Monica Murphy - Four Years Later

Damn, she smells good. I could breathe her in all night. “I know a place that has a great view of the city. No one will bother us up there.” I might have parked in that very spot a few times in high school. Always taking a girl with me, it was somewhere private where we could make out and I could possibly get my hand up her shirt or in her panties. No worries about the cops coming by unless we happened to be up there past midnight.

I haven’t been to that spot in a couple of years. Once I graduated high school and got my own place, there was no need to sneak around. Why fool around in the backseat of a car when you can get busy and naked in the comfort of your own bed?

But I’m not getting busy and naked with Chelsea tonight. So I’m looking forward to this.

“Okay.” She runs her tongue over her lower lip, then smiles. “Let’s do it.”

I can read all sorts of things in her “let’s do it” statement but I ignore the urge. Instead I smile, reach out, and give her knee a gentle squeeze. “Let’s do it,” I murmur, making her cheeks flush as she turns away from me and stares out the passenger-side window.

I see the mysterious little smile that curves her lips, though. And I know without a doubt I am definitely kissing Chelsea before the night is through.

Chelsea

Owen drives us out of the city limits and heads up the Skyway, a road I’ve traveled maybe twice since I moved here. But he’s a local, he’s grown up in the area and he knows his way around, all the little-known roads and spots with the best views.

I’m not stupid. We’re not driving to this spot with the awesome view to check out the twinkling lights of the city. I might not have much experience, but even I know that a girl and guy going to park in an isolated spot to check out the view are going to end up making out.

I both can’t wait and am quietly freaking out.

Neither of us really talks during the drive. We listen to the radio. Owen has it on one of those specialty satellite stations that only plays nineties rock. One song comes on in particular and he turns it up¸ a little wisp of a smile curling his lips.

“Candlebox. This song reminds me of being a little kid,” he says wistfully. “My mom loved this band.”

I’ve never heard of them, but Mom always preferred listening to top-forty-type stuff. Grunge rock was not a part of my growing-up playlist whatsoever. “I like his voice,” I say sincerely. It’s a pretty good song, and I’ve come to realize my tastes have changed over the years. I’ve come into my own, found things I like versus what my parents had me listening to, reading, watching … whatever.

“The words remind me of you,” he says softly.

I turn to look at him, shock washing over me. “How?”

“The song is called ‘Blossom.’ Since you told me your middle name is Rose, every time I hear the words rose or flower, blossom, or bloom, I think of you.” His smile grows, but he’s not looking at me. Just tapping the edge of the steering wheel to the beat of the music, his smile growing as he drives in the dark, cold night.

There’s nothing dark or cold about his admission, though. My heart is thumping so hard I’m afraid he can hear it, and I wish I could say something as sweetly poetic as he just did.

Instead I remain quiet and listen to the words of the song. It’s sad, about love and loss, and I wonder what he means by the song making him think of me. Is it only because of the title? Or does he really think we’ll be over before we’ve even begun?

As usual, I read too much into it and worry.

When we finally arrive at our destination, I’m a bundle of nerves. Owen shuts off the car and puts it in park, then turns to look at me. “You cold?”

“I’m okay.” My breaths are coming quick, and I swear I need to get it together before I hyperventilate.

“Want to go outside? I know it’s kind of cold but if we sit on the hood of the car, it’ll warm us up.” He glances in the backseat. “I have a hoodie back there if you want to borrow it.”

“Why do you want to get out?” I keep my gaze locked on the windshield, impressed with the view before us. We’re above the fog line and we can still see the city since the fog is thin and seems to float like a lacy, see-through curtain over town.

“We can see the view even better outside.” I turn to look at him and he’s got that charming, you’ll-do-anything-I-ask look on his face. “Come on, Chels. Live a little, remember?”

“All right.”

“You won’t regret it,” he says, reaching between the seats to grab the hoodie he promised from the backseat. His shoulder brushes against me with the movement and his head is so close to mine, I could reach out and touch his hair.

Instead, I clutch my hands together in my lap.

“You want to use this?” He holds the black hoodie out toward me and I take it, my fingers curling into the cool cotton. It smells like him, fresh and tangy sweet with that hint of spice. I wish I could hold it to my face and inhale.

He’d think I was a total freak.

“Maybe,” I say, holding the sweatshirt close. “Thanks.”

He flashes me a smile, then climbs out of the car and I do the same, meeting him in the front. I stare at the car’s hood, wondering how in the world I’m going to get on there without looking like a complete fool, and I sink my teeth into my lower lip, wincing when I hit a particularly sensitive spot.

I’ve been chewing on my lip a lot lately, I guess.

“Never crawl onto the hood of a car before?” he asks.

I turn to look at him, feeling like a dope. “Not really.”

“Need some help?”

“Uh …” I turn back to face the car, contemplating my choices. “I’m not—”

Owen grabs hold of my waist before I can even finish the sentence and I squeal, shocked that he’s lifting me off my feet and setting me on top of the car as if I weigh nothing. He settles me on the hood and I scramble backward, my feet slipping on the slick painted surface, but I’m careful, not wanting to put a dent in his nice car. Thankfully I don’t slide right off and I plant my hands on either side of me, bracing my body as best I can.

He climbs on top of the car like it’s no big deal, all long, strong limbs and graceful ease. Grinning down at me, he swipes his hair out of his eyes. “Want to sit on the roof?”

I glance back at it. “How am I going to get up there?”

“Come on.” He offers his hand and I take it, emitting another squeal when he hauls me to my feet and grabs my waist again, basically tossing me onto the roof. I spread his hoodie onto the very cold metal and settle in, laughing when he scrambles up the glass windshield and sits besides me with a goofy smile on his face, a little out of breath.

“You promised me a warm hood and instead all I get is cold metal under my butt,” I chastise him, leaning in to nudge his arm with my shoulder.

“Come here, then.” Without warning he slips his arm around my shoulders, pulling me in close to him, and my entire side is pressed against his. “Well, I guess that worked.”

“You act like you planned this.” I shove lightly at his chest, my voice sounding breathless, my heart tripping over itself, and I glance down, noticing how perfectly we fit next to each other.

“It wasn’t premeditated. More like a spontaneous thing.” He stretches out his long legs before him, his firm thigh against mine, his body warmth seeping into me. We remain quiet for long, peaceful minutes, the only sound the chirping of a few random insects and the roar of the cars speeding by on the Skyway in the near distance.

Before us, the city lights twinkle and sparkle, the fog a misty veil. There’s nothing but darkness surrounding us, only the silvery light of the quarter-sized moon above us casting its gentle glow.

“It’s beautiful,” I finally say. “I’ve never been up here or seen this view before.”

“Yeah. Not many people have. Us locals know about the location but we don’t like telling you foreigners about it.” He chuckles and the deep sound reverberates through me, making me tingle.

“I don’t blame you,” I whisper, and he doesn’t reply. He doesn’t need to. Our silence is comfortable, soothing. I could so get used to this. Sitting on top of Owen’s car, his arm around me, the top of my head hitting at his chin. He’s so warm and solid, his arm curved around my shoulders a heavy, comfortable weight, and when he starts lightly stroking my bared shoulder with his fingertips, I want to melt.

“Comfortable?” he asks, his voice a low, sexy murmur that sets my insides trembling.

I nod, unable to form words.

“Still cold?”

“No,” I whisper, leaning my forehead against his chin. His stubble is prickly against my skin and I close my eyes, savoring this new intimacy between us. He holds me closer and shifts, his finger sliding beneath my chin so he’s lifting my face to his.

Oh. God. This is it. He’s going to kiss me. I crack open my eyes to find him studying me, his gaze roving over my face, and I release a shuddery breath.

“Nervous?”

He must think I’m a complete novice. He’s pretty much right if he does. “Yes.”

“Why?” He trails his finger along my jawline, across my chin, leaving a wake of tingles with his touch. “You had to know this was going to happen.”

“Um …” I start but he presses his finger against my lips, silencing me.

“You still going to tutor me after I kiss you? We’re not breaking any sort of code or rule, are we?” I shake my head and he traces my lips, first the top one, then the bottom, pressing gently against the sore spot my teeth have worn. “I hate that you get so nervous that you hurt yourself.”