Riding the Thunder - Deborah MacGillivray [57]
“He loves you.” Asha sniggered.
Taking hold of the pest, he held the cat still, and glared into its eyes. Then Jago turned his head slightly and said, “I’d rather you love me.”
Caught off guard, Asha’s heart dropped as she stared at him. There was just enough light from the dash to show he’d uttered the words in seriousness. She wanted to summon a jest, but she couldn’t think of anything, other than I’d rather you love me, too.
Things were moving too fast for her to reveal that. You just didn’t fall in love so quickly. Could you? She feared the answer. Did she dare trust this man—a man so self-assured, a pretty man used to big-city lights? Could he fall for someone who was happy here in this quirky little spot so far from the beaten path? Foolishly, she’d let down those cocooning walls, permit him into her safe little world with no reservations, blindly surrender to the passion shimmering between them. Love him. But for how long? How long would Jago Fitzgerald be content to stay in her Nowhereville?
She jerked when a blaring car horn shattered the spell. It kept on in a long stream as if stuck. With a sigh, Asha looked to row H, slot thirteen. Sure enough, there were tail-lights of a truck that had just pulled into the empty space regulars had long ago learned not to choose. Soon everyone was honking horns in protest.
A shadowy figure played across the screen as Oo-it held up his raised middle finger in front of the projector in added protest.
Jago laughed. “Is this some sort of drive-in ritual? An insiders’ joke?”
Asha couldn’t answer. She stared through the rain at the red taillights of the black truck, suddenly feeling so far away.
When Tommy pulled into row H, slot thirteen, Laura groaned in disappointment.
First, it was pouring rain. That alone had caused her to fear he might cry off coming to the drive-in. Now, the eighth row? There were seventeen rows at the drive-in, and all couples seriously dating made a beeline for the last one. You had to reverse a car into that line as it butted up against the ten-foot high yew hedge that surrounded the lot—ideal for young lovers. The locals jokingly had dubbed it “Rubber Row,” since the bright light of day revealed spent condoms everywhere. Tossed out car windows, they’d caught on the evergreens and hung there like bizarre Christmas decorations. When you glanced back to that string of cars, it was an oddity to see one without fogged windows. She so hoped Tommy would pull his car into the last row! She wanted to steam up the windows with him.
In the long, empty hours of the night, her body ached for Tommy. She was a virgin, but she knew what her body wanted. She’d slid her hands over her breasts imagining they were Tommy’s. Not enough. It only made the ache worse. In her mind she’d hoped tonight was THE night.
Now, row H, slot thirteen. An unlucky number. Often she felt unlucky, born under a bad sign. But maybe that was changing. She was making progress:Tommy finally had asked her out!
After the fiasco of her prom night, she’d dreaded he might never speak to her again. Frankly, she wasn’t sure she wanted to speak to him, either. Then, after a miserable month of them ignoring each other, he’d started showing up wherever she was. When the girls had gone to see Vincent Price’s The Tingler at the theatre, Tommy had suddenly taken the seat next to her. At the Dairy Queen, she’d been eating a banana split and talking with Reanne Masters. Tommy came up, sat down and ate half her sundae, as if it was the most natural thing to do. When her mouth dropped open in shock, he fed her spoonfuls of the soft ice cream.
It unnerved her a bit, to be honest. For two years she’d worked hard to ‘casually’ be where Tommy was, hoping to garner his attention. Suddenly, this past month, he’d turned the tables and dogged her steps. She’d washed the car last Sunday; he had come over and helped. When a bunch of the kids went down to the Kentucky River for a picnic at the sandbar before Lock 8, Tommy had been in the group. He’d swum with her: later, after