It lasted until we pulled up to the gate to the property. ‘Is that…’ Gretchen started. ‘Stop the fucking car!’ I shouted at Devon. He stood on the brakes and I popped out my door before we were even fully stopped. Parked right there, beside the gate, was fucking Elvis, Leo Giovanni, leaning against the door to his piece of shit car. His grin at seeing me lasted right up to the point I punched him in the mouth. With a squawk, he bounced off the door to his car and fell over sideways. Then I started kicking him, though he used his arms to good effect in blocking me. ‘I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Stop!’ he shouted. Strong arms grabbed me and dragged me back from the bastard before I could give him the ass-kicking he so richly deserved. A glance told me it was Devon. ‘Let me go,’ I growled. ‘I still have the rest of my can of whoop ass to hose him down with.’ Belying my words, I didn’t struggle to get loose. Devon held on and just laughed. ‘Hawk, you need Devon to protect you from yourself! I. "She put on a tongue-in-cheek coy act, holding her hands together and looking a touch shy, "You should be carrying my books, I mean we've been going steady for a while now." A "while now" meant since last October, and I wasn't sure how "going steady" would be defined in the present decade. We had since the beginning done whatever two horny college students could imagine doing.I played along a bit more, "There's a malt shop up there I could take you to if you wish." That wasn't an idle boast; there was a kind of luncheonette/ice cream parlor that had been serving generations of dating youth since at least the 1940s. Actually, the old-fashioned soda fountain setup survived in quite a number of places throughout the city.She said, "That would be swell, but don't think that with just an ice-cream soda you can start getting fresh with me." That was so silly we both laughed at it.I drove her 1971 Coronet north and crossed the Triborough Bridge. We chatted a bit about the scenery, especially.
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