He told me about how he started his band back in high school with his two buddies; how their band’s name was so unoriginally conceived on a drunken bet and why they kept the size of their band to only three. He told me about his career goals, which ones he has successfully achieved, and which ones he has not, and even why. He told me about some of the disappointments life has thrown his way on his journey toward a music career. He discussed how it seems to be just an illusion that happiness and notoriety can work together in harmony. He further explained why it is just an illusion and why he feels happiness and fame don’t seem to be able to co-mingle in the manic commercial music industry. He even divulged his wish to remain an unknown and just make music; how his brother, the band manager, disagreed with him and kept pushing the band further into the limelight.

However, that fond exchange has long passed and now we sit in silence, both still processing the last conversation we had. I’m not sure what to say or do right now. My mind won’t stop traveling from the past to the present; from Ben to River and back. Why can’t I stop this time travel?

Thinking back to the start of this conversation, to when River asked, “Can I ask you something?” I question my immediate response of “Sure, anything.” I wonder if I should have been a little more cautionary before answering. But I wasn’t expecting the question he presented or the emotions deep within me that began to rise to the surface as I answered. Thinking about it now it makes sense, since thoughts of Ben never seem to be far away for long.

Over the last few months, I had become very good at pushing the memories of Ben’s murder back into the far depths of my mind. I had perfected how not to relive his death in my nightmares. However, the closer we got to LA, and the closer I got to the place Ben died, the quicker my memories started creeping to the forefront of my mind. Not just memories, but feelings as well. Grief over his death resurfaced momentarily, but guilt over returning with someone to where he died overtook me.

So, when River asked the very direct question, “How did he die?”, it triggered the flood of every horrid memory and ill feeling that was already there, just waiting to break through. Once I opened the dam, there was no closing it. I couldn’t. I had to let it open. I told River about the whole tragic night as I remembered it. With tears streaming down my face, my body shaking with fear, my voice trembling with emotion, I told him what I had never told anyone before. I retold my fiancé’s brutal attack as it happened, but from my point of view. This time I was not a witness, but I was me; the girl who loved a boy who was killed in front of her own eyes.

He listened, nodded his head, held my hand, wiped tears from my cheek, and told me how sorry he was. Ending my emotional and detailed explanation of Ben’s attack and his death, I managed the following sentence, “And then I was escorted to a police car as the coroner drove away.” With that I drew in a deep breath and sighed. I wasn’t going to tell him about my emotional state after Ben’s death right now. I couldn’t talk about Ben anymore today. I mentally pushed everything back far away and I simply asked, “Can I tell you the rest another day?”

He just nodded, seemingly unable to speak, maybe trying to process what I had just told him and hasn’t spoken since. So now as River turns off the I-10W onto the San Bernardino Freeway, I decide to break the silence and lighten the damp mood; guide him away from his somber mood, the same mood I want so desperately to free myself of as well. Plugging my iPhone into the modern radio jack he had installed in his 1960’s car, I take a deep breath and run my hands through my wind-blown hair before asking, “Wanna play a game?”

Shaking his head, he looks over at me quizzically before pulling off the freeway. “Can we talk first?” I nod my head, but don’t say anything. I want to push my thoughts of Ben away for the day, but he isn’t going to let me.

River parks the car in a gas station parking lot and takes off his sunglasses. Setting them on the dash he silently unbuckles his seatbelt, twists his body to face me, and reaches over to unbuckle mine. Placing his hands on my shoulders, he turns my body to face him.

He removes my sunglasses, and with the pads of his thumbs he caresses my cheeks. He looks at me intently before speaking and I swallow back emotion from the intensity of his stare; a stare so full of concern I feel like my tears may come back any minute. “What happened to him was wrong, but for it to happen in front of you . . . that is something you should never have had to see, to experience, to go through.” Placing his fingers under my chin, he tilts my head up. His eyes are gleaming and so full of power, but his voice is soft, almost broken as he continues, “I mean it, what you went through would break anyone, but here you are . . . so vibrant, so full of life, and still in one piece. Whenever you’re ready to talk I’m here, ready to listen.”

He pauses a second to rub his thumbs across my cheeks again then down my neck. His serene expression remains as he says, “You’re so absolutely beautiful.” He stops speaking and places a soft kiss on my lips.

Looking at him as he watches me with such care and concern, I quietly respond, “River, my life the last two years has been . . . nothing really.” I stop to cup his gorgeous face in my hand and then continue. “I’ll tell you about it, about me during that time. Just, not now. You have to understand, it was such a sad time for me, and I don’t want to relive it right now, but I want you to know this—being with you these last few days has been the most fun I’ve experienced in such a long time.” I stop my words and kiss him, but my kiss is not soft like his. It’s intense and full of passion. He makes me want him every time he touches me and his touch pushes away any sorrowful thoughts that seem to always be lingering in my mind.

He immediately wraps his arms around me, holding me tight. It’s an odd, yet familiar feeling. We’re two people who just connected, or actually re-connected, and it feels like we’ve known each other for far longer than three days. So as we sit here together in his car, about to cross the path to the unknown, we’re in no hurry, we have nowhere to be, and it feels heavenly.

Before breaking our embrace, he slides his nose up my neck until his lips reach my ear. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look today?” he whispers. Goosebumps ravage my body, and he’s grinning as he draws his finger down my bare shoulder over the now eminent bumps. He knows that drives me wild. He’s doing it on purpose and I can’t help but smile at that thought.

His words are said with such emotion. They are so raw and honest; I know he can only be speaking the truth. My heart rate is slightly elevated. Need is pooling everywhere throughout my body, and I’m smiling so widely, not only on the outside but on the inside as well. It’s in this moment that I realize the sweet-nothings he whispers are a part of his gorgeous soul, the soul I feel so connected to in this very short amount of time we’ve spent together. I know I definitely made the right choice in coming with him to LA.

Grinning back at me, he pulls my seatbelt across my body. I see the corners of his lips lift when he runs his fingertips across my hipbone before buckling it and then down my leg, slinking his fingers slightly under my skirt before twisting and leaning back in his own seat. Fastening his own seatbelt, he glances at me. “You mentioned playing a game. What do you have in mind?”

Turning the volume up on the radio, I tap the library button on my iPhone and select one of my favorite songs. I allow the song to play for five seconds before hitting the pause button. “Name it?”

He looks over at me with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Really? Come on now. All you had to give me was the first three beats of that Roland drum machine used in the intro and I’d know the haunting beat of Phil Collins any day of the week.”

Starting to thump out the intro on the steering wheel, he adds rhythm to his own beat. Using the dash as his pedal bass and his own voice to synthesize the droning, he begins to sing the first few lyrics of In the Air Tonight.

Thinking to myself, Wow he’s good; I shake my head mouthing, “Show off.”

“I saw that,” he instantly vocalizes. With his eyes darting at me, he adds, “Come on, what else you got baby?”

Studying my library for songs he may not recognize in three seconds or less, I decide to try Poison’s Talk Dirty To Me. Before I even hit the pause button he yells out, “Look what the … Then he stops and grins, not bothering to finish the lyrics.” Reaching over and running his fingers down my leg, he nonchalantly mentions, “Talk Dirty To Me was named one of the forty greatest hard rock songs of all time,” and as he drags his fingers under my skirt, sending shivers down my spine, he finishes with, “But, you must know that, so why are you being easy on me?” Pulling his hand back, he reaches for his sunglasses and puts them back on. “Next.”

After nine songs I say, “Okay musical genius, last one. All or nothing.” Then flickering my eyes at him, I hike my skirt up just enough for him to catch a glimpse of what lies beneath and ask, “You in?” He has managed to guess every single song within three seconds, so why not distract him a little, knock him off his game.

I hear a sharp intake of breath as his head slightly turns in my direction. “I’m always in,” he mutters with a huge smirk on his face.

Looking through the songs on my playlist, and knowing there is not a single one he won’t know, I decide to just have some fun. Turning up the volume, I let Adelitas Way blare through the car, knowing full well there is no intro or musical chorus. Dirty Little Thing starts to play, and I let the first two lines flow before looking at his grinning face. On the third line of the lyrics, I don’t turn the music off, but rather start singing along. Reaching over to his leg, I run my hand up the inside of his thigh as I continue singing about how I like it when he looks at me and before I finish the first chorus, he joins in and we both sing about not being able to say no.

By the third chorus, the song is still thumping but we aren’t playing Name That Tune anymore. Reaching over, I take his sunglasses off so I can see his eyes. He immediately places his hand back on my leg. This time his fingers dart quickly to the bare spot between my hose and my garter belt. My body starts to ache with need from deep within my core. His touch does this to me every time.

Placing my hand on top of his, I give it a little squeeze and in a voice somewhere between playful and seductive, I quip, “You won, you know.”

With a full-blown blinding smile that makes my heart skip a beat and my lips tingle, he cocks his head and glances over at me. “I know,” he snickers.

As he picks up my hand and brings it to his mouth, he kisses each of my knuckles while asking, “What do I win?”

Smiling widely, I remove my hand from his mouth, place it back on his thigh, and lean over the center console to suck on the sweet spot behind his ear before answering him. “Anything you want.”

I stay close to him, inhaling his fresh scent, rubbing my nose along his unshaven jaw. Funny, I never liked it when Ben didn’t shave, but I love the feel of River’s slight stubble against my soft skin.

As I lean back, I notice him dragging his tongue over his lower lip. I let out a deep moan and sigh.

Cocking his head, his lips form a slow sexy smile as he raises his eyebrows. “Anything?”

“Anything,” I promise.

Laughing huskily, he glances down at my hand on his lap and raises his eyebrows.

I raise one eyebrow in return. “Really?” I ask, but not really questioning what I know he wants as his prize.

“You wouldn’t,” he says looking down at my hand again as I begin to slide my palm up his leg to the button on his jeans, slipping my fingertips inside his waistband.

His breathing picks up and he groans when he feels my touch. “Dahlia, I’m only kidding.”

I glance at him from under my lashes. Leaning forward, I whisper in his ear, “You might want to pull off the road as soon as you can.”

His gaze falls to his lap again as I successfully unbutton his jeans and begin pulling down his zipper. “Dahlia, really I wasn’t serious.”

“River you don’t know me well enough yet. I never back away from a challenge or from paying up.”

Leaning his head back, he seems to be thinking about something. “We’ll be home in less than thirty minutes,” he manages under heavy breaths.

Continuing to unzip his jeans, I am now kissing his neck, his jawline, and the outer edge of his ear. “Your choice.”

Questioningly, almost unable to speak, he mutters, “My choice what?”

“You won. You told me what you want. I’m not backing down. So pull over.”

Noticing his tight grip on the wheel and the look in his eyes, I know he wants this, but doesn’t want to admit it.

“Dahlia?” he questions.

I finish unzipping his pants and tug at the opening of his boxers, freeing his erection before I teasingly say, “Pull over. I’m not asking you to get off the road because I need to use the bathroom.”

I begin to sketch the outline of his ear with my tongue before biting on his earlobe. Then I come out with, “On the road, or off the road? That is your choice! But the when is now.” I am physically and verbally making my intentions known, making him unmistakably aware that this is going to take place sooner, not later. I am not waiting until we get to his house.

“Fuc . . . he starts to say, obviously opting for my suggestion as he quickly moves from the innermost left lane to outermost right lane, exiting the highway at the first available opportunity.

Before beginning my descent, I glance up at him. His eyes are slightly hooded, his back is pushed against the seat, and his eyes are overflowing with desire. Surprising myself again with what I am about to do, what I never liked to do before, I can only grin. However, deciding that his state of mind right now might hinder his driving, I opt to wait for him to safely park the car before finding my way down to his lap.