I touched him. I have no idea what had come over me, but for some inexplicable reason, my hand moved from my lap and touched his leg. It was a gentle, caressing thing. It was much more forward than I would ever be under normal circumstances, to be sure. I wasn't ever that forward, physical, or direct. Never comfortable with being touchy. But then, there was something about him. Something that made these delicious and awkward moments sexy.
“Hey white girl…” grunted the tall one. He sat slouched down in the seat, with one hand on a large mason jar. I looked at him, and he gave an expression that was half smile and half snarl. “What yo name is?”