wanted that, more than he could say, but were these feelings real? Could he trust them? Was she feeling for him what he was feeling for her? What if she wasn’t?
Where did they go from here?
Idly, she twirled an index finger through his chest hairs, sighed sweetly, and he was seventeen all over and in love for the first and only time.
And then, to keep from thinking too much, he made love to her again, taking possession of her sweet body, slipping into her welcoming warmth, sliding home. Ah, traction—what every driver yearned for.
Except along with traction came commitment. Once you were in, you were committed. Yeah, well, maybe it was time he committed to something besides racing.
Half an hour later she was curled into his lap, his head propped against the wall. She’d blown his gaskets.
“Do you think the storm has passed?” she whispered.
“The one outside or the one in here?”
She giggled and rubbed her nose against the underside of his chin. What a great sound!
“Let’s listen,” he said.
For a long moment they lay there listening and absorbing each other’s body heat.
“I don’t hear anything,” she ventured.
“Me either.”
“What time is it, do you suppose?”
He had no idea. It might have been minutes since they came into the cellar, or it could have been hours. He’d been so into her nothing else registered.
She sat up. “Should we go investigate?”
He wanted to say no. Wanted to stay here with her until the end of time. Just the two of them making love forever and ever.
“I suppose,” he murmured.
“It’s going to be a chore finding our clothes in the dark.”
“Good thing it’s a small space.”
Several minutes later they located their clothing, got dressed, and headed up the steps, Josh leading the way as he held Sesty’s hand tightly. He hated the idea of letting go of her.
He opened the cellar door hatch and a brittle damp wind slapped him in the face. Immediately, he drew Sesty to his side, tucking her against his body to shield her from the cold.
It was almost as black outside the cellar as it had been beneath the earth. The streetlights had gone out and the houses were dark, but overhead a sprinkling of stars glittered through the parting clouds.
Sounds of swift water swelled throughout the night. Sesty’s neighborhood was in a low spot, and flash flooding from the river tributary that fed into Sweetheart Park was a real possibility. How much rain had they gotten?
“Listen,” she said, and put a hand to his shoulder. “Do you hear that?”
He cocked his head, strained to hear above the rushing water. Faintly, hoarsely, he could hear a woman calling for help.
Sesty gripped his bicep. “Josh, someone is in trouble.”
T HEY DROV E TO the low water crossing near Sweetheart Park, the headlights of Josh’s Camaro picking up the reflection of a white sedan stranded in the middle of the crossing. Only the roof of the sedan was visible above the swirling current. And sitting on that sparse piece of roof, inches from being swept away in the water, huddled a young woman.
The woman saw them, rose to her feet, waving her arms over her head. “Help! Help!”
Sesty clasped a hand to her throat. “Oh my God, it’s Jana.”
As they watched, stunned, the current picked up the car and swirled it around like it was a leaf. Jana staggered, fell to her knees, pure terror on her face.
“Josh, Jana can’t swim!”
“Call 911,” he yelled, and jumped from the Camaro that he’d parked on the rise above the water.
She tumbled out of the car too, her heart taking the express elevator to her throat.
With trembling fingers it took her three tries to successfully get 911 punched into her cell phone between frightened peeks at the drama playing out a few yards away.
Jana clung to the roof, the sedan caught in a perverse ballet.
Josh kicked off his shoes at the water’s edge. He was going in.
“Don’t!” Sesty cried, but she knew she could not stop him.
Where did they go from here?
Idly, she twirled an index finger through his chest hairs, sighed sweetly, and he was seventeen all over and in love for the first and only time.
And then, to keep from thinking too much, he made love to her again, taking possession of her sweet body, slipping into her welcoming warmth, sliding home. Ah, traction—what every driver yearned for.
Except along with traction came commitment. Once you were in, you were committed. Yeah, well, maybe it was time he committed to something besides racing.
Half an hour later she was curled into his lap, his head propped against the wall. She’d blown his gaskets.
“Do you think the storm has passed?” she whispered.
“The one outside or the one in here?”
She giggled and rubbed her nose against the underside of his chin. What a great sound!
“Let’s listen,” he said.
For a long moment they lay there listening and absorbing each other’s body heat.
“I don’t hear anything,” she ventured.
“Me either.”
“What time is it, do you suppose?”
He had no idea. It might have been minutes since they came into the cellar, or it could have been hours. He’d been so into her nothing else registered.
She sat up. “Should we go investigate?”
He wanted to say no. Wanted to stay here with her until the end of time. Just the two of them making love forever and ever.
“I suppose,” he murmured.
“It’s going to be a chore finding our clothes in the dark.”
“Good thing it’s a small space.”
Several minutes later they located their clothing, got dressed, and headed up the steps, Josh leading the way as he held Sesty’s hand tightly. He hated the idea of letting go of her.
He opened the cellar door hatch and a brittle damp wind slapped him in the face. Immediately, he drew Sesty to his side, tucking her against his body to shield her from the cold.
It was almost as black outside the cellar as it had been beneath the earth. The streetlights had gone out and the houses were dark, but overhead a sprinkling of stars glittered through the parting clouds.
Sounds of swift water swelled throughout the night. Sesty’s neighborhood was in a low spot, and flash flooding from the river tributary that fed into Sweetheart Park was a real possibility. How much rain had they gotten?
“Listen,” she said, and put a hand to his shoulder. “Do you hear that?”
He cocked his head, strained to hear above the rushing water. Faintly, hoarsely, he could hear a woman calling for help.
Sesty gripped his bicep. “Josh, someone is in trouble.”
T HEY DROV E TO the low water crossing near Sweetheart Park, the headlights of Josh’s Camaro picking up the reflection of a white sedan stranded in the middle of the crossing. Only the roof of the sedan was visible above the swirling current. And sitting on that sparse piece of roof, inches from being swept away in the water, huddled a young woman.
The woman saw them, rose to her feet, waving her arms over her head. “Help! Help!”
Sesty clasped a hand to her throat. “Oh my God, it’s Jana.”
As they watched, stunned, the current picked up the car and swirled it around like it was a leaf. Jana staggered, fell to her knees, pure terror on her face.
“Josh, Jana can’t swim!”
“Call 911,” he yelled, and jumped from the Camaro that he’d parked on the rise above the water.
She tumbled out of the car too, her heart taking the express elevator to her throat.
With trembling fingers it took her three tries to successfully get 911 punched into her cell phone between frightened peeks at the drama playing out a few yards away.
Jana clung to the roof, the sedan caught in a perverse ballet.
Josh kicked off his shoes at the water’s edge. He was going in.
“Don’t!” Sesty cried, but she knew she could not stop him.
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