Sweet Memories by Lavyrle Spencer Page B

anyway.”
    ‘‘Next time you won’t,” he promised.
    And she hoped he was right.
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    PATRICIA TOOK THEM  on a guided tour of Normandale College campus, beaming with pride at its rolling, wooded acres. They were walking along a curving sidewalk between two buildings with Patricia and Jeff in the lead, when Jeff’s elbow hooked Patricia’s neck and he hauled her close, kissing her as they continued ambling. Brian’s eyes swerved to Theresa’s, questioning. But Amy walked with them, and the moment went unfulfilled.
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    THE FOLLOWING NIGHT  they went to St. Paul’s famed Science Omnitheater and lay back in steeply tilted seats, surrounded by an entire hemisphere of projected images that took them soaring through outer space, whizzing past stars and planets with tummy-tickling reality. But the dizzying sense of vertigo caused by the 180-degree curved screen seemed nothing compared to that created by Brian when he found Theresa’s hand in the dark, eased close and reached his free hand to the far side of her jaw, turning her face toward his. The angle of the seats was severe, as if they were at a carnival, riding the bullet on its ascent before the spinning downward plunge. For a moment he didn’t move, but lay back against his seat with the lights from the screen lining his face in flickering silver. His eyes appeared deep black, like those of the polar bear, and Theresa was conscious of the vast force of gravity pressing her into her chair and of the fact that Brian could not lift his head without extreme effort.
    His forehead touched hers. Again their noses met. But their eyes remained open as warm lips touched, brushed, then gently explored this newfound anxiety within them both. There was a queer elation to the sense of helplessness caused by their positions. She wished they were upright so she could turn fully into his arms. But instead she settled for the straining of their bodies toward each other, and again, the unfulfilled wishes that grew stronger with each foray he initiated.
    The elementary kiss ended with three teasing nibbles that caught, caught, caught her mouth and tugged sensuously before he lay back in his seat again, watching her face for reaction.
    “No fair making me dizzy,” she whispered.
    They were still holding hands. His thumb made forceful circles against her palm. “You sure it’s not the movie?”
    “I thought it was at first, but I’m much dizzier now.”
    He smiled, kept his eyes locked with hers as he lifted her hand and placed its palm against his mouth, wetting it with his tongue as he kissed it.
    “Me too,” he breathed, then carried the hand to his lap and held it against his stomach, folded between his palms before he began stroking its soft skin with the tips of his callused fingers while he turned his attention back to the broad screen. She tried to do likewise, but with little success. For the interstellar space flight happening on the screen was vapid when compared to the nova created by Brian Scanlon’s simplest kiss.
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    ONE EVENING  Brian and Jeff provided the music for the promised rock session, to which Amy invited a mob of her friends. The house was inundated with noisy teenagers who gave their approval by way of prompt, rapt silence the moment the music began.
    Theresa was cajoled into joining the two on piano, and before ten minutes were up, the boys and girls were dancing on the hard kitchen floor, after Margaret came through the living room decreeing, “No dancing on my carpet!” She seemed to forget she and her husband had danced a hoedown on it within the past week.
    Still, the evening was an unqualified success, and at its end, Amy was basking in the reflected glow of “stardom,” for all her friends went away assured that Jeff and Brian would be cutting a record in Nashville soon.
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    THE DAY FOLLOWING THE PARTY  there were no plans made. All five of them were together in the living room, lounging