Page 37 of Forbidden
He removes his hoodie and places it around my shoulders. I shove my hands into the sleeves, zip it up, and flip the hood. Good for me, too. Maybe no one will recognize me. I take a deep breath and his scent fills my nostrils. It’s all over the jacket. It surrounds me, closing me in like a cocoon. I wish I could bottle it and keep it under my pillow; that way, I could smell him whenever I wanted to.
“You okay?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah. I just…really like your cologne.”
“Thanks.”
I lock the door behind us and he takes my hand as we walk down the driveway. His hand is big and warm, and I can’t help the fact that I like the way mine feels in his. I lace my fingers through his and he gives them a little squeeze.
“Where’s your bike?”
“No bike tonight. My car is parked down the street.”
I look ahead and the only car I see is a black Mustang GT with red trim. “That’s yours? The Mustang?”
“Yeah.”
“That is one sexy car.”
“You think so? Watch this.”
The car starts up and Avenged Sevenfold’s “Hail to the King” breaks the silence of the night.
“I love A7X,” I tell him.
“Yeah? Me, too.”
“M. Shadows is hot.”
“Is that the only reason you like them?” he asks with a chuckle.
“No. Their music’s great.”
“Ever been to one of their concerts?”
“Nope.”
“Maybe I’ll take you sometime.”
Yeah, not happening.I get a better view of the car now that the headlights are on and so are the red neon underbody lights. I release his hand approach the vehicle, running my fingers across the custom paint job as I walk around it. In fact, everything about it is custom – black on black with red trim, even the rims. On the hood, there’s a decal of the Grim Reaper with red eyes, scythe raised, ready to strike.
“You like it?”
“I love it.”
He opens the passenger door – suicide-style – and I take in the interior. The black and red theme continues with the leather seats and red lighting. I slide inside and he closes the door. As I buckle my seatbelt, I absorb it all. His gear shift knob looks like five, twelve gauge bullets have been hammered into it. Gage, twelve gauge…I get it. The same reaper from the hood sits on the steering wheel and the headrests. I watch him as he climbs in next to me. Yes, this car fits him to a “T.” He shifts into gear and we power forward. Seems there were engine modifications, too.
“You must have spent a fortune on the customization.”
“Just the parts. My boys did all the work.”
“Your boys?”
“Chopper’s Custom Cars. I own it.”
“Oh. Who’s Chopper?”
“My dad. I think you met him at the barbecue. He was the one on the grill.”
