Time to leave

You see several of the men eying Monica in her tight jeans and loose top and decide that it might be a good idea to get this pretty young blonde out of here before things turn sour. It is surprisingly easy to catch the bartender's eye for your check and brushing aside Monica's efforts to split the bill you drop two twenties on the table and guide her around the dance floor and out the door.

"Wow, what's the hurry Kyle?" Monica giggles happily as you straddle the victory and hold it steady as she climbs on behind you. It is probably nothing, but as a marine you've spent a lot of time in small local bars like this and you've learned to trust your instincts about when to leave. Without explanation, you start the bike and head out onto the small state road. The sun is just going down and you drive back at a moderate pace when you are passed by a bright yellow Miata going at least 90 mph heading the other way.

"That was Christina!" Monica shouts in your ear, "She had a new guy with her." You nod in response remembering that Christina is one of the young teachers at the Academy that Monica had mentioned as you chatted in the bar. You can't help but wonder if she always drives like a bat out of Hell or if she's just trying to make the new guy piss his pants. Monica pulls herself even tighter against your back you forget all about her friend as you cruise back into town and out the other side. Turning left onto Academy road at the old brick railroad station you drive smoothly back to the Pink Rose and through the wrought-iron gates and up the drive around the main building and up a gentle slope to a modern looking building that Monica points to.

"That's my room," she points to a small balcony that hangs about eight feet off the ground near the middle of the building, "Do you want to come in?"