Dashing Through the Snow

Another car pulled into a slot next to her, and Lily turned to look. It was a black BMW. Nice, she thought, very nice. The sky was already an inky winter dark, but the overhead lights helped her to make out the other driver’s features. His face would never be considered handsome, but it was interesting with its high forehead, dark eyes, square jaw and full lips. The scar that curved from his hairline to end beneath his right brow only served to make his face look more interesting. She studied the black hair that was too long to be considered fashionable, and then lifted a brow inquiringly when he looked over at her.

Taking a page from Santa’s book, Lily stuck both her middle fingers straight up in the air and wanting the new arrival to see them clearly, shoved them toward her passenger side window.

***

All doubt that Lily Carstairs was sitting in a car a space over fled Smith’s mind when she gave him the finger. “That little hell cat will never change,” he muttered with a shake of his head as he fixed his old cowboy hat on his head. He took off his seat belt and prepared to leave his car. When his foot hit the pavement, he heard the definite snick of locking car doors and frowned. She did it to irritate him, he knew, but he was more annoyed that they hadn’t already been locked. “Little fool,” he said aloud and kept his determined stride to her car.

He knocked on the passenger side window. “Are you going to open this door willingly, or am I going to have to make you?”

Lily didn’t even bother to look at him. “Sorry, do I know you?”

Smith laughed, appreciating her mean streak. “Oh, yeah, sweetness,” he told her, “better than most.”

The innuendo in that statement had her whipping her head around and scowling at him. She stared at him in disbelief for a moment and then seemed to pull herself together. “Fuck off, Smith,” she said calmly before turning away again.

“Jesus, you can hold a grudge,” he muttered as he tried to see what was so damned interesting in her lap. All he could tell was that she was writing something. He knocked on the window again and was ignored.
“All right, Lily,” he continued to speak in a voice loud enough for her to hear through the window. “I tried to do this the easy, adult way, but we’ll just have to try it your way. If you don’t open this door right now, I’m going to put in a call to the police about a suspicious vehicle that’s been sitting in this parking lot for hours. Your cover will be blown, and that will be all she wrote for your little stakeout.”

Again, she whipped her head around to look at him with a scowl on her face. He grinned and she scowled harder before slowly reaching over to unlock the passenger side door for him.

“Now, that’s more civilized,” he said as he settled his long frame into the seat and shut the door. “It’s good to see you, Lily-bud. How have you been?” He studied her. It had been four years since he’d seen her, but she still looked good enough to eat. He’d always loved that long, skinny body of hers, which she covered in nothing but stylish clothes that flattered it. Now she wore slim black pants, a red, cable knit turtleneck sweater and a black leather jacket. He took in her hair. The long dark locks still looked thick and lush. It was definitely hair a man could bury his hands in while burying his -- Smith hurriedly put the brakes on that particular thought. Now was not the time for that. Lily would likely spit in his face if she knew he was even thinking about making love to her.

She wouldn’t look at him, but Smith knew those tawny brown eyes of hers were flashing fire and anger was adding a bit of muted pink to her cheeks. “It’s been a mighty long time, but you’re still looking as good as ever, Lily.” He grinned again. “What? No hug for your old friend?” he asked pleasantly.

“Sometimes I just want to punch your face in.”