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front of me, and my back tires keep slipping.”
    “Maybe we should pull over and see if it lets up a little,” I suggested.
    “No, I’ll be fine. We’re not far from home anyway. I’ll just take it slow.”  
    I rolled my eyes, having known even as I suggested it that he wouldn’t pull over and wait. We rounded a curve and Kyle let out a curse as the back tires fishtailed. I peered through the snow ahead of us and saw the reason for Kyle’s panic: a huge doe standing in the middle of the road, eyes gleaming blue-green-silver in the headlights, stock still and frozen and getting larger by the second. He cursed again and downshifted, trying to get the car under control, but the Camaro only fishtailed worse before twisting into a flat spin.  
    “Move, goddamn it, you stupid deer!” Kyle shouted as we span closer to the animal.
    Kyle knew how to drive in the snow, however, and he pumped the brakes, turned into the spin and touched the gas. The Camaro went through a third complete three-sixty, but it was slowing on the dirt, gravel and snow mixture.   The front quarter of the car thudded into the deer, and the car shook violently on the impact. I screamed and braced my hands on the dashboard, but was unable to look away as the deer was knocked backwards, stumbling and falling to its side in the snow. Kyle was able to get the car to a stop, the lights bathing the motionless deer in the middle of the road, snow like a curtain of white all around us. We were both panting, Kyle’s hands clenching the wheel in a white-knuckle grip.  
    I sucked in a deep breath and let it out, glancing at Kyle. He met my eyes, and we both cracked up in semi-hysterical laughter. I lunged over the gearshifter and wrapped my arms around his neck, trembling now that it was over and the rush of adrenaline hit me. The seatbelt was cutting into my chest, so I clicked it free and held tighter to Kyle. He shoved the shifter into park and then pulled me closer. I clumsily clambered across the console so I was straddling him, clinging to his neck. He took my face in his hands and pulled me into a deep, heated kiss.  
    I lost myself in him, then, gave myself over completely. Adrenaline was coursing through me, powering me with lightning-hot energy. I clenched my fists in the hair at the back of his head, then clawed my hands across his shoulders. My fingers caught the neck of his shirt and my palm slipped under the cotton to stutter over bare flesh. I gasped at the heat of his skin, at the electricity zinging through my body at the feel of his skin.
      And then he touched me. Oh god. His fingers curled under my coat and under my shirt and palmed the hot flesh of my back. I arched into his touch, felt his tongue dart out to taste mine, and I felt dizzy, subsumed, drowning wonderfully. I brought my hands around, feeling the ridges of his abs and the slabs of muscle on his chest. He mimicked my motion, sliding his hands around to trace my belly with his fingers, and then our kiss broke, leaving our lips touching, eyes open and sparking intensity between us. I held my breath as he brought his palms upward, bit my lip and drew a deeper breath as his hands cupped the lace of my bra.  
    I felt my nipples harden under his touch, even through the bra, not looking away from him, giving him tacit permission to keep touching me. I shifted backward so my weight was on his knees and my back against the steering wheel. He hesitated with his hands cupping both breasts, and I could see him thinking, wanting to push the moment. He wanted to touch bare skin. I wanted to let him. I liked his hands on my flesh, liked the lightning thrill of his hands on my skin.  
    I reached up and under my shirt, brushed the strap of my bra off one shoulder, then the other. Kyle curled his fingers under the edge of the cup, tugged it down and lifted my breast free. My shirt was still hanging between us, my coat unzipped and dangling open. The heater was still blasting, overheating