Disclaimer: Hinton owns all.

Warnings: sexual situations and language.

xXx

1976.

Scarlett Bristow wasn't the kind of girl people really noticed, especially if she was with her friends. She was a modest length skirt and blouse wearing kind of girl. A go to church on Sunday, secret fetish for trashy romance novels and make sure the apartment was clean and homely kind.

But sometimes she wore things that were out of the norm for her. Like a risqué dress, high heels and more make up than usual. She lied to her husband and told him it was a girl's night out, and then drove to a bar on the outskirt of Tulsa.

Blowing a rogue strand of hair out of her face, she walked through the rows of tables to the bar counter. Par routine she ordered a gin and tonic and took a seat in the corner of the bar, away from the local drunks and sport fanatics. Scarlett sighed and pulled out a compact mirror to check her makeup, as a crescendo of cheers echoed from a group of chequered shirt men glued to the TV. Wiping away a smudge of black eyeliner on her cheek, she put the mirror back into her bag.

Tugging on the hem of her dress to cover up the stretch of thigh exposed by the lack of material, Scarlett looked toward the door and sighed.

He was late.

With a heavy sigh, she leaned her cheek on one hand, and traced the knots on the wooden table top. She felt a hand brush against her shoulder. She smiled, shuddering slightly from the touch, heat pooling where she'd been touched. Her heart beat sped up, hammering against her chest.

"You're late," she said, looking up with a smile on her face. She frowned when an unfamiliar face looked down on her.

"Oh, waiting for someone?"

"Yes," she said, looking away embarrassed.

"He's not here yet," the man said. "I could take his place."

Scarlett scowled, debating on whether she should stick her heel in his foot and then scream rape. She never got the chance though, which was too bad because she was really looking forward to kneeing him in his family jewels. She heard a voice speak up from behind her, in a deep deliberate tone. It was the sort of voice that stayed with her during the nights, and kept her comfort as she did her chores.

"Am I interrupting something?"

"Curly. You're late," she said, getting up and stepping beside him.

"I got held up," Curly replied, glaring at the man who'd made the indecent proposal. The men stared, sizing each other off like some Mexican standoff, without the guns. The man glanced at her one last time, before turning around and sauntering off to the bar. Scarlett smiled, looking up at Curly. He grinned and looked down at her.

"And you look great," he said. "A knockout."

Scarlett blushed and dug her nails into the fabric of his shirt. She wanted to be alone with him, and had had enough of this place. "Can we leave?"

"Yeah," he said, hooking his arm around her waist. Taking her handbag, she let him lead her out into the night.

Scarlett had met Curly at a drive-in theatre. Her husband had come from work, supposedly too tired to go out yet another night. So, she decided to go out by herself. It was after the final movie of the night had ended that she realized her car wouldn't start. She sat there until almost every car had left, trying to get her car to start. Then he turned up out of nowhere. She still didn't know what he was doing there, without a car after everyone had left.

"Can't get the car to start?" He'd asked. She had nodded and stayed in the car as he looked under her hood. He had intimidated her, leather jacket and hard look, that much she would admit. When he was done he gave the name and address of the garage he worked at, and left.

After the first vehicle check, Scarlett had no intention of going back. But she slowly found herself finding new reasons to get her car checked. She wanted to hear the sound of Curly's voice, laugh at his odd humoured jokes and watch him work in an uncaring attitude.

It took her three weeks, a fight with her husband and half a bottle of gin to make her move. It was wrong, blasphemy, a cardinal sin … but she couldn't stop herself.

"How long do we have?" Curly asked. He had rented them a motel room, the same motel they always got - the motel with questionable sanitary conditions and a strange smell.

"It doesn't matter," she replied, as he cupped her face and kissed her. "He won't notice."

Wrapping her hands around him, she tilted her head back, baring her neck. She sighed and closed her eyes, when he lowered his mouth to her neck, teasing her flesh with his tongue. His fingers worked quickly at her dress, sliding down the back zipper and pushing the flimsy material down her body. He was impatient that night. He nuzzled her cheek. Scarlett was surprised by the ferocity of his kiss when he returned to her lips.

Lowering her hands, she worked at his zipper and yanked down his pants. Twice a month wasn't enough for either of them, they both got impatient and one or the other always finished too soon. It wasn't romantic, and when she really thought about it, she'd say it was almost trashy. But it better than what she had with her husband.

Clothes littered the floor, bed sheets rustled in the darkness, accompanied by the sound of the headboard faintly banging against the wall.

Scarlett lifted her head, brunette bangs falling into her face, stinging her eyes. Shaking her head, she blinked and focused on Curly. His eyes were dark, the curls on his forehead damp with sweat. She moved faster and he gripped her thighs tighter in response, leaving white marks on her skin.

Scarlett planted her hands on Curly's pale, broad chest and bit her lip, she moaned when he cupped her breasts.

"Scarlett," he growled, as she thrust harder.

Scarlett couldn't breathe as an intense heat cut through her body; she cried out, and dug her nails into his chest …

Further into the night, when they were done for sure, they shared a cigarette and Scarlett listened to him talk. He always talked about his family, and she didn't mind. He talked about his brother, sister and nephews and niece, and sometimes he talked about his parents. He hated his stepfather, and wondered where his real one was. His family gave dysfunctional a new meaning, but how she would have loved to be a part of it.

By the time Scarlett had gotten dressed and ready, it was one forty five, in the morning. This was the part she always hated. She fiddled with the curtains that covered the filthy windows.

"That time already, huh?" Curly smirked, pulling on his tee shirt. Scarlett let go of the curtain and turned around to face him.

"Yeah," she said.

"How long is this goin' to go on for?" This time he looked serious, as he stared at her with dark eyes and a clenched jaw.

"I don't know …" She wanted to pretend that she wasn't having an affair, that this dingy run down motel room was in fact a bedroom in a lovely house, with a picket fence lining the yard. She wanted to pretend that she wasn't torn between two lives, and the one she loved was not the dishonest one. She wanted so much. If wishes were horses … She sighed.

"You ever gonna leave him?"

Scarlett opened her mouth and closed it again. She couldn't. Could she? What would people say? Sure, things had changed over the years and people had become more liberal, but there were still the same old prejudices and values beneath that laissez-faire façade.

"Curly …" she began, stopped and sighed.

"You need to make up your mind soon," he said, getting up and running her fingers through her hair. She shivered as his hot breath prickled the skin on her neck. "I'm already second string at home and pretty much everything else in my damn life. I don't wanna be second string with a girl."

Letting go of her he left.

The sun had just risen just over the horizon, when Scarlett had made up her mind. She had been sitting in the car for over four hours, on the highway just outside of Tulsa. Turning the key in the engine, she shifted the car in gear and drove into what would be the rest of her life.

xXx

Posted for Good Fic day. Please review, if you read. Feedback appreciated.