Page 501 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

black trash bags under streetlights,

cab tires whooshing through puddles.

The engine’s rumble vibrates through my boots, up my legs,

past the hem of my mini skirt.

Classic rock blows smoke through the speakers, some guitar riff older than both of us.

Andrew drives with one hand on the wheel, the other skimming the gearshift.

His eyes slide to my legs, catching me still shivering, so he reaches over and cranks the dials on the dash.

The old floor heater blasts a wave of dirty heat up my legs.

I have no idea where he's taking me.

For the moment,

I don't care if it's straight to my death.

I've never felt this free as we plunge into the tiled, yellow-lit tube of the Lincoln Tunnel, the V8 engine bouncing a deafening scream off the curved walls before we burst into Jersey.

“Aight,” Andrew says loud over the engine. “I get it now.” His gaze flicks over at me. “This was a good idea.”

“Where are you takin’ me?” I yell back.

“On a date. Keep up.”

I roll my eyes. “Sorry. I forgot what a date looks like. It’s only been ninety business days,” I grumble, and he throws his head back with a laugh. “Shouldn’t I be asked before I’m on a date or somethin’?”

Andrew glances over, his smile lingering. “Allison Taylor, you wanna be on this date with me?”

I stare at him,

the Firebird humming under us.

“Yeah, no. I’m taking the date,” I say, then mutter loud under my breath, “God knows when you’ll offer another one.”

Another laugh slips out of him,

this one caught and embarrassed.

He reaches across the console for my hand, threads our fingers together, brings it to his mouth, and kisses my knuckles. “Baby, you shoulda told me you wanted boyfriend shit,” he says, smiling against my hand, lips brushing my skin. “I can give you boyfriend shit.”

And now I’m smiling like a girl.

Fantastic. All hot-faced and obvious.

The smile doesn’t let me go.

Neither does Andrew’s hand.

When he has to change gears,

he keeps my palm lazy in his,

two fingers slipping away to shift,