Chapter Six
Southbound and Down
Fletcher Bolt, the blonde giant, wearing a white tee shirt with black lettering on the front: We never grow up. We just learn how to act in public. Driving down US-1 in the Florida Keys behind the black steering wheel of an antique Porsche Speedster with the top down. Sarah, pensive beside him. One leg crossed over the other. He touched the top of her thigh.
She uncrossed her legs. Knees apart. Her skirt was pulled up underneath. Bare skin to leather upholstery. The way Fletcher liked her to sit. He cupped the flesh of her inner thigh with one big hand, not squeezing, just holding her.
“Sorry. I’m kind of distracted,” she said.
“I shouldn’t wonder.”
She crossed her arms under the vast shelf of bosom, pressing her breasts together to produce an improbab
