Lovebirds

ARE. YOU. READY?

Her lips are red and her cheeks are flushed when they finally come up for air. Both breathing heavily, Vincent runs his thumb across the side of her face. She leans into his touch.

The sound of an engine revving comes from outside again. This time, Spencer turns toward the window so quickly her hair slaps Vince in the face.

"Sorry," she mutters, not taking her eyes from the window.

Blinking from the strand that caught him in the eye, "it's fine."

"Do you hear music?"

"—Spence—"

She rolls off of Vincent's lap before standing; walks toward the window, opening the bottom frame. Vince pulls his discarded shirt back on as she puts her head out the window, settling her hands on the sill to breathe the night air, listen to its secrets.

Joining her, "I don't hear—"

She shushes him wildly then points in a direction down the street.

There's a bridge at the end of the way, an abandoned length of highway running beneath it. It's far enough away that the sounds reach them distorted, yet close enough to still be a bike's ride away. Spencer looks at Vincent with wild eyes.

"Oh no," he says, coming back inside. "Spence, it's nine p.m. I have a curfew and we have school tomorrow and these events are rarely ever safe."

She gives him a look that boarders between a tease and a beg.

"I have to go home—"

"—Vince, please," and she catches his arm as he heads for the door. Her gaze settles more into puppy dog resemblance.

This isn't fair. She's got such an impossible hold on his heart that there's no way he can let her down. No way he can walk away—like a smart person—to let her go alone, as he knows she would.

At the very least, he should go to keep her safe from her own adventure-lust. 

Or so he tells himself as he gently begins to nod.

She jumps with excitement, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before scrambling to collect her phone, a bag, a water bottle, hand sanitizer, and a jacket. Vince grabs his phone and jacket and a few dollar bills (somewhat suspecting they'll be needed), then they head out her bedroom door and down the stairs.

"Spencer? Vincent?" Mrs. Sofia calls from the living room, the voice of an actor spilling from the TV.

"Yes mamma!" Spence calls back, "we're going to go out on our bikes for a bit."

"In the dark?"

"Yes mamma."

Mrs. Sofia considers; consults her husband, who sits beside her on the couch, then rather hesitantly replies, "okay—but please be home by eleven. And be sure to take your phone!"

"We will mamma."

Then they're out the front door and headed toward the driveway.

Spencer yells that she's claiming the green bike, leaving Vincent with the orange one. They mount their respective vehicles as Vincent good-naturedly grumbles about the bad breaks on his. She tells him to suck it up and not be a slow poke.

The music gets louder the further down the street they travel and the thrill of adrenaline begins to pump through their veins. Within a quarter mile, they can already feel the bass in their bones.

"It's a wonder these people aren't deaf by the end of the night!" Vincent yells from behind.

"WHAT?" She yells back.