She stands out like neon to him. Bright yellow and green adorn the tips of her fingers, and he is surprised how much he like the contrast when she grabs his hand.
The first time he kisses her they are standing on the sidewalk outside of a punk show. He can't help it, really; they had been jumping and dancing all night and now she's standing there in front of him, face flushed and body practically vibrating with excitement. The neon sign blazing above their heads casts a molten glow on her red hair. She's talking hurriedly but all he can really focus on is her mouth and wondering how it would feel against his and then suddenly his lips are against hers. Amy freezes for a moment, then threads her fingers together around the back of his head and pulls him closer.
The first time they have sex it's storming in Chicago. Lightening streaks across the sky and bone-rattling thunder races close behind. They're making out on his couch and his fingers are skimming, dipping below the waist of her pants. Phil's mouth goes dry at the way her body lights up beneath his fingertips. A huge crash of thunder spooks her and her body arcs upwards into his.
A giggle spills out of her; then, "Sorry," Amy murmurs as they shift up to sitting. Phil smiles, says nothing, and buries his face in the crook of her neck. He whines when she moves away from him, and then groans softly when she slips between his knees. Quick fingers and her hot little mouth make his breath catch in his throat.
And when he closes his eyes all he can see is the neon after-image of her.