“Yes. Though it’s a shame we never came up with a better name.”
“How could we? That one already had everything. Perfectly communicated what it was about.”
Sam smiled and without thinking, traced the skin on the back of his hand with her thumb, taking a weird pleasure in the feel of the fine hairs that lined it. It was a man’s fist, thick-knuckled and broad. She rubbed across his index finger, pretending she couldn’t feel him shudder. The moment was building now, rushing them toward the point where they’d have to do something about all this…everything. She listened quietly as Scott used his free hand to stuff the remains of their dinner into the brown paper bag it had come in. It was close now, very close…
Scott shoved the rubbish bag into the back seat. “You didn’t touch your chips. Were they cold?”
“I don’t like hot chips.”
He stared at her as though she’d just confessed to murder. “You,what?”
“I don’t like hot chips,” Sam repeated, smiling at his indignation. “It’s not the flavour, it’s the texture—they’re kind of mushy and rough at the same time.”
“Fuck right off!” Scott sat up ramrod straight. “How do you not like chips? What kind of human does that make you?”
“They’re just hot potatoes!” Sam protested. “What is this insane allegiance every human in the world has toward hot potatoes?”
“They’re delicious! Why did you order them if you weren’t going to eat them?”
“They’re part of the meal! You’d judge me if I just got two burgers!”
“Not as much as I’m judging you now.” He shook his head dolefully, as though she’d just left her empty shopping trolley in the middle of a parking lot. “This is so disappointing.”
She attempted to tug her hand from his, but Scott held on fast. “I think I’ll have to do something about this. For the good of society.”
“If you try to force-feed me cold chips, I will punch you in the Adam’s apple.”
But Scott didn’t appear concerned with avenging hot potatoes—his gaze was locked on her mouth. He leaned in, his scent so sharp it made her feel dizzy.
“Scott?”
He cupped her cheek, his fingers bringing nerves she hadn’t known she had to life. “Yes?”
“I…I don’t know.”
It wasn’t true, she did know, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask.
“Samantha,” Scott said, his gaze fixed on hers. “I want to kiss you. Would you like me to do that?”
“I…yes,” she said, embarrassed she was being so bashful and unable to say anything more. It felt like she was going to burn into nothing if he didn’t kiss her.
“Okay.” Scott exhaled softly, then moved toward her.
The first time she’d flown in a plane, it had been at night. She and Nicole had gone to Sydney with school and as they circled the airport, Sam had marvelled at the lights below, a million pinpricks signaling life and technology. They felt like they were shining just to welcome her to this new and exciting place. As Scott’s lips found hers, she felt like Sydney at midnight. A million spaces electrifying to say‘yes, I am awake and you are welcome here.’
The moment lasted as long as time, yet there did come a point when Sam felt a change, a hot hook behind her navel, the kiss becoming something more than a kiss. She pressed her legs together, shifting to move as close as their separate seats would allow. The leather stuck to her bare back but she enjoyed the sense that she was stuck there—held in position for Scott’s pleasure. Their kiss deepened and a nameless energy sizzled between them, nerve to nerve, synapse to synapse. The tang of chip-salt on their lips was tangible and Sam knew her feelings about McDonald’s were only going to get more complicated following this encounter. She wound her fingers through Scott’s hair, feeling an inner satisfaction at finally holding him that way. “God, your hair. It’s as thick as it was when you were a kid.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Not at all.” She leaned in for a kiss but to her surprise Scott pulled away, keeping their touch light, almost chaste.
“Not into tongue?”
He grinned. “I’m into it, but I’ve wanted to do this more than half my life. Give me a moment.”
Sam didn’t know what to say. Thankfully she didn’t have to say anything because Scott bent forward and kissed her again. This time his tongue slid between her lips and nine weeks of celibacy concentrated itself into a singular, desperate need. She all but launched herself across the console between them and clambered onto his lap.
Scott didn’t seem to mind. His hands found her thighs, urging her to sit flush against him. Sam arched her back, pressing her ass into his lap and her tits into his face. She was proud of how sexy she was being without honking the horn, until she felt her boot crunch on something. “Oh fuck. I think I just stepped on some sweet and sour—”