Changers Book Four. T Cooper
bet he is awesome at recommending poetry,” she joins, relenting.
“And dance clubs.”
“And dancing.”
“I bet he can do the whip like a mofo!”
And then we’re off again, Audrey’s arms wrapped around my waist as we fly down the street with the hot air blowing in and around our bodies, weaving through the countryside, my Vespa’s throttle all the way open, us pulling almost fifty on a tiny road to wherever. I don’t care. Audrey doesn’t seem to either.
After about fifteen more miles, I spot a small wooden sign for a nature preserve and pull off the road, Audrey’s grip around me tightening. I glance down and see the bracelet making a bump in my jeans pocket. I roll under the shade of a big willow tree, the tips of its branches overhanging a creek in this quiet little cove. There’s a wooden bench facing the water. Nobody else around, save for a tiny lone figure on the other side of the river, walking away from us, a black-and-white dog bounding through the reeds.
We take off our helmets and prop them on the mirrors, and Audrey scrunches down her pants which had ridden up during the ride.
“Are you okay?” I ask, already sensing the answer.
“Mostly,” she responds.
“Want to sit?” I gesture toward the weathered bench, names and initials carved into its entire surface, on every side of every slat.
She nods and sits, gazing out over the water.
“I’m really sorry that happened,” I say, about being lesbian-profiled at the gas station.
“Why are you apologizing?”
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