Saviors 101

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

a week until Armageddon, a couple minutes later

A light knock on the planetarium door and Samuel Williams slipped into the room. Dana admired his frame as it was outlined in the doorway. He was handsome in a way that didn’t draw the girls like magnets, at least not the ones who only saw his body. It was a nice body, but too lean for most women focused on broad shoulders and tight butts.

It was his energy lines. Clean. Strong. The bright pulsing that most boys displayed around their second chakra in her presence, or actually in any female’s presence, wasn’t counterbalanced by the common dark area around the heart chakra. It wasn’t that most boys were mean, it was just they’d never been taught to use their heart.

Sam had. His heart lines were bright and clear. Well, as clear as she’d ever seen in a twenty-one-year old male with lust on his mind.

He took in the arrangements with a slow smile that made her heart rate increase by a significant percentage. He hung out the “Show in Progress” sign, closed and locked the door. For a long moment he leaned against it, as if testing his welcome before coming over to stand across the blanket from her.

He wore faded jeans and a t-shirt. His read: “Cross-country runners do it mile after mile after mile.” A good sign for the night ahead. Maybe she should have left more condoms close to hand.

She’d given her virginity up in a fit of foolishness in her sophomore year, and been dumped a week later exactly as she should have expected. As a senior, one of the younger ones, but still a senior, she now had her pick of the boys, but hadn’t taken one to bed since.

Sam was made to order.

The wine directly from the bottle, in all her planning she’d forgotten cups, was drunk in tiny sips beneath the light of the setting sun as they sat on the bedding and tried to fill the first moments with words that neither of them were interested in. The loaf of bread was still untouched when he reached for her, one careful hand testing its permission to rest on her denim-clad knee.

When it stayed there, she reached down and slid it up along her thigh. Not far, but enough that he’d get the idea he had all the permission he could use. His shy smile slid into view again, really nice smile, as she traced up the length of his arm. The long, lean muscle of a runner. Not a short distance sprinter’s rippling sinews, nor the bunched biceps of a gym freak.

He was a cross-country runner. Understated but powerful. Trim but built for endurance.

She fully intended to test that theory.