Page 48 of Falling

“You’re more than adequate, too. You’re a freak in bed.” I smack him with the magazine. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

“Anyway, back to the quiz. It’s a would you rather one,” I say. “Would you rather accidentally text nudes to your parents or butt-dial them during sex?”

“Come on. What kind of a question is that?” He stares out the windshield at the blowing snow as he thinks about his answer.

“I guess the nudes. I might be able to warn them in time before they open the text. I don’t know. Once they figured out what was happening on a butt dial, they should hang up the phone. That’s a damn choice, either way. Just the thought of Mom listening to us having sex is enough to give me nightmares.”

“I’d want to butt-dial my father. Then I’m going to scream your name over and over so he knows exactly who I’m fucking. That should induce a heart attack.”

“Harsh,” he says with a laugh. “I appreciate you included me though.”

“Would you rather walk in on your grandmother having sex, or would you rather she walk in on you?”

“Ahh, if Grandma Winsloe was still alive, I’d be all about her getting some. But I don’t want to see it. I’ll have to pick her walking in on me. She liked you too, so I think she would have been okay with that.”

“Thank you,” I say. “I just met your grandma Winsloe once, but I think it would be better for her to walk in on us too. Though we could save everyone a lot of drama with a few bedroom door locks.”

“You make a good point.”

“That’s very true. Moving on. Would you rather only be able to have sex in the shower or on the floor?”

“I’m not sure. We’ve done both. What did you prefer?” he asks.

“Well, I like the water aspect, but most accidents in the home happen in the bathroom. Makes sense to avoid that. The averages are against us.”

“I see your point. If you’re already on the floor, there’s no chance of falling. So we’re safe saying we vote floor?”

“Absolutely,” I agree. “Would you rather your best friend marry your dad, or would you rather you were allergic to sex of any kind?”

“Rand can have my dad,” he says. “I’m not giving up sex for some stupid allergy. It’ll just make family holidays a little more awkward.”

I throw my head back and laugh. The thought of straight-laced Mr. Winsloe hooking up with my brother is absurd. Looking at Peter, I find him grinning too. He’s well aware the chances of that are less than zero percent.

I take a minute to appreciate how his eyes light up when he laughs now. Something inside him has changed. He doesn’t scowl like he used to. Even though this is the most ridiculous quiz so far, he’s laughing at it with me.

“I like this look on you,” I say.

“What look is that?”

“Me. I like the way I look on you.”

“So do I. Very much, especially from my back.”

I shake my head. The man is crazy, but I haven’t managed to erase the smile off my face. I never knew being with Peter could be so easy. I flip several pages of the magazine. Is it just my imagination or has it grown darker in the SUV? Glancing at the windshield, I find the snow coming down even harder than before.

“Is it my imagination, or has the storm kicked up?” I ask.

“No, it’s definitely coming down harder than when we left.”

“So much for the storm letting up the farther south we get. I can barely see off the front of the hood.” I check my phone to see if I can figure out where we are. There’s no service. “I can’t get any service, or I could check the weather.”

“Yeah, there’s not much out here. We’ll pull off in the next town. Maybe we can find out what it looks like for the rest of the day.”

I nod and gaze back out of the windshield. My magazine lies forgotten on my lap. It seems frivolous to be interested in some ridiculous sex quiz when Peter is white-knuckling the steering wheel. The best choice is for me to remain quiet so he can focus on driving.

“Any idea where we are?” I know, I promised to be quiet. But it’s eerie outside. It feels like we’re all alone in a horror movie. With the darkness surrounding us, it looks like fog as thick as soup. Peter slows down even more as the wheels slip on the ice that is forming. We need to get off the road.

“I’d guess somewhere near the Texas border, but I’m not positive,” he says. “Shit!”

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