Page 29 of Sunday Morning
“Fuck me, Sunday Morning.” Isaac shook his head. “I’mtaking that as a personal challenge.” He pinched his lips around the cigarette.
After forgetting that I was at a four-way stop with no other cars, I slowly let up on the clutch and pulled through the intersection with my nerves frayed, heart racing, and mind reeling. Why was I goading him?
He turned on the radio and flipped through the stations.
“No!” I shook my head when he stopped on a station playing a song Icould notlisten to.
He laughed before belting out the lyrics to Daryl Hall and John Oates’ “Sara Smile.”
I reached to turn it off, but he grabbed my wrist, flicked his cigarette butt out the window, and wrapped his other hand around my forearm, using my hand as a microphone.
“Stop …” I giggled.
Isaac beamed, hitting every note and nailing every word. It made my face hurt from smiling. He had a great voice, and I felt a pang of disappointment when the song ended and he released my arm.
Refusing to let my joy linger too long, knowing he’d eat it up and gloat for the rest of the day, I cleared my throat. “For the record, ‘Sara Smile’ is Sara without an H. I’m Sarah with an H.”
“Oh, pardon me. So you’reSarahhh,like a really good orgasm.”
How did I repeatedly hand him opportunities to embarrass me?
The radio station he picked played older songs. Other than Heather, none of my friends listened to anything before the 1980s. And it secretly thrilled me that Isaac did, too, because I had a soft spot for older songs.
Isaac jumped into The Spencer Davis Group’s “GimmeSome Lovin’,” and I couldn’t help but join in because I knew all the words, which seemed to surprise him. He peered over at me just as I shot him a quick glance while belting out the lyrics with the windows down and a cloud of gravel dust in the rearview mirror. I even slowed down a bit as we approached his drive because I wanted to finish singing the song with him.
As we turned right and the song faded into a commercial, I wiped the smile from my face. Suddenly, I felt ridiculous, like I couldn’t let Isaac think I enjoyed singing with him or smiling in his presence.
“That was good,Sarahhh …” He closed his eyes and tipped his head back like he was having—well, let’s just say that it wasn’t something my dad would have approved of.
I parked behind a long line of cars and jumped out.
“Are you running from me?” Isaac asked.
“No,” I said without glancing back or slowing down.
“Then what’s the hurry?” His boots crunched along the gravel behind me, getting closer despite my frantic pace.
I flew up the porch stairs and halted when I opened the door. A throng of people filled the space, but I didn’t see Matt anywhere.
“Who knew Matty had so many friends,” Isaac mumbled behind me as I tried to shoulder my way through the crowd to the front door, but it was nearly impossible. “You’re being too nice,” he said so close to my ear I could feel the warmth of his breath. “Just tell everyone to get the hell—or, in your case,heck—out of the way.” His hands rested on my hips, guiding me.
I couldn’t breathe.
“Sarah has to pee. Can everyone part the Red Sea?”Isaac yelled, and the noise died to nothing more than a few whispers.
I wanted. To. Die! Why did he say that?
Flames of embarrassment engulfed my face as I tucked my chin and scurried into the house after everyone made room for me and my supposed urgent bladder.
“Hey, sweetie!” Violet spied me the second I opened the front door. She was busy refilling bowls of chips and plates oflittle turkey sandwiches.“Did the rest of your party go well?”
“It did.” I smiled. “Thanks. Where’s Matt?”
“He’s out back. Wesley’s starting a bonfire. You should have changed into something more casual.” She eyed my dress and boots.
I shrugged. “It’s fine.”
“Did you get your fill?” Violet shifted her attention to Isaac as he stepped past me, but not before letting the back of his hand brush my ass.