Read Online The Last Hour by Charles Sheehan-Miles - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Charles Sheehan-Miles
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might have had vanished away with one sweep of those eyelashes.
“Are you hungry?” she asked, her eyes darting back to mine, then back down, the smile staying on her face.
“Starving,” I said.
“We missed our reservations at Michelangelo’s. They’ll never let us in this late.”
“I’ll go anywhere with you,” I replied.
“I know a pretty good pizza place.”
“Lead the way,” I replied.
She started to break off the embrace, and I took a deep breath to clear my head. I didn’t want to let go. She smiled even wider, if that was possible, and tilted her face back again, eyes closing before our lips came together again. This time I closed my eyes, lost in sensation, her face to mine, her breasts pressed against me, an overwhelming, heady euphoria that was so much more than anything I’d ever experienced. We broke off the kiss again, both of us taking short, ragged breaths.
“Do you need to pick up any bags?” she asked, her voice uneven.
I shook my head and reluctantly dropped my arms. Everything I needed was in the Army rucksack I’d carried on the plane. So I followed her out of the airport to the parking deck in an awkward silence, feeling almost as if I’d tossed back two or three drinks. We finally got to her car, a stretched, beautifully maintained Mercedes 280S. It looked like a ’77 or ’78 model, but it was in perfect condition.
“Beautiful car,” I said.
“A gift from my sister Julia,” she replied. Some gift. Julia must be the one married to Crank Wilson. I guess if you were the lead singer of Morbid Obesity you could afford to buy nice gifts.
“It must cost a fortune to maintain.”
“Not really ... an old friend of ours rebuilt it last year. It might as well be a new car.”
She opened the door and said, “Get in.”
I threw my rucksack in the back seat and got in. I was itching to drive this baby. She got behind the wheel and said, “Do you always kiss like that?”
I grinned. “I’ll do a survey and get back with you, okay?”
She gave me a wry look. “I’m sorry I asked.”
I chuckled and looked around the car. Leather seats, new carpet. The dash was highly polished wood. It was an antique, but whoever rebuilt it hadn’t stayed true to the period. It had a top of the line stereo and a dash mounted GPS. I barely heard it when she started the engine, and the car rolled out in glorious silence as we got on the highway.
“It’s official,” I said. “I am so jealous of your car it makes me want to cry. You have to let me drive it while I’m in town.”
She looked over at me for just a second, then said, “Don’t make me choose between you and my car. You won’t like the answer.”
I didn’t want to know if she was serious.
“Talk to me,” I said. “How did it go?”
Her fists clenched slightly on the wheel. I don’t know if she was conscious of it, but something had pissed her off. “It went okay. I did a good job. But ... my thesis advisor made a pass at me. At least I think it was.”
“Are you serious?”
She nodded. “He’s always been such a nice guy. It blindsided me and I can’t figure out if he was just genuinely asking me over for dinner, or if it was something else.”
“Like?”
“Like ... the way he said it, it was like he was telling me the vote would go my way if I slept with him.”
I grimaced. “You think that was it?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I really don’t.”
“Just to set the record straight, I’d vote for you if you slept with me.”
She snickered. “You don’t get a vote.”
“I’ll keep trying anyway. You want me to beat the guy up?”
“No! It was kind of sad, really. He’s married, but I don’t think they’ve been happy together in a long time. Now that I’m getting some perspective on it, I mostly just feel sorry for him. I mean, he’s a great guy in some ways.”
“I know we haven’t known each other long, but you’re making me crazy jealous when you say
“Are you hungry?” she asked, her eyes darting back to mine, then back down, the smile staying on her face.
“Starving,” I said.
“We missed our reservations at Michelangelo’s. They’ll never let us in this late.”
“I’ll go anywhere with you,” I replied.
“I know a pretty good pizza place.”
“Lead the way,” I replied.
She started to break off the embrace, and I took a deep breath to clear my head. I didn’t want to let go. She smiled even wider, if that was possible, and tilted her face back again, eyes closing before our lips came together again. This time I closed my eyes, lost in sensation, her face to mine, her breasts pressed against me, an overwhelming, heady euphoria that was so much more than anything I’d ever experienced. We broke off the kiss again, both of us taking short, ragged breaths.
“Do you need to pick up any bags?” she asked, her voice uneven.
I shook my head and reluctantly dropped my arms. Everything I needed was in the Army rucksack I’d carried on the plane. So I followed her out of the airport to the parking deck in an awkward silence, feeling almost as if I’d tossed back two or three drinks. We finally got to her car, a stretched, beautifully maintained Mercedes 280S. It looked like a ’77 or ’78 model, but it was in perfect condition.
“Beautiful car,” I said.
“A gift from my sister Julia,” she replied. Some gift. Julia must be the one married to Crank Wilson. I guess if you were the lead singer of Morbid Obesity you could afford to buy nice gifts.
“It must cost a fortune to maintain.”
“Not really ... an old friend of ours rebuilt it last year. It might as well be a new car.”
She opened the door and said, “Get in.”
I threw my rucksack in the back seat and got in. I was itching to drive this baby. She got behind the wheel and said, “Do you always kiss like that?”
I grinned. “I’ll do a survey and get back with you, okay?”
She gave me a wry look. “I’m sorry I asked.”
I chuckled and looked around the car. Leather seats, new carpet. The dash was highly polished wood. It was an antique, but whoever rebuilt it hadn’t stayed true to the period. It had a top of the line stereo and a dash mounted GPS. I barely heard it when she started the engine, and the car rolled out in glorious silence as we got on the highway.
“It’s official,” I said. “I am so jealous of your car it makes me want to cry. You have to let me drive it while I’m in town.”
She looked over at me for just a second, then said, “Don’t make me choose between you and my car. You won’t like the answer.”
I didn’t want to know if she was serious.
“Talk to me,” I said. “How did it go?”
Her fists clenched slightly on the wheel. I don’t know if she was conscious of it, but something had pissed her off. “It went okay. I did a good job. But ... my thesis advisor made a pass at me. At least I think it was.”
“Are you serious?”
She nodded. “He’s always been such a nice guy. It blindsided me and I can’t figure out if he was just genuinely asking me over for dinner, or if it was something else.”
“Like?”
“Like ... the way he said it, it was like he was telling me the vote would go my way if I slept with him.”
I grimaced. “You think that was it?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I really don’t.”
“Just to set the record straight, I’d vote for you if you slept with me.”
She snickered. “You don’t get a vote.”
“I’ll keep trying anyway. You want me to beat the guy up?”
“No! It was kind of sad, really. He’s married, but I don’t think they’ve been happy together in a long time. Now that I’m getting some perspective on it, I mostly just feel sorry for him. I mean, he’s a great guy in some ways.”
“I know we haven’t known each other long, but you’re making me crazy jealous when you say
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