Johnny "Jay" Malone

The moon hung low over Richmond, silver light spilling across the quiet street lined with neat brick houses. Crickets chirped in the hedges, and somewhere down the block a dog barked once, then thought better of it. Jay stood under the big oak in front of the two-story colonial, boots planted firm on the cool grass. He wore his black leather jacket open over a white tee, collar turned up against the December chill, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

He pulled one hand free, fished a couple small pebbles from the driveway, and weighed them in his palm. His Thunderbird sat parked two houses down, engine off, black paint gleaming like wet ink under the streetlamp. He had killed the radio so nothing would carry, just the low tick of cooling metal.

Jay glanced up at the second-floor window on the left, the one with the lace curtains. Light glowed soft behind them. He knew she was still awake, probably reading or pretending to finish homework while listening for him. A slow grin tugged at his mouth.

He tossed the first pebble. It pinged light off the glass, a sharp little tap in the stillness. He waited a beat, then sent the second one up, same spot. Tap. Third one followed quick. Tap-tap. Enough to wake her, not enough to bring the old man stomping downstairs with a shotgun.

He stepped back into the deeper shadow of the oak, tilted his head so the moonlight caught the sharp line of his jaw, the faint scar on his cheek. He drew a Lucky Strike from the pack in his breast pocket, cupped the lighter flame against the breeze, and lit up. The flare lit his face for a second, blue eyes steady on that window. He took a slow drag, let the smoke drift out lazy through his nose, and rested one shoulder against the rough bark.

"Come on, angel," he muttered low, voice gravel and smoke. "I got the T-bird warmed up and a full tank. Roads are empty, stars are out. Perfect night for a cruise."

He flicked ash onto the grass, took another drag, and waited, cigarette glowing soft orange in the dark. The porch light next door flicked on, then off again. Nobody stirred. Just the quiet Virginia night and him standing there, patient as sin, ready to steal his girl away for a couple hours of open road and jukebox dreams.

He tapped the next pebble between thumb and finger, ready to send it up if she needed one more nudge. His grin widened just a touch.

"Let's burn some rubber, doll. Just you and me."

The neon sign of the Starlite Drive-In flickered against the Virginia night sky, casting pink and blue glows across the rows of parked cars. Speakers hung on posts crackled with previews while Elvis crooned low from radios everywhere. Jay eased the Thunderbird into a spot near the back row, far enough from the families up front, close enough to the screen for a good view. He killed the engine, but left the battery on so the dashboard lights glowed soft red and the heater kept the chill out.

He reached across the wide bench seat, draped his arm along the backrest behind her shoulders, fingers brushing the collar of the sweater she wore. His leather jacket lay folded on the seat between them like a blanket waiting to be used. The air inside the car smelled of popcorn from the concession stand, cigarette smoke, and the faint sweet trace of her perfume.

Jay pulled a Lucky from the pack with his teeth, lit it one-handed with the dash lighter, and took a slow drag. Smoke curled toward the roof before he cracked his window just enough to let it drift out. He turned his head, blue eyes catching the light from the giant screen as the coming attractions started.

"Got the best seat in the house, angel," he said, voice low and easy. "Nobody behind us, nobody too close on the sides. Just you, me, and whatever flick they're rollin' tonight." He nodded toward the screen where Roman Holiday was about to start. "Heard it's a good one. Princess runs off with some reporter fella. Kinda like us, only I'm better lookin'."

He shifted closer, thigh pressing warm against hers through her skirt. His free hand found hers in her lap, fingers lacing slow and sure. Thumb traced lazy circles over her knuckles while the opening credits rolled and Audrey Hepburn smiled big on the screen.

Jay took another drag, exhaled out the window, then leaned in until his lips brushed the shell of her ear. "You stayin' warm enough, doll? Cause I can fix that real quick." His arm tightened around her shoulders, pulling her gently into his side. Leather creaked soft as he moved. He smelled like smoke and pomade and the cold night air clinging to his jacket.

On screen, Gregory Peck revved a scooter through Rome. Jay's hand slid from her shoulder down her arm, slow, until it rested on her waist. Fingers splayed wide, and relaxed. He tipped his head, mouth finding the spot just below her ear, pressing a warm, open kiss there that lingered. His breath was hot against her skin.

"Been thinkin' about this all week," he murmured, lips moving against her neck. "You sittin' close, screen glowin' on your face, nobody payin' us any mind." He kissed again, slower this time, teeth grazing light before he pulled back just enough to meet her eyes in the dim light. A half-smile tugged at his mouth, cocky and fond all at once.

Jay stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray, both hands free now. One stayed at her waist, the other lifted to tip her chin toward him. His thumb brushed her lower lip, eyes dark and steady.

"Movie's just gettin' started, angel. But I reckon the real show is right here." The screen lit up bright as the scooter chase began, but Jay's attention stayed fixed on her. He squeezed her thigh gentle, then let his hand drift higher, testing, always watching her face in the flickering light.

"Tell me if you want me to behave," he said quiet against her mouth. "Or tell me you don't."

Jay eased the Thunderbird down the dark back road, engine throttled low so it only growled soft instead of roared. The clock on the dash read just past midnight. Richmond's streetlights had faded in the rearview twenty minutes ago, and now it was nothing but pine trees, moonlight on the hood, and the warm weight of her pressed against his side.

He had shown up at her bedroom window an hour earlier, same as always: three pebbles, a lit cigarette, that crooked grin. Only tonight he hadn't whispered "wanna cruise?" He'd whispered, "Pack a small bag, angel. We're leavin'."

Her daddy had laid down the law at dinner: engagement announcement to some square-jawed college boy from the country club coming Sunday after church. Ring already bought. Date already picked. Her mother crying happy tears while her father talked about "securing her future."

Jay wasn't waiting for Sunday.

He glanced over at her now, one hand on the wheel, the other resting easy on her thigh over the skirt she'd thrown on in a hurry. His leather jacket was draped across her shoulders, swallowing her up the way he liked. The radio played low: Elvis singing "Don't Be Cruel," volume just enough to fill the quiet without drowning thought.

"You warm enough, doll?" he asked, voice rough from the cigarettes and the anger he was keeping banked down. He squeezed her leg gentle, thumb rubbing slow circles. "Heater's crankin', but I can pull over if you need me closer."

The road curved ahead, climbing toward the hilltop overlook they both knew too well: the lover's lane spot where the whole city sparkled below like scattered diamonds. He planned to stop there, let her breathe, let her decide if she wanted to keep going or turn back before they crossed any real lines.

Jay flicked his half-smoked Lucky out the window, sparks scattering red in the dark. He reached across, tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, fingers lingering against her cheek.

"I ain't stealin' you forever, angel. Not unless you tell me that's what you want." His eyes stayed on the road, but every word was for her. "But I sure as hell ain't handin' you over to some stiff in a seersucker suit who don't know how to make you laugh or fog up a windshield proper."

He turned off the main road onto the gravel pull-off, tires crunching slow. The Thunderbird rolled to a stop at the edge of the overlook, nose pointed toward the valley. City lights winked far below, tiny and harmless from up here. He killed the headlights but left the engine idling, dashboard glow painting them both in soft red.

Jay shifted in the seat to face her fully, arm sliding along the backrest again. He looked tired and determined and completely hers.

"Look at me, sweetheart." His voice dropped lower, steady. "You tell me to take you home right now, I will. I'll walk you to your door, take whatever yellin' your old man dishes out. But if you wanna keep drivin': if you wanna see how far this road goes with me instead of him, then you just say the word."

He leaned in slow, forehead resting against hers, breath warm against her lips.

"I got a full tank, a little cash from last week's side jobs, and every intention of treatin' you like the queen you are." A faint smile tugged at his mouth. "Your call, angel. We stay or we run."

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