Riding Home, with the Three of You E-Book

Adora Berry

• Herausgeber: Adora Berry
• Kategorie: Erotik
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

How can Jessica drive back home when her car battery died at the autodrome? Her friends have already left and in the parking lot there is only a motohome left and a guy.

A hot short story, tasty and titillating, with unexpected surprises, marshmallows and three guys enthusiastic to help a damsel in distress.

It contains explicit sexual acts and adult language. Only suitable for an adult audience. All characters are consenting adults.

Leseprobe

Thank you for this purchase and happy reading!

Adora Berry

 "Riding Home, with the Three of You" - Short Story - Copyright © January 2021 

Do not copy or distribute this work without the author's permission.

I crush the tickets for the race in my fist and throw them onto the backseat. I throw my bag on the passenger seat. The mirror and the pink lipstick fall in the footwell.

Damn! I bend down and the cap’s visor hits the car’s roof, my hair loosens and flows out of the strap. My Indy cap falls on the grass. I reach for it and clean with the back of the hand the water droplets it collected from the dump grass.

I sit inside, redo the ponytail and put the cap back on so it shields me from the sunrays that come through the windshield straight at my eyes. What a day! Fun, but now I’m late. I pic up mirror and lipstick and I put them back in the bag. Something crackles. There must be some lollipops left in the bag. I push aside the wallet and the sunglasses case. I have an old pack of mint chewing gum but I need something sweet.

I seize a lollipop from its white plastic stick. Tell me you are a cherry lollipop, a cherry flavour lollipop. Oh yes! Let’s see if I can get you out of this devilish transparent plastic without ruining my finger nails. I mean, I already ruined them this morning having fun on those motorbikes.

I throw the plastic onto the back seats e I swirl the lollipop in my mouth. It’s good to have something sweet before driving so many miles.

I turn the car keys. The starter meows and churns. Motor doesn’t start though. I let go of the keys. This is a joke, right?

I turn the keys again. It meows and meows. C’mon nice, little, dear, old heap of a car… nothing. C’mon, I have to go home, tomorrow I’ve got to be at work.

I turn the keys hard. Like it would make a difference… It meows and squeaks and grinds. I press the gas pedal. C’mon, we are at freaking Indy, temple of speed and so on, you cannot do this to me, not here. At 300 miles from home. Dammit!

I let go of the keys. No way.

I bite the lollipop out of frustration and it glues to my teeth. I suck the sugary fake-cherry juice. I try again. Nothing and nothing. It’s dead.

I pull the lever that opens the hood. It’s probably the battery. I get out, hang the hood on its support… I don’t even know what to look for. I slide aside not to block the sunlight from reaching the insides of the car. I take away a spider web from above the engine block. It must be the batteries, but I need somebody to help here.

The parking has emptied. A Ford accelerates away carrying a couple with a kid and a dog. The parking lot goes quiet and deserted, a part from a motorhome. A guy is putting away three chairs and a folding table. He looks my way.

I wave at him. I point at my car.

He looks around. He places the table against the side of the motorhome and comes towards me.

“Hullo,” he goes. “Do you need help?”

“I think it’s the battery. It won’t start.”

“All right, I’ll take a look.” He folds his sleeves and leans under the hood. He wears a leather bracelet with a Dodge design on it and he has a flower tattoo on his forearm.

“What a mess in here…”

“Uh?”

“I mean. I can jump start it for you with my motorhome, but I don’t have the cables with me. Do you have the cables?”

“I think I do, actually.”

I go open the trunk. The cables should be there somewhere.

The guy follows me. “You alone?”

“I—“

“No, sorry. First the most important question: what team are you?” He points at my Indy hat.

I hold back a giggle. “Which one is better to get my car going?”

“I’m not that soulless…”

I bend into the trunk. I fumble through a potato chips pack, a half-empty coke bottle, shoe box, Target bag, the teddy bear holding a baby bottle for my nephew, my purple t-shirt… that’s where it was!

“Where you at the race by yourself?” He asks.

“With friends. But they live in Louisville.”

“I’m Matthew, from Columbus.”

We shake hands. “Jessica.”

I throw the t-shirt onto the back seats and I move aside the carton box full of used books to donate. A squashed coke bottle pops out and I throw it in the front as well. I reach in the dark to the back of the seats. I find the thing to change the tires, another bottle of something…

“Are you sure you have the cables?” He asks.

I’m getting anxiety here. I suck the sweetness out of the remaining lollipop in my mouth. I turn around. There’s nobody left and everything is closed now. Damn my fixation for autographs!

I look at him. “You really don’t have the cables?”

“No.” He smiles.

What a strange smile. He is nice, good bones and broad shoulders, but he’s got a strange smile.

“You are not telling me the truth. You go around in a motorhome and you don’t have the cables with you?”

He shrugs. “It’s a newish motorhome. Won’t brake down.”

“Well…” I close the trunk. “I’m calling my friends to come back and get me.”

They are probably close to Dayton or something. I go take the phone in my bag, but Matthew gets in the way.

“Wait. I do have the cables.”

“You’ve got them or not?”

He nods and lowers his head. “I have the cables. But I also have an offer or… ehm, a suggestion.”

I rise an eyebrow as high as I can. I want to make sure he gets that I don’t like to play games.

“What offer?”

He gives me a smile half shy half sly. “I like you. How about we have fun?”

I go around the car. “I’m calling my friends.”