. “Depends on if you’re ma king fun or admiring.”
    He chuckled. S punk. “Admiring. Now, get in, I’ll take you home.”
    Her mind appeared resolved to the issue because she seated herself in the car with a groan.
    “You tripped, huh?” he said.
    She shot him a sharp look. “Over a k id on a bicycle. Stupid moron s ent me flying into the gutter. I caught my shirt on the metal grate and twisted my ankle.”
    She fisted her shirt in her hand and reached for her leg, but was unable to make contact with it