Page 89 of Double Apex

She’s wearing the same T-shirt and jeans as earlier, but with a man’s oxford shirt over the top, rolled to the elbows. With a ripple of warm surprise, I realize the shirt was once mine. I cannot help but notice she’s put on a touch of makeup. Her hair has been loosed from the earlier braid and is now held back by a pair of tortoiseshell sunglasses.

I’m drawn to her like a magnet, standing beside her as she surveys the engine.

“A 430 V8,” she murmurs. “Three hundred twenty-five sexy-ass horses in this baby. The car’s a goddamned beast—weighs over two-and-a-half tons.”

“Will you drive?” I pull the loop of three keys from my pocket and jingle them.

Her hand closes around the bundle, then lingers. The pressure of her fingers is electric, and when I look from our touching hands to her face, her plump lips are parted, and her pupils are puddles of black that shine like the car.

I force myself not to check, but I’m fairly sure between the intimacy of the moment and her love for the car, her nipples are hard. I myself am glad my jeans are a bit snug, as my cock asserts itself with a twitch.

“Hell yeah,” she breathes, clutching the keys. There’s a pause while emotions fight for dominance in her expression. Then she stands on the toes of her untied Converse and presses a kiss to my cheek. “Thank you.”

I almost lay my hand over the spot like a bashful boy as she walks away to get into the driver’s seat.

“Let’s blow this popsicle stand,” she tells me with a radiant smile.

We roar northward at nearly ninety miles per hour, the gray ribbon of highway parting the landscape.

“Open your window all the way!” Phaedra cries.

I crank the window down, and her hair becomes a lush storm churning around her shoulders. Her cheeks are pink with exhilaration; I cannot take my eyes off her.

“It’s a shame they didn’t have the convertible model,” I say. “Though in my experience, women don’t like them. It ruins the hairdo.”

“Ha! Hairdo-schmairdo—you know I’m trash.” Phaedrathrows a look at me, cocking one eyebrow. “You’ve been hanging out with some fussy little princesses. Did the penguin throw a tantrum when you messed up her ’do?”

I shake my head with a baffled smile. “Again, this ‘penguin’?”

She chews at her lower lip. “That chick at the dinner in Sochi. The one with the, uh, ‘bountiful bosoms’ spilling out of a black-and-white dress.”

“I’m sure it makes me a bad man that your jealousy charms me,” I tease.

“That’s not the only thing that makes you a bad man.”

“She did make her interest apparent. But truly, I don’t even remember her name. I did nothing to ‘muss her hair,’ rest assured.”

“Hmph.” Her hands glide up and down the steering wheel restlessly.

“You must think very little of me, sweet girl,” I say gravely, “to believe I would say to you what I did outside as we waited for your car, then make love to another woman.”

She shrugs. “The person I thought you were back in March would doexactlythat.”

“And we were wrong about each other,” I say simply.

She shoots a glare my way. “How were you wrong aboutme?”

“You thought me incapable of love. I thought the same of you, for different reasons.”

Phaedra is silent for a long minute, and I don’t press her.

“Hey, wanna know something about my Romanian studies?” she finally asks.

Assuming she’s changing the subject, I hide a sigh. “Yes, of course.”

“I learned something about myself. According to the app’s analytics, I’ve got over two hundred hours of practice. And I’m getting pretty damned good at reading it. No surprise there—it’s mechanics. Patterns, data. But the skill where I totally suck?”

She waits for me to say it. Because we both know.

---