Bad Games

19



The silver Highlander glided along the main road, north of Crescent Lake. As promised, Amy had blown her hair out in the style Patrick liked so much, and he found it damn difficult to concentrate on the wheel.

“Edible, baby,” he said, stealing his umpteenth glance. “You are looking absolutely edible.”

She leaned over and kissed his cheek while he looked out onto the road. “You’re not lookin’ too bad yourself there, sexy.” She ran her fingers down the buttons of his collared shirt.

Patrick’s white button-down was covered with a jet-black sport coat that accentuated his broad shoulders. His top two buttons were undone (a tie was simply out of the question for Patrick Lambert), and his slacks and polished shoes were the exact color of his sport coat. Even his hair, which usually had the uncanny ability to face all four directions of the globe, was gelled and parted in a neat, trendy fashion, making him look the equal of his wife’s thirty-three years instead of his own thirty-eight.

“I’m thinking we might stand out once we get to the restaurant, we look so good,” Amy added.

“We’d stand out anywhere we went, hotness,” he said. “However, both Norm and Lorraine insisted this place was pretty snazzy. Of course that won’t change anything. We’ll still be the sexiest couple there.”

She smirked, kissed his cheek again, then sat back in her seat. “How far?”

“Twenty minutes, give or take. It shouldn’t be too bad. It’s more than likely we’ll be back before the kids are,” he said.

Amy instantly leaned back over and squeezed her husband’s shoulder, excited. “Ooh, then you know what we should do? We should take a moon-lit stroll around the lake as soon as we get back.”

“In these clothes? They’d get filthy,” he said.

“Since when do you care about something like that?”

“Thought I’d try and earn some points.”

“Nice try. We can stop by the cabin first and change.”

Patrick put a hand over his mouth and gasped. “You mean…get naked?”

Amy shook her head. “My poor horny husband—so desperately guided by his rampant hormones.”

“I know all about hormones, you know,” he said.

“Stop.”

“I even know how they’re made.”

“Stop.”

“Do you know how to make a hormone, honey?”

She took her hand off his shoulder and sat back in her seat. “You’ve told me this one a million times.”

“You refuse to pay her.” Patrick grinned at his wife like a schoolboy, always pleased with himself after delivering one of the classics.

Amy turned away, but smirked out her passenger window. She loved every inch of him.