Surprisingly, we manage to check out of the hotel on time, without having to pay for another night. Still in the haze of post-coital bliss, we maintain physical contact the entire five-hour drive to Allentown. We link our fingers together between our seats, and when he needs both hands to steer, I place my hand on his thigh, feeling his muscles flex when he accelerates or brakes the car. Other times, he’d drape his hand over the back of the seat and massage my neck or thread his fingers through my hair.
We stop once for lunch, about halfway, at a chain restaurant. We sit on the same side of the booth, stealing food from each other’s plates.
As we approach Wes’ home, he points out different landmarks and places he spent time at over the years. My nerves appear about that time, too. Meetin
