It Happened on Maple Street

“Ever make out in the backseat of a car?” he whispered about a quarter of the way through the lecture.

“Tim,” her whisper was firm, a reprimand, not an invitation. She squeezed his hand, though. They were holding hands—his right to her left so she could take notes—as they did every class these days.

“I hear sex is great in cars,” he tried again halfway through class.

“Sssshhh.”

“Well then, I won’t take you for a ride in my new car,” he said.

At first, she seemed to think the threat was just more of his nonsense, and then her eyes widened and her face broke out into the grin he’d come to know, the one that stirred his blood every time.

She scooted down in her seat. “You got a car?” She was still facing forward, her hand up like she was playing with her mouth in some studious, mode of concentration.

“Yeah.”

“When?”

“Last night.”

She stared at the professor, like she was paying attention, except that he was talking to a student who’d had trouble finding a particular table in the textbook. A table he knew Tara had already found because she’d had her book open to it.

“What kind?”

“Pontiac LeMans Sport.”

“What color is it?”

“Gold. Black leather interior.”

“When can I see it?”

“As soon as class ends if you want to.”

She turned toward him then, and the excitement in those blue eyes was everything he’d hoped it would be. “You have it here?”

“Yep.”

“Can I drive it?”

He hadn’t thought about that. A girl driving his prized possession. His first car.

But this wasn’t any girl. This was Tara. “Of course,” he said. He’d seen her handle a shift. She was a pro.

He didn’t really regret the words when she was behind the wheel of his new car just hours after he’d purchased it. He did second-guess them, though. And squirm a bit. The shy girl he knew changed when she got behind the wheel of a sports car. Her shyness evaporated. And left a wild woman in her place.

Tara took his new machine from zero to seventy in about ten seconds—which was hard on the engine. He didn’t want to criticize her, though. Or spoil her fun. He held on. And started to pray.

They made it to the expressway in one piece. They made it without so much as a single complaint from the car. She gunned the motor and, both hands on the wheel, grinned from ear to ear.

He was glad he’d made her so happy and saw the curve just ahead.

“Slow down.” The words burst out of him.

“I was only going eighty and I was slowing down for that curve.”

“Okay.” If she said so.

He made it another two minutes. Just until he saw the next exit. “Hey, pull off here,” he said.