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We got the bag of junk, which consisted of soda, nachos, Twizzlers, a box of cookies, a couple shrink-wrapped sandwiches, and a big bag of chips, but we couldn’t find a place to eat.
“It has to be someplace romantic so I can make a move on you,” Hooker said. “Hey, look here, we can park in this alley. There’s some space just past those garbage cans.”
“Garbage cans aren’t romantic.”
“See, that’s the difference between a man and a woman,” Hooker said, jockeying into a parking space. “A man has imagination when it comes to romance. A man is willing to overlook a few things in the interest of romance.” He pushed his seat back and handed me a sandwich. “This isn’t so bad. It’s nice and private. Here we are in this little car. Just the two of us.”
Okay, I have to admit, it was cozy. And I had been thinking Hooker had nice legs. Tan and muscular, the hair on them sun bleached. And I had been wondering what it would feel like to lay my hand flat against his washboard stomach. That didn’t mean I wanted to have car sex in an alley next to some garbage cans. Been there, done that.
“We’re in a public alley,” I said. “You’re not really thinking of doing anything dumb, are you?”
“You mean like having my way with you? Yeah, I was thinking about it. It’s what James Bond would do.”
“I should never have mentioned James Bond. James Bond had a sex addiction.”
“Hey, if you’re going to have an addiction, pick a good one. Why waste time on smoking and cocaine when you can have a sex addiction.”
“Would you like some cookies? How about more chips? There are some chips left.”
“No good, darlin’, I’m in James Bond mode now.”
“James Bond didn’t call women darlin’.”
He leaned close and slid his arm around my shoulders. “I’m a Texas James Bond.”
“Get away from me.”
“You don’t mean that. Women always put out for James Bond.”
“Put out? You expect me to put out?”
“I guess that was an unfortunate choice of phrase. Probably you don’t think that’s romantic, eh? What I meant was… oh hell.”
And he kissed me. A lot. And after a couple minutes of this I was thinking the alley was pretty private, and I could hardly smell the garbage cans, and maybe car sex would work after all. His hands were under my shirt, and his tongue was sliding over mine, and somehow I’d gotten onto my back in the Mini. I had my ass half on the gearshift between the two front seats and a leg draped around the steering column. I had my head pressed into the side door and suddenly I couldn’t move. My hair was tangled in the door handle.
“Help,” I whispered to Hooker.
“Don’t worry, darlin’. I know what I’m doing.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Just give me some direction. I’m good at taking direction.”
“It’s my hair.”
“I love your hair. You have great hair.”
“Thank you. The problem is…”
“The problem is we’re talking about your other hair, right? I’ve already seen it, darlin’. I know you’re not a natural blond. It’s okay by me. Shit, I wouldn’t care if you were bald.”
“Hooker, my hair’s caught!”
“Caught? Caught in what? Caught in your zipper?”
“Caught in the door handle.”
“How could that be…you don’t even have your pants off. Oh! CRAP!”
