Page 5 of Daring

Chapter 3

"A car?" Gretel can't suppress a nervous giggle, glancing around as if the mere thought has summoned the police.

"What? Not up for it?" Abigail challenges, tequila-induced boldness coursing through her veins. She fears nothing now.

"Of course, I'm up for it," Gretel asserts to Abigail's satisfaction. "But where do you want to do it? If we get caught, we're done for," she adds, eyes wide. Yet, the adrenaline coursing through her veins makes her determined.

"A night in the slammer might not be so bad. Ever made love in a place like that?" Abigail jokes.

But for Gretel, time stands still, the air caught in her lungs as she gazes at Abigail, processing the words. Her imagination runs wild, picturing herself straddling Abigail, a profound shift shaking her core, throat suddenly dry.

"No," Gretel hisses so softly that Abigail barely hears, but she reads her lips and smiles, noting the nervous tension that has taken hold of her.

"Maybe we skip the slammer and find a better spot," Abigail insists, unable to contain herself. Watching Gretel's chest rise and fall uncontrollably is making her sick with excitement.

"Drinks on the house," they hear, snapping out of their trance. The somewhat sickly-looking bartender appears, placing two fresh tequila shots in front of them the perfect catalyst for finalizing their plan.

"In the back, there's a poorly lit dirt parking lot," Abigail explains in a hushed tone, and Gretel listens intently. "We can choose an easy car, an old one without an alarm."

"Okay," Gretel agrees. "But I think there's an easier way," she says, glancing to the side.

"What is it?" Abigail asks, curious.

Gretel points to the corner table, where a trio of men, seemingly fresh out of prison, took a seat a while ago.

"Those are the types who drink until the bar closes," Gretel adds.

Abigail nods in agreement; they haven't finished their first cocktail, and the next round is already on order. In her business dealings, she's encountered such people, usually hiding behind expensive suits and fake smiles.

"Look, they have the car keys right there," Gretel points with a gesture.

Abigail, surprised, realizes her companion is right. She hadn't noticed, but one of them has a mobile phone, a pack of cigarettes, car keys, and even a wallet with a wad of bills laid out on the table.

"The typical show-off who likes to flaunt. Today, he'll blow half of what he has there, and tomorrow the rest. Then, come Monday, he'll go to his boss, asking for an advance to get through the rest of the month," Gretel remarks, as if she can read his mind.

"Wow, quick and accurate assessment. Have you thought something similar about me?" Gretel can't help but ask.

Abigail fixes her brown eyes on her, moistening her lips as if she wants to devour her right then and there a prospect Gretel wouldn't mind.

"No. In you, I've seen a reflection of myself a solitary, wounded, undervalued woman with the potential to conquer the world, wasting it by trying to please others."

"Wow," Gretel exclaims, flattered.

"I've also seen a beautiful woman that I want to kiss more with every passing minute, but that might be beside the point," Abigail drops the bomb, turning to observe their targets as if Gretel isn't right in front of her. Gretel stands frozen, trying to muster the courage to tell her to stop talking and act. Maybe it's the unleashed inhibition, but right now, she'd let Abigail make love to her even in the grimy, urine-scented bathrooms of this place.

"We can distract them, one grabs their attention, and the other snatches the keys," Abigail muses.

"You can't say you want to kiss me and then change the subject like nothing happened," Gretel protests, surprised at herself.

Abigail looks at her, taking a deep breath, a captivating smile playing on her lips, exuding confidence.

"Is it a scolding or your way of asking me to kiss you?"

"Don't be so arrogant. I don't want you to kiss me," Gretel blurts out, half her body trembling.

"No? Well, that's a shame. You've got lips I'm itching to bite," Abigail teases.

"Stop it," Gretel pleads, certain that if Abigail continues with the provocation, she'll have a heart attack. "Can we focus on the car?" she insists, clearing her throat.

---