Free Between the Sheets by Liv Rancourt

spiritual.
    “1970.” He gunned the engine like it was a rocket and we were ready to launch.
    It was going to be a long night.
    Langley was about halfway between the lodge and the ferry dock. One of the bigger small towns on Whidbey Island, it had a reputation for welcoming tourists. The locals were an eclectic mix, ranging from yuppies who commuted to jobs in Seattle to subsistence-farming hippies who supplied the weekend market and craft fair. I’d never been there before, and never expected my first trip there would be in a cherry red Malibu with a Ginger God at the wheel.
    We drove through the forest with the windows open, both because of the heat and so Randy could smoke. His damp hair still showed comb marks and he’d trimmed his beard a little, enough to take the roughest edges off. I stared out the window, shooting occasional glances at him like BBs from a gun, quick darts to keep from giving anything away.
    He took one last drag off his cigarette and dropped the butt into an empty soda can. It sizzled, suggesting the can wasn’t entirely empty. “Only two more.”
    “Two?”
    “I’m allowed five a day.”
    Self-righteousness gave me the confidence to examine his profile. “So you’ll get lung cancer more slowly.”
    “Something like that.” His grin flipped something south of my navel. “I don’t drink because I can’t, and I smoke because I can.”
    And I don’t want this to end, because you’re one of the coolest men I’ve ever met.
We cleared the woods and headed through the rural equivalent of a subdivision, low ranch houses scattered along the road, reachable by long straight driveways.
    I leaned into the channel-back vinyl seat, trying to figure out a way to tell him I’d be okay if he wanted to drop the act so we could just hang out like friends. Or, to be accurate, new acquaintances. I’d gotten laid, after all, and Kirk had moved on to a more interested woman.
    Mission accomplished.
    Instead I kept my mouth shut, tossing BB glances at him and feeling like an idiot.
    He stroked the back of my hand with his thumb, which totally distracted me. The sun was low enough that the cars coming toward us along the two-lane road had their headlights on. Letting go of my hand, he flipped up the visor and caught me in his side-eye. “I had fun last night.”
    His comment got my attention like a sharp yank on my collar. “Me too.” My voice was pitifully weak, and for just a second, I hoped the whole bar would be full of music teachers so maybe I could avoid him.
    As if avoiding him would fix anything.
    He started to say something. Stopped. Started. Stopped. Finally brought my hand to his lips for a kiss, accompanied by a self-conscious laugh.
    We rode in silence until reaching one of the rare traffic lights, where we stopped to make the turn to Langley. It would have been the perfect time to ask what had happened this morning, or if he intended to call me after tomorrow, or if I should just hold onto my memories and wait for my Academy Award.
    My phone chirped, saving me from doing anything difficult. Krista texted me directions to the pub. I almost managed to relay the information without sounding like a total dork.

Chapter 16
    A crowd of locals filled most of the club’s seats, but Krista had snagged us a table. The Blues Revivalists had already started playing their brand of rowdy blues rock. J-Bone was MIA, which didn’t surprise me. Didn’t seem to surprise Krista, either, or even bother her too much. She divided her attention between pouring beer from our pitcher and grinning at a guy with dreadlocks at a table to our right.
    The pub’s walls were covered with posters advertising upcoming shows, and a flat-screen TV over the bar showed a preseason Seahawks game. I couldn’t relax, despite the party atmosphere. Randy talked to Krista, which covered the uptight silence rolling off me. When the band took a break, one of the guitar players came over. Randy greeted him with an awkward