Chapter 6: The Cab

I went to Kroger for eggs, and at dusk my phone buzzed in the cereal aisle: Where are you parked?

His Silverado was backed into the dark end by the cart return, a faded red truck with a toolbox across the bed.

I put my bags in the CR-V, walked over, and climbed up into the passenger seat.

He had to reach across me to shut my door.

His arm brushed my chest, and neither of us said a word about it.

"I was on my way home from a job," he said. "I saw your car."

"You saw my car."

"I sat here ten minutes working up to texting you."

I looked at his hands on the steering wheel.

His thumbs were as long as my fingers, and his knuckles were cut from a day of hauling.

"Come here," I said.

"Amber, it's a parking lot."

"I know where we are."

I slid across the bench seat and climbed over the console into his lap.

I faced him, a knee on either side of his hips, my back against the steering wheel and the horn ring pressing into my spine.

The cab was small for him.

His knees were jammed against the dash, and his head was bent against the roof liner.

I took his face in my hands to hold it.

"Hey," I said.

"Hey."

I kissed him, and I tasted coffee and cinnamon gum.

His hands went under my sweater, spread across my back, and pulled me in tight.

I rolled my hips against him, and I felt him go hard under me in two seconds.

"We can't," he said into my mouth. "People..."

"It's dark. The windows are tinted."

"They're tinted to here." He tapped the glass at his shoulder. "The windshield's not."

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