Her hand moved of its own accord, cupping his cheek, her fingers twining through his beard. Arching her back, she pulled his face down to hers and kissed him gently on the lips. A soft rumble in his throat, he covered her mouth with his and deepened their kiss.
Yes, she loved him.
• • •
Holding tightly to Debbie’s hand, Preacher veered quickly through the river of people leaving the theater. He wanted to get back to the park as soon as humanly possible. Back to camp, back inside his tent, and back inside—
He glanced at Debbie. Her bottom lip tucked beneath her teeth, her concentration was on the crowd ahead of them. His gaze traveled the rest of her, over all the places he wished he were still touching.
Her tank top was thin, she wasn’t wearing a bra, and the night breeze that greeted them as they exited the theater was just cool enough for her nipples to stand up and take notice. Her high-waisted jeans were snug on her hips and thighs, emphasizing the curves Preacher liked best, but also baggy around her calves and feet, hiding her sneakers. She was both sexy and adorable and damn near perfect.
The following surge in his jeans was a visceral reaction, but it was more than just that. Preacher felt invigorated, and much younger than he had only a week ago. He wanted something again. He was looking forward to something instead of dreading it.
It had grown dark during the movie, the only remaining light emanating from the streetlamps, the brightly lit storefronts, and the full moon hanging low and fat in the distance. A short ways down the street, Preacher spotted half of their group congregated around their motorcycles. The van was gone, meaning the others had already left.
“How’d you like the movie, Wheels?” he asked, glancing down at her. Still biting down on her lip, Debbie fought to contain a smile.
Laughing, Preacher released her hand and slung his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “It was good, right?” he teased. “My favorite part was when that guy did that thing. You know what I’m talkin’ about, right? That thing?”
Truth be told, Preacher had very little idea what the movie had been about. He’d only managed to catch bits and pieces here and there when he hadn’t been preoccupied with Debbie—which hadn’t been all that often.
Debbie’s blush deepened.
“What?” he asked, “you didn’t like that part? Wheels, come on! That was the best fuckin’ part!”
Bursting into giggles, Debbie turned and buried her face in his chest. Laughing loudly, Preacher squeezed her even tighter.
“Bunch of fuckin’ slowpokes!” Knuckles called out. “Whaddya do—stick around for the cleanin’ crew or somethin’?” Leaning against his motorcycle, Knuckles twirled a pair of women’s pink panties on his finger.
Eyes wide and mocking, Preacher pointed. “Man, you forgot to put your underwear on!”
Seated on their bikes close by, Smokey and Jim began to snicker.
Knuckles stopped twirling and grinned. “Brother, I’m just workin’ out my pussy finger for the next lucky lady.”
Draped over Jim’s back, Anne rolled her eyes and groaned. “Only one finger, huh? I’m guessin’ you’ve left a lot of ladies feelingprettyunlucky.”
“I only need one.” Waggling his eyebrows, Knuckles flipped Anne off. “I got fat fingers, baby.”
“And I’ll break every single last one of ‘em, if you ever talk to my ol’ lady like that again,” Jim growled.
Behind Jim, wearing a self-satisfied smirk, Anne stuck her tongue out at Knuckles.
His expression contrite, Knuckles folded his arms across his chest and muttered, “She fuckin’ started it.”
Smokey released a world-weary sigh. “Christ, kid. You sound like a broken record. Tits and pussy. Tits and pussy. You know there’s more to life, right?”
Knuckles whirled on Smokey, his mouth hanging open. “Did you see that chick?” he demanded.
“How could I not?” Smokey’s expression was as dry as his tone. “Hard to watch a movie when I got a goddamn ass bouncin’ in my face.”
Knuckles continued to look horrified. “Fuckin’-A, that was a piece of ass worth lookin’ at!” He mimed smacking a woman’s backside.
“You’ve seen one ass, you’ve seen ‘em all.”
“Man, what happened to you? You’re, like, asexual or somethin’ now?”
Amused, Preacher glanced between the two men. Smokey wasn’t asexual; he was just a man who’d loved his wife and lost her. Growing up, Preacher couldn’t remember a time when Maryanne hadn’t been sick. As a diabetic, she’d slowly grown thinner, frailer, until her body eventually succumbed.
