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She tugs, and I follow her. We enter the tree line and the storm gets quieter, the rain lessened by the canopy of branches.
“Up there.” I can barely see her finger pointing in the darkness of the woods, but there’s a paved path ahead. We reach it, a swath cut out of the trees.
We follow it and the building appears, a single weak light over a door. It’s surrounded by dozens of golf carts in varying degrees of disrepair—flat tires, broken seats, missing tops.
“A golf cart graveyard,” Ensley says, almost reverently, as if we should respect the dead.
I speed up, striding past the mass of carts. This must be a maintenance shed. At least we can ride out the storm.
The door is secured with a simple padlock. I pick up a rock and break it easily. Another peal of thunder booms, much closer this time, and Ensley squeals, jumping into the air.
“Come on,” I tell her, yanking open the door.
The inside smells of oil and cut grass. I fumble for a light switch, but find none. Ensley steps timidly inside, shivering. Her balloon dress is a drooping mass of satin and netting.
I leave the door open so that the meager light over the entrance will give us something to work with.
“Is there a switch?” Ensley asks. She sets down her useless shoes.
I move to the other side of the door. “Looking for it.” Something bites into my skin, and I realize it’s a gardening tool. Lightning flashes, and I see that this side of the wall is hung with shears and rakes and shovels.
“I thought I saw a string for a bulb,” Ensley says. Her shadow dances as she waves her hands in the air, trying to snag it. She jumps, and in the silhouette, I see the top of her dress fall, a clear outline ofnaked breasts with tight nipples. She gasps and drops her hands, pulling up something stiff, like a strapless bra maybe, and then the dress.
My body stirs in a way I don’t like, not with an annoying woman I’m half pissed at and who was always a pain in my side when I knew her as a kid. But damn, that was a beautiful rack. I can already feel that nipple crossing my palm.
Down, boy.
She reaches with only one arm, the other across her chest.
I take a moment to clear my thoughts. There has to be a light in here somewhere.
I’m about to express my doubts that there’s a hanging bulb when she chirps, “Found it!”
With her yank, yellow light fills the shadows. It’s not much, but at least we can see what we’re doing.
“Nice work,” I tell her.
Her face flushes. I wonder if she thinks I didn’t notice the moment with the dress, not in the dark. But my thoughts are right back on it, and I have to force myself to keep my gaze on her face.
She smacks at the soaked fabric near her thigh. “Stupid dress gets heavy when it’s wet,” she says.
So maybe she does know I saw.
My traitorous body stirs again.
“Can you manage it?” I ask.
“I’m fine.”
My tux is no better, sticking to my skin. I strip off my jacket and bow tie and lay them over the handle of a mower.
Ensley circles the room, her hands holding on to the top of her dress. She’s clearly struggling to keep it up.
“I assume you already gave up your phone,” she says.
“Right with everybody else.”
“So nobody knows where we are or if we’re even coming back.”
