The driver did not seem to notice; despite not wearing a jacket, she hadn’t thought to turn on the heater. Ever since his impulsive act of heroism, it seemed, all temperatures were perfectly comfortable for her.

He wasn’t about to complain. In a couple minutes, the car would be turning onto his street and pulling up next to his blessedly familiar townhouse and he could finally put these truly bizarre couple of days behind him. His head still recovering from the beating, he warded off car sickness by keeping his eyes glued to an old Twizzlers wrapper stuck to gum on the floor mat.

The agony he’d awoken to in Kara’s apartment — the agony that he’d been certain would finish him off — had settled into a dull ache that he felt… everywhere. Her attentive care, which had matched the tender care of a nurse with the forceful regiment of a drill sergeant, had done its job. Finally she had decided that he would survive outside his care and called his folks with the terrible news. They’d hopped in the car immediately after hanging up the phone. He’d need to get a deferment on his classes; there was no way he’d be able to finish the semester in his condition. While he’d relished the increased attention he’d gotten of late, he was relieved that he’d be able to go home and recuperate.

Finally, the scraping sound ceased, followed promptly by the engine’s uneven purr. A moment of silence. Then he heard the driver’s side door open and slam shut. A moment later, his support gave way beneath him as the passenger door parted for winter’s frigid bite.

A firm hand halted his fall toward the road, getting a solid grip on his blanket-covered shoulder. An arm wrapped around his waist, also blanket-covered, on the opposite side. His world rotated 90 degrees as he felt the seat pull away from him. For a moment the entirety of Derek’s weight bore down on the limb hooked under his arm pit, and then the world rotated back and his feet made gentle contact with the pavement. The arm maintained its support while his legs slowly took on burden of keeping him up right.

After giving his head yet another frustrating moment to clear, Derek surveyed his surroundings. Kara’s traffic cone orange 1988 Chevy Sprint Turbo was double-parked next to his lime green ’96 Dodge Stratus, still partially buried in the snow. The curtains in Jerry’s window parted for a round, pimply face that stared out at the new arrivals. A streak of black ice ran down the driveway.

And then there was Kara. Her long mane of silky dark hair put the models in those Pantene commercials to shame. The sleeves of her once loose fitting tee shirt parted in the slight dip where perfectly round shoulders that would forever preclude the need for pads met the gentle curve of her relaxed biceps. Breasts that seemed to defy gravity strained against the cotton fabric. The bottom hem of the shirt, meanwhile, hung a couple inches in front of her perfectly flat stomach. Alluring hips that had not been distinctive a week before were supported by rock hard thighs that were each as thick as his neck. Her legs each sloped down in a perfect “V” to ankles that he bet he could still encircle with his thumb and middle finger. That she was wearing cut-offs in below freezing weather no longer struck him as extraordinary.

His gaze slowly made its way up all five feet, seven inches of her before finally meeting her eyes with an expression that mixed wariness with gratitude. She followed him  to the front door with a grocery bag containing the few things he’d had with him. As he opened the door and began to step inside, another firm grip on his shoulder cemented him in place. Turning around, he looked down — just barely — into expectant gaze.

“What?” he choked out, with a voice that was finally beginning to regain a bit of its former character.

“That’s my comforter,” she reminded him.

“Oh, right.”

As he unwrapped himself, the cold tore into him with increasing gusto. He tried not to shiver, and failed. Now totally exposed, he handed over the blanket with trembling hands.

Kara lifted a handful of it to her nose, inhaled, and let out a contented sigh. “I love your smell,” she murmured more to herself than to him.

Grabbing the plastic bag from her, he was again about to turn around and head inside when she embraced him with a sudden fierceness, and again began to change.

After a moment she let go and walked over to the living room window. “There,” she exclaimed decisively after examining her reflection. “Just the right amount. Wouldn’t want to overdo it.”

Satisfied she stepped back onto the cracked concrete of the front walk and stared down at the purple-mottled and suddenly shorter figure now backed against the wall. “Thanks for everything, Derek. I hope you feel better real soon.”

It took him a moment to get his words together. “You’re-you’re welcome, Kara! Why don’t you come visit me back home some weekend?”

She laughed, a patronizing little laugh. “Oh, you <em>are</em> a silly boy! Didn’t you just hear me? I’ve gotten all I need from you know. This is good bye.”

And without another look, she turned around and covered the distance to her car in a light, effortless sprint. He watched her shitty subcompact scrape its way down the street, turn the corner and fade into oblivion before the cold forced him back inside.

Jerry was waiting, the writing on his black “There are only 10 types of people in the world: Those who understand binary, and those who don’t” tee shirt distorted by a chest that a week ago could have given Kara a run for her money. His face bore a complex mix of concern, horniness and awe.

“Are you alright, buddy?” he asked.

Before Derek could answer, he blurted out an urgent follow-up query.

“Who was that?”