He's staring through the windshield and her eyes are wide and wild, frightened and shaken and then she's scrambling out from behind the wheel and rushing over to him, babbling, oh my god are you ok? I'm so so sorry. I should have been paying more attention.
It's fine, he tells her, smiling, his heart in his throat, electricity in his spine. Her hair is golden and curly, down past her shoulders. She's riveting. Talking still, a mile a minute, and John wonders what she'd look like if she smiled.
I'm fine he repeats when he can get a word in edgewise, flashing her a grin that's gotten him a lot of action in the past. That your car? Huh? Back to your place?
Her grips is firm as she slips her hand into his, smiling shyly, but looking him square in the eye. It's nice to meet you, John. I'm Mary.
