5
The dunes are damp but not too slippery.
You've been mudding for years, so you know exactly how to handle the terrain. I can't hear you, but I can feel you laughing just as hard as I am. You hoot and holler and have terrible road rage, or dune rage, for someone who's usually so sweet.
When some guy cuts us off after the fifth time, you come to a screeching halt in front of him and jump off your rig. It's unexpected, and I'm wrapped around you so tightly I almost go with you.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" you demand.
The driver takes off his helmet and smirks. "Can't handle a little bit of fun, old man?"
This throws me off because you have to be eighteen to enter Holes, period. Does being maybe seven or eight years older than someone suddenly make you ancient now?
The muscles in your neck tighten, making my thighs clench together.
"Old man? Old man." You scoff. "We're all here to have fun, and that won't happen if you keep trying to kill people. Watch yourself, or I'll get the bouncer to boot you."
All three of us look over at a guy in a referee uniform, sitting on a security mule. Bouncers dot the entire site. It's a well-known fact that if you get booted, you get banned from Holes for good. They take pictures and everything.
"Whatever." He backs up his rig and takes off to another area.
I'm practically panting when you climb back on, and you have to reach around and wrap my arms around you.
That was so hot.
Can you feel my heart hammering in my chest against your back and how rock hard my nipples are between our thin, mud-covered clothing?
When Rose forced me to come out tonight, I figured I'd get a little muddy, maybe more than a little drunk, and have an okay time, but you change things.
You change everything, Edward.
