Blake 3

Darkness envelops you, cutting you off from the world. There are only his lips, the taste of mint gum, and his warm hands on your waist, sending shivers down your spine. You're not in the car, but at the edge of the parking lot, where the cars seem like sleeping giants. Blake takes a step back, pulling you with him, and your back hits something smooth and cool. The hood.

You breathe a chuckle into his neck and he laughs softly in response, his laughter vibrating in your chest.

“I hope this isn’t someone’s new Tesla...” you whisper, trying to catch your breath.

"Relax," his hoarse voice tickles my skin. "It's just a piece of metal. And you're not."

He kisses you again, deeper. The world narrows to his fingers in your hair and a quiet purr that you initially mistake for an echo of his voice. But the purr grows louder, more rhythmic. And it doesn't come from him.

Blake freezes and pulls away. In the dim light, you see his eyes widen, clouded with passion. He slowly turns his head. You both look in that direction.

The light inside the car you were leaning against was on. Two silhouettes were frozen in it, as if on a stage. His father, his back perfectly straight, and his mother, who was slowly lowering her phone.

A ringing silence hangs in the car. Even your ears burn. Blake's hand on your waist turns to stone. Your father slowly rolls down the window.

"Blake, I understand, of course, but this looks like Mrs. Hendricks's car. She has a poodle. And I'm pretty sure she won't be happy if there are dents on the hood."

The mother makes a strangled sound.

Blake, in slow motion, removes his hand and backs away from the car. You follow his example, tugging at your shirt.

“We... um...” he mumbles.

“Get in our car,” the mother says softly. “We need to talk.”