To my pure, unadulterated delight, he was every bit as silly as I was, roaring laughter into my shoulder as he hugged his arms around my waist. He smelled so good, Old Spice and dust and sweat and wind, and beneath my shouting he said, “Muldoon called me when you left Ireland. I’ve been driving for two days. Walker, are you sparkling?”
I’d forgotten about the glitter bath Les and I had taken, and said, “What? Yes,” before returning to a bellow of semicoherent delight. “PETITE, you’ve been DRIVING PETITE?! I didn’t know you drove so well! You said my relationship with my car was pathological! YOU DROVE MY CAR ACROSS THE COUNTRY, YOU CRAZY MAN! IN TWO DAYS!”
Morrison, who was nothing if not good at taking my outbursts in stride, went on like I wasn’t a maniac shouting into his shoulder. “—called that woman, Sara, when I got to the outskirts of town—”
“WHY DIDN’T YOU CALL ME!”
“I wanted to surprise you. She said you’d headed up into the mountains and something was wrong, so I floored ito IU C.”
“YOU FLOORED IT! I DIDN’T THINK YOU KNEW HOW TO FLOOR IT!”
Morrison said, “Of course I do,” and then he kissed me.
It was an extremely effective way to get me to stop shouting. After a minute we sort of collapsed into Petite’s driver’s seat, which was not a comfortable place for two people to be. I had not known from previous experience how awkward it was to get two people from the driver’s seat into the passenger seat, either, but we managed. It might have been easier if I hadn’t been trying to remove Morrison’s shoulder holster and shirt at the same time, but that was not a detail that occurred to me in the moment. We were both giggling and swearing by the time we got into the passenger seat. Morrison fumbled for the seat latch and I grabbed it, sending the seat ratcheting back at top speed. I fell on top of him, laughing, and tried to mumble an apology that he stopped with a kiss, and then some more kisses.
I wanted to sit up so I could see him better, but I couldn’t make myself untangle my fingers from his hair long enough to do it, not even when he skimmed my shirt off and slid his hands over my skin. Petite’s windows were steaming up, despite the door being open and the rising sun heating the air around us. And then for quite a while I stopped noticing much of anything about the world beyond us, or anything that wasn’t Morrison’s scent and touch and warmth.
Saturday, March 25, 8:25 a.m.
I was not asleep. I just wasn’t very conscious, although the only thing keeping me from being unconscious was the fact that my left ankle had been pressed against the gearshift long enough to develop a permanent bruise that was starting to make my whole calf hurt. Aside from that, though, I was...
...well, actually I was hideously uncomfortable, because my jeans had never made it much past my calves, either, and were cutting off circulation, and my right knee, where it was wedged between Morrison’s thigh and the door, was also stuck to Petite’s leather seat. I hated to think just how much of Morrison was stuck to the leather.
Not the important bits, anyway. I smiled, then woke up enough to grin, and within a moment was laughing quietly. I hadn’t been so overwhelmed by sheer adolescent horniness since I’d been an adolescent, and overall, the aftermath of bubbly giggly joy was a lot better than my teen experiences. Maybe there were big bad things out there in the world, but if I was with Morrison I could handle anything. I felt effervescent. Stuck to a muggy, hot black leather interior, but effervescent. My laughter faded back into smiles and I mooshed a kiss against Morrison’s shoulder, just happy to be there.
Morrison turned his head and kissed my hair, murmuring, “I haven’t done that since I was a teenager,” with a smile of his own.
“Really?” I lifted my head to look at him from so close we both went cross-eyed. His eyes were still a lovely blue, even crossed. “You’re very good at it for someone who hasn’t done it in twenty years.”
I got an up close and personal glimpse of his best exasperated look, though for once it seemed tempered by fondness. “In a car, Walker, I meant in a car.”
I propped my elbows on the seat above his shoulders so I could see him a little more clearly. “I can’t believe the staid and steady Morrison has ever had sex in a car. What kind of car was it?”
He stared at me. “Does it matter?”
I laughed out loud and kissed him again. “Probably to everybody but you. Hey,” I said, suddenly a lot more softly. “Hi. You rescued me. Thanks.”
“Probably a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I had to take it.” Morrison curled his arms around me and pulled me back down against his chest. “You’re welcome.”
I smiled, thought of all the things that were going wrong just beyond Petite’s front end, and sighed. I’d had a very long couple of weeks, and no sleep the night before. I figured we deserved five more minutes of slightly glittery snuggling before we got on with the dirty business of hunting wights. I nestled against Morrison, listening to his heartbeat, and the next thing I knew, the sun had jumped a hand-span in the sky and Sheriff Lester Lee was leaning in Petite’s open driver’s-side door with a look of betrayal and disgust on his youthful features.
Morrison took a deep waking-up breath, the kind that signaled having gone from totally asleep to totally prepared to shoot something inside a blink. His pistol was in the driver’s seat, which I hadn’t consciously noticed until I discovered my hand on his forearm, stopping him from picking it up. Les, expression flat with displeasure, picked it up instead, and removed it from sight. Morrison tensed very slightly beneath me, though I could see him processing Lester’s uniform and accepting that if anyone had the right to move his weapon it was the local law enforcement. I still murmured, “It’s okay. Les is one of the good guys.”
Les growled, “Get dressed, Joanne,” stood up, and turned his back on us.
I looked back at Morrison, aware that this situation was not at all funny. His blue eyes crinkled up at the edges, and we both buried our faces in each other’s shoulders, trying to muffle high-pitched, teenage giggles. It didn’t work at all, because getting caught having sex in a car was even less dignified as adults than as teens. For a few seconds Petite rocked with our mirth, and we were still giggling and smirking as we found our clothes—mine had littered glitter into the backseat, the foot-wells and on Morrison—and obediently got dressed. Morrison slid his hand into my hair and stole one more kiss before we opened the passenger door and sort of half climbed, half fell out in an undignified tangle of limbs. I zipped my jeans, laced my fingers through Morrison’s, and tried to look apologetic through my grin as Les turned to face us.
“You think this is funny, Joanne?”
“No. Well, yes. I mean, this part? Yes. The rest...” Guilt started getting the better of me and my smile fell away.
The truth was, I had desperately needed—well, Morrison riding to my rescue had been a huge win, but the aftermath had been pretty high up on things Joanne needed, too. Up to and including the nap. I knew people were dying, I knew I’d lost the trail of not just the wights but the Executioner that had created them and I knew taking time out to get laid looked incredibly, mindlessly selfish. And it probably was.