the case may be?”
He grinned, stood, and answered with a cocky a smirk, knowing full well his bulging cock was right in front of her face.
“If you’re referencing bondage, you should know I wasn’t just a Boy Scout. I made Eagle Scout, so my knowledge of knots is extensive.”
Her expression was all teeth and rosy flushed cheeks. He almost dropped like a rock when she fondled his bulge, and purred, “I like this knot.”
Self-preservation made him grip her wrist to control her misbehaving fingers. “Look but no touch, baby.”
She pouted by licking her lips, scrunching her nose and grunting her displeasure. “Does this mean car sex is off the agenda?”
Laughingly, he reached for her hand and kissed it. “I’m a big guy, and I need room to maneuver. Your little bed barely cuts it, so unless we’re talking about the back of a limo, car sex is out.”
She snarled.
Caressing her neck, he murmured, “But car foreplay? There’s a subject worth exploring.”
Did her smile shine brighter than a floodlight? One hundred!
“Get in the car, Arnie.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He chuckled as he secured her door and claimed the driver’s seat. Her interest in getting naughty only lasted as long as it took her to inventory the snacks in the center console. He’d made sure to stock up before leaving the hotel.
“Ah!” She gasped. “No way! Bugles?”
Arnie grinned, and exclaimed, “Even better. Nacho cheese Bugles!”
“A man after my own heart,” she teased.
“Wherever I am, I find out where all the best vending machines are,” he drawled.
“Find out? How?”
“There’s an online network of vending aficionados posting on a bulletin board thread. Searchable by city and hotel.”
She smiled broadly. “Vending machines and food trucks. Where have you been all my life?”
Talking with her was better than a Disney park ride. She was quick, witty, charming, wicked, and remarkably intuitive. He liked her honesty and the way she didn’t hide her feelings or thoughts from him.
He asked her what TV shows she liked and let her entertain him with a long, winding answer.
“And then, of course, you can’t discount the classics. Will and Grace, Friends, Frazier, and That 70’s Show. If it’s light and uncomplicated, I’ve probably watched it.”
“So no Criminal Minds for you?”
She shuddered. “Actually, I love the show, but over time, it got inside my head, and I had to stop watching.” Her shrug was far from indifferent. “There’s plenty of dark, evil shit to go around, but I don’t have to know about it.”
“You have empathic traits.”
Though his attention was on the road, he saw her do a double take at his face.
“Um, yeah. I guess. My dad used to say I never lost my connection to dreams. He believed babies come into the world still tethered to the angels but lose the attachment over time. Gone but not forgotten because, in my case, the link still remains.”
His heart pounded as she inexpertly described the living bond between the worlds. It never occurred to him what having real feelings for someone with similar abilities to his would mean or feel like.
Smacking his arm, she barked without warning. “Stop! Stop!”
Startled, he stammered, “Wh-what?”
“Pull over, pull over,” she demanded. Her head jerked as she looked over her shoulder.
Sliding the car to the curb, he barely had time to register what was happening when she flipped open the console and grabbed a handful of snacks.
“Come on, come on!” She laughed and opened the car door, pushing it wide with her foot.
What the hell? He unbuckled quickly and exited the car with extreme speed, just in time to see her running up the sidewalk toward a man in an electric wheelchair.
Flabbergasted and curious about what the fuck was happening, he ran to catch up with her and found himself introduced to a grizzled-looking senior citizen who regarded Summer with a benevolent grin.
“Cy! Say hello to my friend Arnie! He is a purveyor of snacks.” She cackled while dumping a pile of vending goodies into the guy’s lap.
She turned, reached for his hand, and pulled him closer. “Arnie, this is Cyrus. He’s a Sergeant Major. He works at the Veteran’s Help Center and does the best shadow puppets ever!”
The gray-haired man stuck out his hand. “The name’s Westmorland—no relation to anyone famous. Missy Sunflower exaggerates about the shadow puppets,” the guy said with a smiling nod at Summer.
They shook hands, and the minute the older man’s palm touched Arnie’s, he knew he was in the presence of a warrior. He didn’t need to hear stories to be humbled by the