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He caressed the back of my head, messing up my hair…but I didn’t care I had other things on my mind.īy now I was on his lap, right in the front seat of his Diesel Ford F250, making out with him as if I’d just discovered the concept. “I’ve got this problem,” he continued, in between kisses. “But then I just turned around I couldn’t help it.” His hand found my upper back and pulled me closer. “Oh, I was headed home,” he said, fiddling with my fingers. I looked at him, giggled like a schoolgirl, and asked, “What have you been doing all this time?”
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The pickup was still warm and toasty, like a campfire was burning in the backseat. Wanting to get me out of the cold, he led me to his pickup and opened the door so we could both climb in. We kissed again, and I shivered in the cold night air. “I remember.” Maybe the sweater had magical powers. “Ummm, yeah,” he said, pulling me even closer. “I think I wore this to the J-bar that night…,” I said. I’d hurriedly thrown it on the night we’d met a few months earlier. “I like your sweater,” he said, looking at the light blue cotton rib as if he’d seen it before. There was nothing funny or lighthearted about it. We met in the middle-in between his vehicle and the front door-and without a moment of hesitation, greeted each other with a long, emotional kiss. He grinned, and as I walked toward him, he stood up and walked toward me, too. Marlboro Man was standing outside his pickup, hands inside his pockets, his back resting against the driver-side door. Brushing my teeth in ten seconds flat, I scurried down the stairs and out the front door. “I’ll be right down.” Panting, I settled for my second-favorite jeans and my favorite sweater of all time, a faded light blue turtleneck I’d worn so much, it was almost part of my anatomy. “You’d better get out here or I’m comin’ in…” “But…but…I’m in my pajamas.”Īnother trademark chuckle. “But…but…,” I stalled, hurriedly sliding the pencil out of my hair and running around the room, stripping off my pathetic house clothes and searching in vain for my favorite faded jeans. “I’m outside,” he repeated, throwing in a trademark chuckle just to be extra mean. I was a vision, having changed into satin pajama pants, a torn USC sweatshirt, and polka-dotted toe socks, and to top it off, my hair was fastened in a haphazard knot on the top of my head with a no. “ You’re…you’re what? Where?” I stood up and glimpsed myself in the mirror. Barney Stinson See more on GoodReads Popular quotes