He looks over at Sandy as she takes a sip from her coke. Her pink lips purse over the straw; her china blues look down in concentration.

How does she make such ordinary things look so damn good?

Soda figures he should ask her one of these days. The girl doesn't know the power of her own magic.

He rests a hand on her knee, and strokes his thumb over her soft skin.

He's always doing things like that—taking hold of her hand and entwining his fingers with hers; stroking her cheek when she lays her head on his shoulder; slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her into a kiss.

It's not to be some kind of Don Juan like his buddies think.
He does those things because she's his. Because he can.

Maybe it's a little selfish, but Soda figures it's okay to be a little selfish when it comes to loving someone like her.

"How did I get lucky enough to call you mine? Is it the dashin' good looks?"
Sandy laughs and looks at him funny then.
"Who else's would I be, hmm?"

Her smile makes him ache. It's a good ache. The kind of ache he thinks he remembers from a poem Pony reading out loud one time. Soda's never really cared about that kind of stuff, but he figures, as he traces a kiss on Sandy's lips, that he gets it. All those mushy, corny words his kid brother digs reading.

This is what it's all about, ain't it?

He takes the coke out of her hand and places it next to her feet on the bed of Darry's truck.

He kisses her again and it's long and hungry.

"Soda...right now?"

Why not all the time? I oughta be lovin' you like you should be loved, all the damn time.

He doesn't say it though. He simply moves his lips onto her neck in reply.

Sandy laughs tenderly at his greediness. He knows she's already broken curfew, but he makes her stay without saying anything.

"What if someone sees."
He thinks for a moment, "then we'll give 'em a good show."

But there's no one else there after dark. The park at night is only for lovers. Lovers like the two of them.

"Sometimes, I swear you're the greediest boy I've ever known," she says to him, that soft laugh still playing at her lips. He returns the smile.

Yeah, I'm greedy for you, Sandy, but I can't help it. I'm in love with you. That's your fault, not mine.

His hand moves up her skirt, trailing goosebumps along its path.

He lifts her onto him so that her legs straddle his hips, planting kiss after kiss on her. On her collar bones, neck, on her shoulders, her ears. Every spot that he knows gets her started.
Sandy tilts her head back, her blonde curls falling off her shoulders as she closes her eyes at the feel of his breath.

You're greedy too, Sandy, he thinks. But it's okay, we like each other better that way.

Her fingers dig into the nape of his neck as he slides his hand further up her thigh. Soda swears the symptoms of her pleasure are the most pleasing things in the world.

He can feel a jerk in his pants as her breath begins to hitch.
"Soda," she whimpers softly into his ear. Another jerk.
"Soda..." This time she sighs it out as her fingers relax their hold on him.
But his lips don't stop their work.
"Soda..." she repeats, smiling and breaking away from his touch.
"Hmm?" He's still distracted by the taste of her.
"I gotta go home."
He grips her hips tighter against him. Shit.
"C'mon, when we're this worked up?" He motions to kiss her again, but she smacks his chest playfully and leans farther out to face him, her back resting against the steering wheel.
"Easy, lover boy. You're gonna get me grounded. And then you won't be able to see me for a whole week like the last time."
"I'll sneak you out, baby." He flashes her a grin.
"And risk my father's wrath?" Soda sighs as she lifts herself off him and straightens up her skirt.
"He don't like me anyway." Soda isn't used to not being liked.
"Well, I don't wanna give him another reason not too." She moves a fly away hair out of her eyes. For a split moment, they look almost sad before they relax into their natural glow.
It's a glow she only has for me, he thinks a little too proudly as she moves her eyes away from him and towards her feet.
"Besides, I gotta finish my coke." She grabs it and brings it to her smirking lips. She's teasing him now in a way she knows riles him up.
He figures he shouldn't get her in trouble, though. It wouldn't be very gentlemanly of him.
"I guess I better get you home then. 'Sides, I gotta get an early start. I'm a workin' man now. I gotta keep payin' for those cokes you look so good drinkin'." She makes a face.
"Hmm. Flirtin' with girls all day while Steve fixes cars must be tiring work."
"It's downright exhaustin'," He gives her a wink.
She counters with a light shove, and he laughs out loud.
"Aw, c'mon, baby, you know I love you."

He doesn't tell her though, that no one else compares. He figures it's cause he digs the way her brows furrow in annoyance.
Jealousy's always looked good on her.
Like the time she found Patricia Klein sweet-talking him by the gym doors, and she nestled in closely next to him, flashing the redhead a glare.
Or that time he was showing Lynn Andrews and a couple of her girlfriends where to screw in a new spark plug on a car engine, and he'd been standing a little too close and smiling a little too much at the view down her shirt.
I think it's time for your break, Soda, she had said, walking up to him with her arms crossed over her chest, and a pout on her face that Soda couldn't help but find endearing.

But it's the truth, he decides while looking at her strapping on her seat belt, and refusing to meet his gaze.
No one's ever compared.
Not Susan Mayfield who gave him his first kiss when he was 11.
Not the girls he'd gotten flushed looking at in the dirty magazine Two-Bit swiped for him when he was 12.
Not Lori Hutchins who he'd got to second base with behind the bleachers at one of Darry's football games when he was 14.
Not Lynn Andrews or any of the girls who flutter to him at the DX, batting their eyelashes and finding any excuse to move in closer.

Soda couldn't say he didn't like the attention. He couldn't even say he didn't flirt back. He was all charm all the time and everyone in Tulsa knew it.

But none of those other girls were his. He didn't want them to be.

He takes a sip from her coke. "I know you love me too. An' every greasy hood in Tulsa better damn well know it."
She smiles up at his shit-eating grin.
"All right, Prince Charmin', take me home before this truck turns into a pumpkin." He starts it up.
"If I'm the prince, and you're the princess, and this is your pumpkin carriage, then who're the little mice?"
"Steve, Evie, Two-Bit and Johnny."
"Hmm, and my kid brother's the dog. Darry's the fairy godmother, an' your pops is the evil step-mom."
She shoots him a mock glare.
"Wait, who's Dallas in our fairy tale?"
"Dal..Well, Dal's...Shoot. Dal's the hood who crashes the ball an' slashes all them carriage tires for shits and giggles."

She laughs so heartily that he figures it's worth one more shot to try to keep her a little while longer.

"Ya know, Sandy, if the truck did turn into a pumpkin we could stay here all night. Make ourselves some pumpkin pie. Have ourselves a picnic. I think there's still some fries left too."
"I hate pumpkin pie."
He raises an eyebrow at her.
"Soda..." she groans out, staring at her watch in exasperation.
He puts his hands up in mock surrender and cracks a smile.

"You never make it easy for a guy, do ya?"
"Would you want me if I did?"

He puts the truck in reverse and starts to back up off the wet grass as he gives his answer.

"I'm the greediest boy you've ever known, remember? I always want you."