Checkered Flag Cheater by Will Weaver Read Free Book Online Page A

said.
    Suddenly they were kissing—hard, hungry, bruising kisses. They made out like crazy, until the bony edges of the wooden bleachers dug into their backs.
    â€œWait,” Mel said, breaking away. “Come.” She led him inside the announcer’s booth, where it was much darker, and they fell into an old easy chair—a recliner—that smelled like cigarettes. There they went by feel. All-overfeel, their hands everywhere at once, until they were breathing hard. Mel suddenly pushed him away. “Don’t move,” she said.
    He obeyed.
    She stood up. There was soft rustling, then the brief tearing sound of a zipper, then more rustling. As his eyes adjusted, moonlight slowly pooled in two perfectly round planets, swimming toward him, growing more distinct—or else he was jetting toward them at warp speed through the blackness. The quick glint of Mel’s teeth—she was smiling—flashed like a shooting star, and he reached for her. Her skin was fragrant, and shiny, as if the moonlight was inside her. With her help he peeled off his shirt—but a minute later Mel sucked in a breath and stiffened in his arms.
    â€œWhat?” he whispered.
    â€œI . . . can’t,” she breathed.
    â€œWhy not?” he groaned.
    â€œThis would be my first time.”
    â€œYeah?” he said too quickly. “I mean, are you scared?”
    â€œNo. I’ve always had this dream—about me and you—that our first time would be someplace really nice.”
    â€œLike?” he said, trying to buy time, holding her close, continuing to stroke her long, smooth bare back.
    â€œLike, in a hotel, with a big feather bed. And candles. And a Jacuzzi. And chocolates and champagne.”
    â€œThat’s really girly,” he said.
    She giggled, and kissed his ear. “A smoky old announcer’sshack and a wrecked-up chair—that wasn’t in my fantasy.”
    â€œIt works for me,” he said—pretending to be joking.
    â€œI want to,” she said quickly, “but not here. Not tonight. We need to plan ahead.”
    â€œTomorrow night?” Trace said.
    â€œNo, dummy.” She laughed. “Plan ahead ahead. Like meet someplace out of town. Spend the whole weekend together.”
    â€œThe whole weekend?” Trace said.
    â€œWhy? Does that scare you?”
    â€œNo. It’s just that I race most weekends,” he replied. It was a stupid comment; he felt their big moment slipping away.
    She was silent. “This summer, then,” she said. “We need to wait until this summer. We’ll both be done with school then, and things will feel totally different—and I’ll be totally ready.”
    â€œThis summer?” Trace began. Mainly he was thinking about punching himself in the face for being so dumb.
    â€œThink you can wait that long?” she asked softly, blowing warm air into his other ear.
    Trace swallowed. “No problem.”
    She giggled.
    After they put themselves back together, they headed to Perkins. It was three a.m. by then, and the place had only a few kids in prom clothes; most were at all-night, lock-in-type parties. Trace and Mel ordered major breakfasts—omelets and pancakes.
    â€œYou two sure are hungry,” the waitress remarked.
    â€œNo kidding,” Trace said, which brought a smile from Mel.
    Then, as they ate and hung out, they talked. Mel told him about the racetrack, about school, and about Patrick.
    â€œWe’re just friends,” she said.
    â€œMaybe in your mind,” Trace mumbled.
    Color came back into Mel’s cheeks. “So why didn’t you ask me to prom?” she said. “You came back. You could have planned ahead just a little bit, and not turned the whole thing into a soap opera.”
    Trace looked down. “I wish I could do it over.”
    â€œAnyway,” Mel said, “let’s talk about you.”
    â€œWhat about me?” Trace