Amber Dan-Dwayne Spencer (romantic books to read .txt) 📖

Jimmy added, “If we get there in time we’ll have to drive round the clock. One sleeps and another drives.”

“I can,” the lie effortlessly flowed from my lips. “I’ve driven lots of times.”

Roger complained, “Don’t look at me. I can’t drive. I’ve never driven before.”

Pointing his thick index finger at me, Jimmy said, “Great. I drive then you drive.” His grin hadn’t receded since he saw the newspaper.

Michael threw ten dollars into the pile. “I’m not going, but I can help you guys get there.

Jimmy punched Michael on the arm before he had a chance to dodge. “Thanks, man.”

Michael backed away, rubbing his arm and shoulder. “Leave me alone or I’ll take it back.” He spat the words.

“That’s ninety-five dollars. This is going to happen, guys,” said Jimmy jubilantly.

“And,” Sarah pouted, “you’re going to leave without me?”

Jimmy grabbed her by the waist and pulled her close. “I understand you can’t go, but I’ll be back before you know it.” He leaned in to kiss her and she turned away, causing him to land his lips on her cheek. “I need to get away from here for a few days. I need to put some space between me and my old man.”

She turned back to face him. “I know. I wish I could go too.” Then she kissed him. Not a first date kiss, but something like I once saw in a drive-in movie.

My eyes widened. I looked at Roger and shrugged. He rolled his eyes at me before retreating to the back of the store. I whispered, “Those two need to get a room.”

When they finally unlocked their lips. She pulled a metal box out from under the counter. “This is Dad’s petty cash box. He won’t miss a couple of bills. Not if I replace them by next Friday.” She quickly dialed in the combination and lifted out two twenties. Tiptoeing, she stretched up to give Jimmy another kiss as she stuffed the bills into the front right pocket of his tight jeans. “Make sure you save enough to get back home.”

It took a few moments for us to realize if we were going to do this wild thing, then we had to leave. Jimmy slid behind the steering wheel, I called shotgun, and Roger claimed the back seat. We filled the tank from the pump at the Serve-U, pointed the car north, and without a second thought, left for the Woodstock Music Festival.

Chapter Two

Road Trip

Leaving the city of Western on Interstate 27, Jimmy headed north. Casually, he pulled a pack of Doral cigarettes from where he kept them rolled in the sleeve of his white T-shirt. He slid one out and lit it with his Zippo lighter before he tipped the pack toward me. I gave it a nonchalant wave.

Jimmy shrugged and said, “Suit yourself.” In 1969 we didn’t know about the long-term effects of smoking, not that it would have stopped us. In a fast one-handed motion, he flipped the lighter shut and stuffed it into his shirt pocket. He joked, saying the Mustang had a powerful air conditioner called a 2-70, meaning both windows down going seventy miles an hour.

I chuckled. With the wind blowing through my hair, I felt kind of weightless. I’d been stressing and every muscle suddenly relaxed, leaving me with a floating sensation. I flipped off my flops and put my bare feet on the dash. The sunlight felt warm and welcome on my bare chest, darkening my copper-toned skin.

Roger tried to stretch out on the small bench seat in the back, but he couldn’t, his legs had to bend to fit. Still, he didn’t complain. He lay there in his cut off Levis and baby blue plaid shirt with his knees tucked up onto his chest in a fetal position. Unlike his brother Michael, he hadn’t reached the six-foot mark—yet. From what I knew about Roger’s home life, he had no reason to want to run away. Roger was my best friend, if I could honestly give anyone the title. I always felt he understood me, even better than Michael, but in truth, it was our parents who pushed us into being friends.

Mom didn’t socialize with many people. Most who knew her were acquaintances who thought she was a doll, always dressed up. She wouldn’t be caught dead in public without wearing her white gloves; she epitomized manners by never taking them off until seated at the table. She oozed politeness and style, always so friendly to everyone, but it was a front. She had this slick plastic personality she let everyone else see, and another one, grainy and rough like sandpaper, she saved for her family. Her alter ego was afraid of people and questioned everyone’s motive for everything they did—even waving at her.

She didn’t let anyone get close, and she didn’t want me to be close to anyone either. Her motto, repeated over and over, was “You can’t trust people and friends are the worst. Every one of them will betray you.”

She went as far as forbidding me to associate with any of my friends outside of school or the pool—well, almost. Roger’s parents, Edna and Renny Reynolds, were the exception to her rule. Edna and Mom were close. For as long as I can remember we would spend every Thursday night at the Reynolds’ house, the adults played Bridge, and us kids wreaked havoc. That’s right, unsupervised, raw, anything goes havoc went down in the Reynolds brother’s room. It’s no surprise we three became friends.

There, in the car, we were flying along the interstate, when Jimmy gave me his intimidating JD stare and asked, “Okay, Loveless, why are you and numbnuts Reynolds being so nice to me? I know you couldn’t resist my sparkling personality,” he jeered. “And, I’m a funny guy too. Don’t you remember the pokes I