Naked. With hot, sweaty sex.
Chapter 8
Streetlights flickering on dotted the n**ed horizon.
Perfect. J.T. shifted gears on the truck, whizzing past their exit. Rena frowned, but stayed silent, the low tunes of the oldies station drifting from the radio.
He'd managed to kill enough time on base to make their drive home dip closer toward sunset. Excellent for his plans. Now they cruised along over the swampy tidewaters, bridges a constant for the waterlogged region. Twenty minutes later, he pulled off onto a two-lane rural road.
"Where are we going?" she finally asked from beside him. Her window down, she tugged the two long black sticks from her bundled hair and let it ripple in the wind.
Now he really wanted that drive.
Hopefully she wouldn't nix his idea before it even took flight. "I figured you've been cooped up in the house for so long, you could probably use time outside. I thought we'd take a ride before we head back to the house."
He could talk to her at home, but not without the risk of interruption. There were also too many doors to slam. A sun-set was romantic, right? Would she agree? His period of romancing her had been so damn short, he wasn't sure what she preferred. They'd spent most of their dating days in the back of her car.
This time he would keep his hands on the wheel and his flight suit zipped.
"Take a drive?"
"Sure. Why not?" Then he would conveniently detour somewhere scenic, overlooking the water where they could talk, away from interrupting teenagers. Already moss-draped oak trees alongside the road grew thicker, more private.
He reached behind the seat and pulled out a Coke.
Rena stared at it as if he held a snake. "You brought a Coke?"
"Uh…" He dropped it between them and reached back again to select a— "Diet Coke?"
He winced. Way to go, Romeo—insinuate she needs Diet when you're already on shaky cheapskate ground romancing her with a one-dollar sixteen-ouncer.
But she would know he was up to something if he started crawling up to her window with a fistful of daisies. A drive and a Coke seemed a safer, nonobvious way to start working his way back into her good graces.
Already up to his ass in the plan, he might as well forge ahead. He arced his arm behind the seat again and pulled out a chocolate Yoohoo. "Or this can count as calcium for the baby with some chocolate for you. You'll have to key me in on what you're craving, because I'm pretty damn clueless about what you'll like."
Would she get the double meaning? Subtext wasn't his strong suit.
She stared down at the bottles resting in her lap. "Have you been keeping a junk-food stash in your car all these years?"
"I stopped by the shoppette before I picked you up." He couldn't see her face clearly enough to gauge her reaction. "That's why I was late."
"You planned this?" Still she didn't so much as glance his way, but her voice went soft.
Progress. Onward. "I wasn't sure what you would want, so I bought a little of everything." He turned off the two-lane road onto a dirt path. "When you were carrying Nikki, you couldn't get enough pizza, but then first time I brought you one when you were pregnant with Chris, you threw up all over my flight boots."
"And then we had ice cream for supper instead."
Made love. Had more ice cream. "Peach ice cream."
"You remember?" Her face went as soft as her voice.
Ooh-rah for Romeo. "I remember."
He slid the truck to a stop at one of his favorite fishing spots, total solitude with a perfect view of the inland waterway. Everything moved slow. The birds. The fish. Even the shrimp boats took their time to cast and draw back nets, cast them again or simply troll to the dock.
Why hadn't he thought to bring her here before?
Hefting the bag from behind the seat, he upended it gently into her lap, releasing a waterfall of food.