Flintrock High School, Kansas – Tuesday Afternoon, March 7, 1989
After school let out, Jessie strutted a beeline through the
parking lot and stared down the guy that she soon would have his full
attention. Bobby was leaning on Lauren’s
car door, a brand-new, sports coupe, powder puff blue with a beige convertible
top. It had to be a custom paint job. Who
else would buy a color that makes you want to puke? Rich bitches.
Bobby kissed Lauren goodbye, and she sped away. Now
was her entrance. Instead of continuing towards him, her strut angled in the
direction of Bobby’s car, a restored ‘68 Chevy Camaro, metallic blue with
chrome that made the parking lot light up—sun reflecting off its wheels and
fenders. Bobby strolled, swinging his key lanyard around his finger, shaking
his head as he watched her tight buns lift up and down, like two eyes winking
at him.
As she was about to pass his second love, she stopped
and acted like she just noticed the showcase car. She turned, giving it an
admiring look, and then glanced in Bobby’s direction. She gestured with her
finger pointing at the muscle of iron and a look that said, Yours?
Bobby smiled out of the corner of his mouth. He
loved it when girls drooled over his horsepower. Jeans half tucked in his
cowboy boots as if he had just sprung out of bed and pulled them on to answer a
fire alarm. He sauntered up to her. She knew he was thinking about her entrance
in the cafeteria.
“Hey, Bobby,” Jessie said with a smile, “Wanna
give me a ride?”
“Hehe, and have Lauren jealous as a hot cake?”
“Nothing like a scorned girl to make fire
between you. Making up adds some spice. Come on, show me your hot rod.”
“Sure, climb in.”
Jessie walked around to the passenger side and
stood by the door as Bobby hopped in, started up the engine—a deep throaty roar
as he gunned it. He rolled down the windows, and Jessie popped in her head. Her
books pressed up her bra to expose cleavage.
“Aren’t you going to open the door for me? My hands
are full,” she purred.
Bobby sighed, a bit exasperated, a jock without
any finesse. He leaned across the seat to open her door. As he pushed the door
to swing it open, the angle was perfect. His head was flush with her jean skirt
that just covered and left little to imagine. She turned and placed one foot on
the floorboard. Her skirt edged up. As she slid into the seat, her books fell
to the pavement. With one foot in and the other out, she precariously bent to
reach for them. Her legs parted the snug skirt.
“Oh, Bobby . . . ” She looked over her shoulder.
He needed no invitation. He bounded out of the
car and was on his knees in an instant to collect her books in his arm. Jessie
made an attempt to help, but they knocked heads. His eyes could not help but see
the scanty bra barely holding her. Jessie put out a squeal then laughed as she
caught his eyes now looking into hers. She leaned back slightly, her skirt inching
up as she pressed her butt into the seat. Caught with his eyes on her open
chest, he focused on picking up her books. As he gathered them to hand to her,
he looked up to find her legs parted. Jessie nonchalantly took her books, smiled,
looked into his eyes, and brought her other leg into the car.
“Thanks. You’re my man.”
Bobby rounded the front of his hotrod and eyed
Jessie through the windshield. Eyes locked on each other, he dropped in his
seat. Full of anticipation, he slammed the door. “Where we goin’?”
“Oh, I need to be going home, Bobby, don’t want
to cause Mammie no worry.”
“Oh . . . where’s that?”
“Elm and Broadway.”
“That’s close. You could’ve walked,” He looked straight
ahead, hand poised to turn the ignition then looked at her. “Thought we had something
there.”
“Thought
you had a girlfriend. Don’t cha wish your girlfriend was fun like me?”
Copyright 2017 © Jeff Cambridge
Excerpt from
PURSUIT, a novel by Jeff Cambridge, a writer of transformational fiction with
characters that tell life-changing stories.
This is a
pre-published scene.
To read the
scenes sequentially, begin with
“PURSUIT: A
Novel – Prologue”
Your comments
are welcomed and appreciated. Simply check one of the reaction boxes below,
write a comment, or email me at bycambridge@gmail.com.
This novel is a
work of fiction. Any references to real events, businesses, organizations, and
locales are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and
authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.
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