Page 20 of Shifting Years
"So youdobelieve in that crap."
"There's smart people who do."
"Then why haven't I heard about them?"
"Maybe it wasn't in your plan?"
He would have said something if the car hadn't jerked down to the right and slowed to a stop. The spinning whir sound andnotmoving said we were stuck in the mud. His curses confirmed it. "You and your stupid ESP, which doesn't exist."
We got out in unison, checking tires, and shoving rocks and branches under them. As expected, we argued on the placement. Once done, we shifted into neutral and shoved. Every time we rocked forward, it rolled back.
"Sisyphus," I said. "He's—"
"—the Greek guy who pushed a rock up a hill, before it rolled back." He glared back. "I'm not an idiot."
I swallowed as he threw his top in the back seat. I might have done the same if it weren't for my fresh hickey. With every push, his developed and slick biceps flexed as did my lower muscle. He noticed my stares. "You're strong," I said, my voice quieter than normal.
"Not enough. We aren't getting out with just us pushing. The car needs direction. Get behind the wheel and floor it when I give it my all. It'll grab the more solid ground."
"Uh, I don't drive. My friend Bobby used to take me around LA."
He spoke slowly. "Turn the key, slam the gas, then let off. That's it."
"This isyourcar. I can get behind."
"You're not as strong and I should push."
I'm not a big guy and yes, he was right, but there was somethingtinglythat made me want to listen. It's not that I wanted to be dominated, but his commanding voice was so damn masculine.
I did as suggested, if not commanded. My dad let me drive once, but that was years ago before he passed. With single-parent funds, a car was out of the question. So it was buses or hitchhiking when Bobby wasn't available.
Okay. I can do this. Step on the gas and aim the wheels. Jed Clampett from The Beverly Hillbillies drives. So why not me?
With a glance at the rearview mirror, and Todd's impressive muscles, I turned the key. Muddy tires spun, catching on rocks for the barest of seconds before sliding back. Back and forth, I rocked in the driver's seat, and it was too easy to imagine him slamming into me.
Would we have gone further in the bar if he hadn't left?
Passing trees and a deep scream broke my visual.Oh hell!
My brain knew there were two or was itthreepedals on a car?
"Stop the car, you idiot!"
I slammed the brakes or thought I did. It was a strange moment where I gawked, frozen at the tree coming toward me. All I had to do was turn the wheel or hit another pedal. Instead, I blinked like a deer in the headlights, before smashing into a tree at over twenty miles per hour.
I coughed, moaning with the steering wheel pressed into my stomach. Ahead was a slightly smashed-in hood.Oh hell, he's going to kill me.
He ran down the slope and gently touched me in various spots. Intelligent green eyes suggested the soon-to-be police officer had medical training.
"You hurt?"
"No, I don't think so."
"You sure?"
I shimmied, figuring a broken bone or internal injury would tell me.
He stared, red-faced. "Positive? Are you okay? I need you to be sure."
