Kissy and Rory flirt with the gods of curfew.

We left about ten-thirty, me wearing Rory’s baseball shirt just draped across my shoulders this time. “Some great guys,” he remarked. “Dweebs but a lot of fun in their own context. I see why you like playing those games.”

I giggled at that. The dweeb remark didn’t even sting because I’m not a dweeb now. I’m a gamer grrl, and we’re rare like unicorns. I giggled again when Rory helped me into the passenger seat.

“I’m not even tickling you,” Rory said, kissing me on the nose.

“Hey!” I didn’t let go of him. “Proper kiss?”

I got one, then he buckled my seat belt for me, cause I couldn’t find the loose end, before closing my door and racing around to his side.

“You want to ask your mom for a curfew extension?” he suggested as he climbed inside.

I shook my head, “She already texted me to be home at eleven to see something. I’m half afraid she and Marjorie have cooked up a surprise together.”

He sat there nodding, apparently thinking about something. Then he started the truck up with the usual roar. “Those two together are kinda scary,” he remarked.

“Mom’s not scary,” I scoffed. “Unless you leave the milk out on the counter, or worse, the mayonnaise.”

He laughed.

A moon showed above where the sun had gone down, just about the thinnest crescent moon you ever saw. It looked enormous and made me think of a katana blade, slicing the sky. No stars—the city lights washed them all out but that white-gold bright spot above the moon might be Venus. Mercury? I didn’t know.

Neither of us said anything as Rory navigated toward Hollywood Avenue. He glanced at me a couple of times with an odd look on his face.

The second time, I asked. “What?”

He grinned. “We’ve got about fifteen minutes, we could find some place and neck.” But he shook his head. “Too much hassle, we’d have to unbuckle and climb into the back seat or something. If this was my granddad’s old Chevy with a bench seat in front, you’d already be over here next to me.” He sighed. “Fucking progress.”

He didn’t use that word often, so I didn’t say anything about it, but there was some sort of message he was sending.

I made a face and came right out and asked him. “Are you trying to get into my pants?” I didn’t mean to sound so hurt and shaky.

He slowed down to let a light turn red in front of him, then looked over at me when we stopped. “I could have done that last night, Kissy. You wouldn’t have objected but I asked and you said no.” He put out his hand and I put mine in it.

“We may get there eventually,” he said. “No rush. But I like kissing you and cuddling and—” he lifted my hand and kissed it—“you’re fun to be with. Who else would introduce me to gaming with those scruffy nerf herders?”

We both laughed softly and I squeezed two of his fingers, all I could get my hand around.

We got moving again. On a Friday night, Hollywood Boulevard could be busy but we drifted through a sleepy-feeling city, or maybe it was just me. It had been a full and exciting day. I covered my mouth as I yawned.

A few blocks from Mom’s condo, Rory made another comment that caused me to wake right up. “It’s not like I don’t know what’s in your pants,” he said.

“What—what’s that mean?” I asked, shaky and unsure all over again.

He shook his head. “I’m an idiot, that’s what it means. I meant that to be funny, but it’s not.” He looked at me. “I’m sorry, Kissy. What I guess I’m trying to say is that the difference of what’s in your pants from other girls is a small part of your attraction for me.” He held his hand up, finger and thumb about an inch apart. “Only a very small part.”

“Well,” I said. “Well, it’s not that tiny.”

He took a beat to stare at me then busted up laughing.

I smiled. It had a sour edge but I was smiling, wasn’t I? “You’re such an ass, Rory.” I told him.

He agreed. “Oh, no doubt, no doubt. All my girlfriends tell me that.” He laughed some more while he negotiated the sleeping policeman guarding the turn onto Vermont.

We pulled up onto the apron of driveway in front of Mom’s condo. Marjorie’s car was gone, one relief. Rory put the brake on and turned the engine off and we just sat there a moment. I still felt a little miffed at him and I wasn’t going to be the one to speak first.

“Pick you up at noon tomorrow?” he finally asked. “We can get lunch on the way.”

“I guess so,” I said, pouting at him.

He sat there in the darkened cab, only a few dash-lights and the one above the carport showing his face. He grinned so slowly that I had to look away to keep from smiling. “Better wear some pretty good cover-up if you’re going to be outside all afternoon,” he warned.

Actually a good reminder. “Uh, yeah. What’s the weather going to be like?”

He started getting out of the truck. “Supposed to be hot and sunny, wear a hat.”

Well, I had several to choose from now, but Marjorie hadn’t really bought me anything that could be a cover-up. I looked at my hands—heck, I probably needed gloves but not those stupid yardwork ones.

Rory opened the door on my side and I tried to undo my seatbelt but it was stuck. “Ow,” I said, “it bit me!”

Rory examined my hand. “You broke a nail.” He kissed the finger and I giggled—it felt better already. He easily undid the seat belt latch and scooped me out of my seat. He kissed me twice before putting me down.

I still had his baseball shirt over my dress but it wasn’t as cold here as it had been at Armand’s. Lots more buildings blocking the wind. “Your shirt,” I said.

He reached into the cab, almost over my head and pulled something out. “Your purse,” he said.

“Oh! I guess I’m still not used to carrying one.”

“Nah,” he said. “You’re a bit dingy is all. And short.” He bent to kiss me again. “Why don’t you get yourself some six-inch heels?”

“Because I would fall off them and break my neck,” I said. “And what do you mean, dingy? I’m not dingy.” I kissed back.

“A dinghy is a small boat, and you’re not very big.” He kissed me on my forehead.

“Talk sense,” I told him. I kissed him on the neck, contemplating giving him a hickey like he’d given me behind my ear. “Rrr,” I growled.

“All redheads are dingy,” he said, laughing. “Don’t you watch television?”

“That’s blondes,” I said. “Redheads have bad tempers.” I growled again, trying to get a good mouthful of flesh I could leave a mark on but he was so tall and I was already on tiptoe.

“I’m a blond,” he pointed out. “And I’m not dingy, I’m more—clueless?”

That made me laugh. He bent down and we traded more kisses.

“Platform shoes,” he said, just as we heard Mom opening the door of the apartment.

We didn’t spring apart, we were on the other side of the truck and she wouldn’t be able to see us, even after she got the door fully open, but we did start around the front. “Hi, Mom,” I called out. “We’re in time, aren’t we?”

She waited for us by the door. “A curfew does not mean the driveway is a good place to neck. It means getting in your door on time. If I left you out here, two more minutes, I’d have to ground you twice.”

Okay, that didn’t sound like she was angry, just twitting us.

“Sorry, Ms Parker,” Rory apologized. “We were discussing tomorrow’s plans.”

“Uh-huh,” Mom said grinning. When Rory got into better light, I saw what had her amused. Apparently, I had marked him with a faint purplish love bite under his chin.

“I should give you your shirt back,” I said, trying not to stare at the first hickey I had ever given anyone.

“Oh, no,” he said. “That’s yours. It’s last years home jersey, I brought it just to give it to you so you can wear it at the game and the guys will know you’re with me.”

“Huh?” I said.

“It’s got my name and number on it.”

“Oh, yeah.” I had noticed that. I could feel a blush beginning, so I tried to think of something to say to distract myself from thinking to hard about wearing Rory’s name.

But before I could ask him if there really were 53 players on his team, Mom offered, “Do you want to come in, Mr Beeson?”

“Uh, no,” he said. “I really ought to be going, I’m not staying with my folks, so I have to drive back to Torrance, tonight.” He opened the driver’s side door but I got another kiss in before he climbed up out of reach. “Good night,” he called as he started it up and backed down the driveway.

Mom and I watched him till he went out of sight around the buildings. Then we burst into giggles. “He’s not going to see that until he’s shaving tomorrow,” Mom commented.

“I know, huh?” I said. I pointed at our building’s dumpster, visibly full of Amazon-labeled pasteboard. “More boxes came?”

“Uh-huh.”

I followed Mom inside, asking, “Marjorie went home?”

“Oh, yeah, but only just.” Mom headed toward the hallway. “Come see what we’ve done with your room.”

Oh, boy,” I said. “Am I going to like it?”

“I think you’re going to love it, sweetie,” Mom said.