“Keeps me focused on my goal,” he said. “Keeps me focused on you.” “We almost shit our pants up there,” I said, my voice a bit breathy from his intensity. “Care to do it again?” he asked, studying the wheel and then staring daringly down at me. He held his hand out to me when I stayed quiet with indecision, because things were less scary when holding hands, even if that thing was revisiting the era when my feelings for him began to unknowingly take shape. “Shitting my pants has never sounded so good,” I said, closing my hand around his.
