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“428 Cobra jet with a four-speed transmission.”
“Smooth. There have been a lot of changes in body styles over the years. I’m glad Ford brought back the 1969 design for the newer models. Where did you get your love for Mustangs?”
“My dad. He liked hot cars. How about you?”
“My uncle. He had a sixty-four and a half, a 1969 Mach I and a 1970 302 Boss.”
Mike whistled through his teeth. “You do know your cars.” He turned the key and the engine cranked right over, purring like a lion.
“Buckle up.”
She quickly obeyed, then leaned back, enjoying the wind blowing a few wisps of hair about her face.
The blue sky held few clouds and the sun’s rays flickered through the trees as Mike maneuvered down the open road. A glorious day for a ride in a convertible. He followed Route 250 up Skyline Drive and turned onto the Blue Ridge Parkway. He shifted the gears with precision, very different from her days of driving a stick shift. She remembered her first time, learning to drive a standard transmission on her friend’s car. In a mall parking lot. After a few jumps and leaps, Cassie had gotten the hang of it.
No communication was necessary. Every now and then Mike would turn to her and give her one of his sensual grins. He popped in a CD and turned up the volume so the music could be heard over the engine and the roaring wind. Rock and roll from the eighties blasted from the speakers. Another thing they had in common. She loved the oldies music.
Cassie leaned her head against the headrest, listening to the songs, appreciating the scenery, relishing not having a care in the world. Ahh, the freedom of just being. No restraints, no conditions, no thought, no obstacles, no worries.
Mike pointed out a few landmarks and when they hit a straight stretch, he hit the gas. The engine revved, and her excitement right along with it. Mike smiled with pride. His handsome mouth tilted up at the corners, making her heart flip and triggering flickers of desire dancing in her belly. Could a man be more perfect?
An hour later, he pulled into Pecks BBQ.
“I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed anything more.” She took his hand as he helped her from the car. She’d been excited to ride in a collector’s car, but the tingles that swept up her arm just from his touch had her electrified.
“I get the same feeling every time I take her out.”
“Lucky you.”
“Don’t worry. If you’re a good girl, I’ll take you for another ride.”
Cassie immediately presumed a different kind of ride. One involving her on Mike’s lap. By the sparkle in his eyes, the double meaning had been exactly what he’d intended. Her belly quivered.
Although it was spring, the temperature had reached eighty-three degrees. Mike opened the door of the restaurant and motioned for her to enter. When she stepped inside, cool air hit her face along with the scrumptious smell of Peck’s barbeque sauce. He placed his hand on her lower back, guiding her to a table in the corner where he could keep an eye on his car. A rush of warm tingles raced up her spine. She immediately felt the loss when he removed his hand.
After the waitress took their order, Cassie glanced out the window admiring Mike’s Mustang. “How long have you had it?”
“Longer than I’ve been able to drive it. It hasn’t always looked like that.”
“I can tell a lot of work went into it.”
“Dad taught me everything he knew about cars. He had a 1966 Mustang. When he wasn’t fighting fires, he was working on it. Then, when I was old enough to drive, he let me take it out once in a while. Showed me how to take care of—what he called—a muscle car.”
“She looks like she has plenty of muscle.” Just like its owner.
“She?”
“You used the word she earlier. I believe you said you get the same feeling when you take her out. Do all men think of their cars as females?”
Mike laughed. “Cars are a slight easier to handle.”
“Hmm.” She propped her elbow on the table and braced her chin on her palm. “Tell me you didn’t name your car.”
“I did not name my car.”
Cassie jerked up in surprise. “You’re kidding. I thought all guys named their cars.”
“Not this guy.”
