“Good heavens.” Colby took a step over to the car, hand held out as if asking permission. The car, veteran of classic spy films and collectors’ shows, perked right up and wanted to be friends. Colby brushed fingertips over sleek vintage lines. “She’s lovely. Is she a she? I might be thinking of ships. But she’s artwork, all graceful but with such strength underneath. Built for adventure and elegance.”
Of course Colby thought about cars like poetry. Jason said, “Stay right there,” and put bags away and then kissed him: passionately and thoroughly, the approving Aston Martin at Colby’s back and the patches of sunlight on his shoulders, gathering together pieces of the world that Jason loved.
“Mmm,” Colby approved, after. “Should I expect more of that? Are cars a turn-on? I can see how that
