In the Lion's Teeth: Second Edition

Chapter Eleven

Dona's leaning back on a silver Impala when you come outside, on his toes, head craned to the side to peer over the other cars in front of him. Just as you lift your hand, he grins and waves you over. You grin back and weave through the cars to meet him.

"Hey!" you say, and then his hands are light on your forearms and he's on his toes, leaning into you. He presses a quick, light kiss to your left cheek, another to your right. When he pulls back, his smile is wide and your neck is burning.

Then you remember, this is how we do things in France, this is normal, and your shoulders relax a little, but your neck still burns so hot, because his mouth is warm and soft and for the first time you realize, oh, wait, kissing is a thing that people do sometimes, and it's possible that's a thing he might want to do with you.

His smile fades a little and his brows draw together. "Did I step out of bounds?" he asks softly.

Your hand shoots up in a negative, too quick, and he's so close you accidentally brush against his chest as you bring it up to your own, oh god, you clumsy idiot —

"No, no," you say. "I've just been here for so long I guess I've forgotten some of the customs. And in Alsace usually men don't..."

"Neither do we in Nice," he says. His eyes are still on yours, worried, and he's leaning back against his car again. "But I've always done so with all of my friends, since I was a small child."

"Your friends?" you ask, hesitant, but hopeful, and the tiny smile pulling at your mouth is the most genuine you've ever had.

He smiles."Yes," is all he says. He nods his head to the right and continues, "The door is unlocked."

You jump a little, rubbing your arm and taking a step back. "Oh, yeah, um..." You clear your throat, holding your curled fist against your lips for a few moments, closing your eyes to steady yourself. "Thank you."

You open them and let yourself in the passenger's side.

His car is immaculate, not a single dirt smudge or loose coin or bit of paper anywhere. You look up when he sits down beside you and closes his door, about to pull your seatbelt on when he leans closer, and a cracked, high pitched, "What —" starts to come out of your mouth. But then he reaches past you toward the glove box and you stop.

But his cheek just barely glances your shoulder and you remember how warm it was against yours in the cold air and even though the heroin keeps your body still and calm, inside, you're shaking with nerves and excitement.

Then he sits back up. Your gaze follows him as he straightens his back, then he offers his hand to you, palm up, with a little metal thing in the center.

"This is for you," he says. You take it, and when he moves his hand back, his fingers curl and one of them brushes against the heel of your hand and you think it might have been on purpose?

When you finally manage to look away from his face and down to the thing in your hand, you turn it once, twice, examining it.

"What is it?" you ask.

"It's a medication case, for pills and capsules. Although you said you don't like taking it in public — which I completely understand, by the way — I thought, if you had something like this, you could still keep one or two doses with you in case of an emergency. If you're not going to get back home in time, you can remove yourself from wherever you are into somewhere private, like your car. So you don't have a repeat of last Saturday."

You finally look back up at him again, eyebrows raised high in disbelief.

"It's a keychain," he finishes.