Page 12 of The Last Special Thing

“Chili cheese. Definitely.”

She let out a laugh. “You're disgusting.”

When they reached the car this time, she let him open her door.

“Let’s take the freeway back, " he suggested.

She obliged, knowing that it would take an extra five minutes. As she approached the on-ramp, he had already connected the Bluetooth to his phone and started playing a band she was unfamiliar with but liked. It was softer, sweeter.

“Who is this?” she asked.

“A Day to Remember,” he explained. “I saw them too.” He tapped his fingers against his jeans.

“You have pretty good rhythm.”

He gave a wicked smile she couldn’t understand. “Yeah. I do.”

She pushed the gas pedal.

70.

80.

90 MPH.

Art didn’t seem concerned as Weston would have. With a tinge of delight, they belted the chorus at the top of their lungs. The adrenaline rush was surreal. Their exit disappeared into the rearview mirror as she intentionally missed it to finish the song. Amelia stole a glance at Art, and he stared back at her, eyes dancing.

Ultimately, she pulled off at a random exit after another duet together.

They had to park too far away again, but Amelia didn’t mind the walk back this time.

Art grabbed her as they neared the courtyard entrance. Time stopped as he leaned toward her, and her heart thumped as she tilted her head. He brought his hand to her cheek, and his soft lips met hers. They didn’t make out, tongues staying in their respective mouths, but as he kissed her, she longed for more.

When he pulled away, Amelia couldn’t help but search those turquoise blue eyes again. He was essentially a stranger. What was she doing? And why did she like it so much?

“Ready to party?” he asked.

“Always.” The words came out in a faux confidence.

CHAPTER SIX

Top 40 radio played as they reentered the festivities. The courtyard that had been nearly empty when she arrived with Weston was now packed. A group of about twenty people crowded the white folding tables. The onlookers were interested in either the beer pong game or Madisson in her Fourth of July bikini top and white micro shorts. Amelia wasn’t sure if Madisson registered the group of girls to the side in low whispers, or if she just didn’t care.

Madisson spotted her. “Amelia, this is my third game! I can't keep going!”

Amelia raised her eyebrows. “Stop winning, love.”

“You want a drink?” Art asked Amelia, cutting through the noise.

“Yes. What do you have?”

“Who the fuck knows. How do you feel about surprises?"

“You can surprise me.” She might as well go all in today. Her life would return to its regular, monotonous cadence tomorrow.

“That’s the spirit!” Art squeezed her shoulder, sending a tingle of delight through her.

He walked over to a shirtless neighbor stationed at the grille. The neighbor wore a backward baseball cap and was holding a spatula. Art dropped off the bag of dogs and buns on the grille ledge, and the neighbor smacked the kitchen utensil against Art’s butt. Lifting his eyebrows suggestively, Art laughed. Weston would have never let another man swat his butt. He would have been downright offended by the playful gesture. There was a freedom in the exchange. Art was unrestrained by the social norms she had spent her life boxed into.