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What does he mean?Unsure, I scan his face, registering with irritation that his pupils have almost completely devoured the gray of his irises.So… he doesn’t seem to have disliked it.I jut my chin. “That was the whole point of this exercise,” I assert, practicing a confident smirk. At the same time, my knees feel so soft that I would slide to the floor if I weren’t sitting securely on the comfortable padding of the passenger seat.
Philipp tilts his head, shaking it wordlessly as a faint smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “You…”
A deafening honk swallows the rest of what he says.
Synchronized, we turn our heads, peering through the rear window.
A cab driver, his face distorted with rage, now also uses his flashers to scare us off the forecourt.
“Fasten your seat belt,” Philipp says. Then he starts the engine and leaves the choleric driver his outstretched middle finger as a farewell, before he threads the RAM into the flowing traffic on the street.
31. ToCall It a Dayinto the Wee Hours
Philipp
What an idiot.Since my mouth is tingling from Celine’s ambush-style initiative, I prefer silence to the appropriate curse. Wordlessly, I show my outstretched middle finger through the rear window, start the V8, and slip the RAM into a gap in the string of pearls of passing cars.
Fortunately, the evening rush hour traffic demands my full attention. Only when I’m waiting in front of the traffic lights at the junction with the federal highway B27 do I dare to peek over at Celine out of the corner of my eye.
Staring straight ahead in the direction of the municipal garden, her profile stands out against the dark green undergrowth of the corner lot. Her flawless makeup covers any redness, but heated marks on her neck and the bright contrast of her earlobes against the pearl studs reveal she is boiling over with embarrassment.
Besides being surprised she obviously reciprocates my secretly held feelings, I feel pride that this brave Amazon has chosen me. And feel an all-too-familiar sensation in my pants.
A broad grin seizes the power of my lips and cheeks. I almost miss the traffic light changing to green. Once again, an impatient driver behind me honks.
“Fucking hell!” I don’t mean the tailgater, but the fact that I would love to take Celine right now in the back seat of the Dodge. Silently, I hope she won’t make sense of it.Will she?
My knuckles stand out whitish, so fiercely I clutch the steering wheel, so as not to get into the embarrassment of squinting over at her again. Or even down to my fly, which is bound to burst at any moment.
Is that me breathing so hard? Fuck.I press the volume-plus button on the multifunction steering wheel with my thumb until the drums, resembling the rattle of a machine gun, drown out every sound in the vehicle.
As if on cue with the demandIgnite The Sky, the setting sun sets the sky above the Finches Courtyard beyond the Neckar River ablaze. The bass-driven distorted voice of Som Pluijmers in combination with the aggressive chords of her new band calm me down, so I can cast a searching glance over to Celine at the height of the city exit.
She has her lips pressed together, as she always does when I listen to death black metal.In terms of musical taste, my piano-playing repertoire will probably forever be the only thing uniting us.She clutches the seat belt with the fingers of both hands, holding it a hand’s breadth away from her chest. As if she’s afraid it might strangle her.
Probably, my poor sweetness herself is most startled at her unexpected courage. For a moment I stumble over the possessive personal pronoun.
But in keeping with the rapid swerve on the off-ramp to the industrial park, and as Celine’s hands claw at the center console and the panic handle above the door in search of purchase, I let it pass my lips, inaudibly whispered:
My sweetness. Feeling the tornado of endorphins once again raging through my veins, I let the RAM roll out into the yard and apply the parking brake. Even before I stop the engine, I dare an open look over to her and meet her eyes, which are once again turning baby blue.
“This…” Her chest under the red fabric of her fitted coat rises and falls violently as her left fumbles awkwardly for the seatbelt buckle. “…was rather rash of me…”
“Shhh.” I put my index finger on her lips until her breathing calms and she unbuckles her seatbelt just like I do. I don’t know from which depths of my subconscious the memory of a schmaltzy movie emerges and wrests control of my hands from me.
For my finger slips over the left corner of her mouth down under her chin, then grips it along with my thumb.
“Is something wrong?” she asks, eyes wide as a deer in anticipation of the heart shot.
“May I?” Remote-controlled, I lean over the voluminous mid-arm console towards her.
“Of course.”
Is there a flicker of desire in the innocent blue of her eyes? And why are my fingers suddenly applying unrelenting pressure, forcing her to lift her head for me? And why does she let me control her so willingly? Holy shit!
“Yes?” Her hypnotic gaze scares away the disturbing questions from my brain, as if in slow motion she tilts her head, which comes closer and closer…
“Fuck it,” I state, lowering my lips now on her mouth. Harshly, greedily, my hands claw into her hair like a drowning man.
