He brightens. “You feel like going for a run?”
What?
“Umm, no.” I shake my head. “It’s three in the morning.”
He rakes his fingers through his hair. “I’m just so wired. I need to blow off some steam or something.”
I could help you out…
“You’ve got your car back—life is good,” I remind him.
“I know. It’s just gonna take me a while to wind down, that’s all. You know, once I got back in the Dodge, I was so happy I could’ve made sweet love to her all night long.”
Urgh! Now I want him even more…
My mind starts spinning into overdrive, as scenes of Lewis making love to me in his car go flashing before my eyes.
“It’s gross, but I think thatisactually a thing,” I fire back. “I saw a documentary about it. It’s called objectophilia, or something. There was this part where they spoke to a girl who actually screwed the Empire State Building…”
Back it up, Hitman!
“What?”
“Never mind. Gimme some chips before you eat them all.”
He props the bag up between us, and I notice his knee is bouncing like crazy. Our timing sucks—every time I dip a hand in, he does the same, our fingers brushing as we forage for food. Or maybe I’m doing it on purpose without even realizing?
As we munch our way through the bag, we replay the race, discussing every twist and turn of our win against Tyler, but the peace and quiet doesn’t last.
He pauses. “Is that…”
“Un-freaking-believable,” I say, pounding a fist on the wall.
The guests in the room next door are getting busy, and whatever it is they’re doing, it doesn’t seem to involve snacks. I’d almost be jealous, if it weren’t for just how badly all that moaning and groaning is making my stomach turn. Every creak of the mattress, every squeak of the bed frame… We’ve got front-row tickets to the whole show, and not only are these guys loud—they’re taking their sweet time getting to the finale.
Lewis elbows me. “How many do you think?”
“Just two.”
“Sounds more like a football team in there.”
“Trust me, there’s only two of them. But the guy switches up the sound effects depending on whether he’s thrusting in or out.”
Lewis’s eyes slide over to me. “And you got all that through a wall?”
“You know those hookers we saw in Brooklyn?” I shrug. “Well, I spent two years living right next door to them, and those were someweak-ass walls, let me tell you. I’m not saying I’m an expert, or anything, but yeah—I know my sex sounds.”
“Damn. That’s pretty amazing.”
“Right?”
He strains to hear, and it takes him a moment to notice me looking at him.
When he does, he stares right back into my eyes.
I can’t tell whether he wants it the way I do.
“Should we get some sleep—”
