He held my hand as we stared ahead at the golden sun as it fell from the sky. It was a beautiful mixture of orange and pink drawn out before us. We were parked on a hill, overlooking the lake. The picture we painted together was perfect. It was just that ... too perfect. Looking back, I see that he planned it that way. His car was so sleek, alot like him. The red paint and brilliantly shining chrome were enough to catch anyone's eye. And they did. I suppose that's what first turned me on to him. That and the way his blonde hair blew about, ever so slightly, when he drove around with the top down. When I looked at him then, in that same car, with that same boyishly rumpled hair, my mind flooded with desire and rage. In one single motion it stung me. This had been his idea. He had brought me here. I wondered if he really knew what he had started. The sun had fallen out of sight by then, and blackness was beginning to devour the exquisite pinkish-orange sky. We talked about life ...and love ...and evening walks along the beach in winter. Finally, I asked him ..."so ...is that her?" I pointed to the picture on the dash. "Yeah," he said, as he stared ahead. He even may have blushed. It wasn't as if I hadn't known, but still, I felt a chill as I heard his answer, and my mind, of course, wondered why, if he loved her, he was with me. My thought fell away at the feel of his touch on my neck. I shivered, as cold as the surrounding autumn night . . . then he kissed me. I pushed her image far away. Far out of my spinning head, and then, I kissed him back. I ran my fingers through that perfectly blonde hair, and nothing else mattered. He was mine. At least for now. n