Damage by A. M. Jenkins Read Free Book Online Page B

being killed there’s no telling. You have to pull over into the next parking lot that comes along. You can’t think.
    When you turn to ask Heather if she’s okay, she’s looking across the lot…at the sign that says Giacotti’s Pizza and Spaghetti.
    “Why are you stopping way back here? There’s a spot right in front.”
    No indication she realizes she just gave you a boner that could steer the truck all by itself.
     
    Inside Giacotti’s, you order the pizza while Heatther selects a booth to sit in. You want to slide in to sit beside her—you’ve always thought people who did that wstupid, facing straight ahead, bumping shoulders and elbows. But tonight you think you’d like it, even as you take the seat across from her.
    Heather calls some of her friends over; they stand gathered at the edge of the booth in the dim light, saying hi with big smiles, while Heather smiles even bigger. When they finally leave, Heather shakes back her hair and says: “We make a cute couple, don’t you think?”
    Whatever that was, back in the truck, it’s over. Gone. Completely. When she looks at you her eyes are clear blue and completely blank.
    “I always thought your hair was black, but really it’s dark brown, isn’t it? Anyway, we’re a good contrast,” she continues, as if she’s talking about a color wheel. She removes the wrapper from her straw. “Being as I’m blond and all. And the top of my head probably comes just about to your chin. Don’t you think?”
    “Yeah,” you say, wondering what difference it makes. “I guess.”
    “So we’re just about the perfect heights for everything. Pictures. Kissing. Sex.”
    She says it matter-of-factly, like checking off a list. But it drives the breath from your lungs.
    “Do you think I’ve got a nice body?” she asks, sliding her straw into the glass.
    “Yes.” The word comes out a little hoarse.
    “Thanks.” She sips her drink, and you watch the wayher lips close around the straw, and the way her breasts almost rest on the table as she leans forward. You’re sure how you feel about all this talk about looks. You are sure how you feel when she talks about sex, right up front like that. How you felt when she sucked on your finger.
    Lighten up. Be joyful always.
    God sure does work in mysterious ways.
     
    After the movie you figure you’ll drive down by the railroad tracks. They’re easy to get to; down an unmarked farm road leading off the main highway.
    But the moment you hit the blinker to turn right, Heather sits straight up, like she’s been shot. “Where are you going?”
    “Where there’s a little privacy.”
    “Sorry. I don’t do the parking thing on a first date.”
    She’s got to be kidding.
    You look over at her; one of her hands is flat on seat beside her. The other is gripping the door handle.
    She’s not kidding.
    Better double-check. “You mean you want me to take you straight home?”
    “Yeah.”
    Yeah. All right. Fine.
    She’s a tease. And this particular kind of dishonesty always did hit you like a shot of ice water, straight bone.
    You zip your lip, turn off the blinker, and hit the gas.
    You know the drill by heart. If not this night, then maybe the next. Or the next. Or the next. And if not, there’s always the next girl.
    A couple miles of silence later, when you pull up in front of her house, you don’t make a move to touch her. Just get out, walk around, and open her door. Escort her up the sidewalk. On the front porch, you just flash her a grin and give her a quick kiss good-bye. No hands. “I’ll call you,” you tell her without meaning it. The usual.
    Heather’s smile drops off her face. “You’ll call me,” she echoes, as if she can’t believe she heard you right.
    “Yeah,” you say automatically. “I’ve got your number. I’ll call you sometime.”
    “Sometime,” she repeats in that flat, thoughtful then peers at you in the dim light. “No. I think not. I’m not some little football groupie who sits