𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐄

𝐒𝐈𝐗

6. | YOU CAN'T TURN ME AWAY

❝You better believe in your
heart I'll always want to stay.❞

●

MIAMI, FLORIDA
JULY 1982.

An empty concrete sprawl lay ahead of them.

They took the blissful path: a turn here, a turn there, a drive through a neon-lit underpass and a right down a road that eventually swung left onto a long, sparse straightaway. They were so far outside the city limits that Miami was nothing but dappled colors across the landscape. Diana drove the car onto the side of the road and pulled the key from the ignition.

For several minutes, they sat there. It was like a movie, two lone out-of-towners straddling a desolate road, waning away the minutes and basking in the moon as it began its slow crawl below the horizon. Five, ten, then twenty minutes passed. When no cars came, Diana inhaled and unwound the knot underneath her chin.

Back at the condo, they had made quick work of lowering the top, undoing each clamp one by one as another summer rain streaked outdoors.

With nothing between him and the sky, Michael unfastened his seatbelt and climbed into the backseat.

"You first," he said.

Diana pulled down her scarf. "Sounds good to me."

She placed it between the seats along with her sunglasses, the second addition to her disguise. She had taken those off midway down the road, tired of the extra layer of darkness.

Click. He was all strapped in. She lifted the keys, and within seconds, the car was roaring to life. She eased it onto the road, put it back in park, and revved the engine. Michael was all tousled hair and puffy, heavy-lidded eyes, but he was grinning, gripping the seatbelt, ready as ready could be.

Her hand went between the seats.

One, two, three, four—

She jerked the gearshift. Living up to its name, the Pontiac Firebird took off, whizzing along the straightaway faster than the speed of light. Lower and lower her foot went, pressing the pedal until their hysterical screams were drowned out by the scorching air around them. With her hair good and whipped, she eased her foot off the pedal, coasting before switching over to the break. She put the car in park, laughing uncontrollably as she watched Michael attempt to reign in his wind-wild hair.

"A haircut would do you some good," Diana said.

He shaped it into an unruly coif. "I'm growin' it out for the album remember?" He stood, climbing out of the car in a messy vault. "My turn."

They traded places. Michael fiddled with the switches, adjusted the rearview, and lowered the seat's incline. Their eyes met in the mirror as the car began to rumble underneath them.

"Need any pointers?"

"I know how to drive," he said, smoothing his hands around the steering wheel.

"Oh, this is one debate you don't want to have with me."

He gave her a look. "I can do a three-count if you're scared."

"Give me six since you wanna give me lip," she replied, knowing he was itching to take off.

"I can do six."

"Okay," she said, strapping herself in. "On one."

"Six," Michael counted.