Random Acts Of Crazy Read Free Page B

stood between us like a very erotic chaperone making sure we didn’t dance too close. That ship had sailed about thirty seconds ago, though, and whatever Miss Manners had to say about how to remain proper when you have a naked dude in your car covered with guitar splinters and the increasingly cloying scent of dead raccoon filling your car through the hole in the floor, I didn’t much care.
    He reached up and took my breasts in his hands, a soft, smooth touch that stretched into something yearning, my face curling down to kiss him, mouths happy and luxuriating in the pure joy of this, his mouth warm and wet as his tongue explored me, my breasts swelling under his fingers, strumming me like I was a replacement for his destroyed guitar.
    Play me, man. Play me all night long.
    That raccoon scent, though, was starting to make this decidedly less appealing. Trevor seemed to notice it, too, and pulled back.
    “That’s the raccoon. Not me,” he announced, brushing the hair away from my face with one hand and raising his eyebrows, pretending to be serious.
    I burst out laughing, the sound filling my tiny car, the windows fogged already. My eyes caught some old shadow of finger-writing on the window from the last guy I fucked in my car. OK, the one and only. It read, “I luv Durlu.”
    Trevor did a double-take and started giggling when he saw it. “The gene pool a bit shallow here in Io – , er, Ohio?”
    “My mama spelled it that way on my birth certificate,” I deadpanned. His face faltered a bit, that smooth brow uncertain, his body tighter now as I stared him down.
    “Oh. Uh – ” I couldn’t make him squirm anymore, largely because he was making me squirm. Fucking him here by the side of the road, with eau de roadkill permeating the air through my floorboards wasn’t exactly a Harlequin novel setting, either. Swinging my leg back over to the driver’s seat, I started the engine and got back on the highway. If we didn’t move soon, a state trooper would find us, and I did not want to have to explain why I had an expired registration and a naked man in my car. One would be hard enough.
    The other was just hard .
    “Wait a minute,” he said, sitting up. With as much dignity as a naked man with an aching boner I wanted to ride like a pogo stick could ever manage, Trevor repositioned himself on my torn vinyl seat and gave me his full attention. Those blue eyes had pupils that were normal now, the effects of whatever he’d eaten back in Massachusetts fading out.
    “I can’t. I’m merging.”
    “No, I mean – you’re joking, right? No one would really spell it…” his voice faded out. Polite enough to realize he’d really bungled if my mama really had spelled it that way, he was stuck in a Catch-22.
    “No, she really did. You should see how she spells my twin sisters’ names. Lemonjello and Orangejello.”
    A sputtering sound filled the car, and it wasn’t from my muffler. He was gasping for air, laughter making him wheeze. It wasn’t that funny, but apparently he still had just enough of whatever made him trip to keep him laughing for the next two mile markers.
    I hoped it stayed in his bloodstream just long enough to touch more of him, to have him explore me, because there was a sliver of a chance that whatever he’d taken was what made him kiss me. Part of me deeply hoped it wasn’t true, that he found me innately attractive, but I’m a realist.
    I’ll take what I can get. And if ’shrooms or K2 or Swiffer solution made him kiss me like that , then I would let him huff a tube of Vicks to have one wild night out here in Hoopieville.
    “Where are we going?” he asked, his hand sliding up my knee, headed toward my hoo-haw.
    “Where you want to go?” I asked. Please say somewhere private.
    A look around outside made his face fall. Not many options. We were in flat country and our options were…well…our option was singular.
    A rest area.
    Rubbing his eye with his other hand, he sniffed and shook