"It's a surprise," I grin. "But it's only twenty minutes outside of town so you won't have to wait long."
As I pull onto the main road that leads out of town, Huntley turns the radio on. Jake Owen's 'Barefoot Blue Jean Night' streams through the trucks' speakers and she starts singing along, mimicking a thick Southern drawl the louder she sings. I stay quiet but I'm completely aware of her, of everything she does, of every movement she makes. Her voice is melodic and it's like I'm hearing it for the first time, reminding me of the night at the bonfire all those weeks ago.
It's not long and I turn down a dirt road, leading to an open field. There are almost no trees and the grass is still green even though we're fast approaching the end of our summer season. I cut the engine and look over at Huntley. She's looking around but not saying a word, that curiosity from earlier back on her face and in her eyes.
"Wait here," I tell her. I need a few minutes to get everything ready.
"Ok." She smiles and suddenly it feels like I now have an entire cave of bats flapping and flailing wildly in my belly.
I hop out and walk around to the back. I open the tailgate and fix the mattress that I laid down on the flatbed of my truck. I throw some blankets over it, making sure it won't be too uncomfortable to sit on. I step around to the passenger side and open the door. Huntley looks at me for a moment and without thinking twice about it, I grab her waist and lower her down to the ground. I don't miss the way her breath hitches or how her cheeks redden involuntarily.
I do an internal fist pump. She's as affected by me as I am by her. And she's nervous. Just like I am.
"You're not going to kill me now are you?" she asks. The look on her face tells me she's not joking.
I throw my head back and laugh harder than I have in a while. It feels good.
What she said was so unexpected and caught me completely off guard.
"No," I reply, breathing heavy after laughing so hard. I help her get onto the flatbed of my truck and grab the picnic basket I spent most of the afternoon preparing. We didn't have a game on Friday night so Coach Morgan let us out of practice early.
"What's in here?" Huntley positions herself on the mattress with her legs tucked underneath her. She's leaning over the basket, trying to see what's inside.
"Only the best home-made, beef burgers in town." And they really are. I made them myself using my grandmothers’ secret recipe. Not many people knew but I had a natural talent for cooking. When I moved out of the house after graduating high school, Brody and I lived on take-out until it became too much. That's when I decided to learn how to cook. Thanks to a family cookbook passed down from generation to generation, I was able to teach myself. Turns out I'm actually pretty damn good.
Her eyebrows rise and she looks at me, surprised. "You made our food?"
"Yes, well, I made the patties and the sauce. The rest is just slicin' and dicin'."
"I'm impressed."
I unwrap a burger and put it on a plate. She takes it from me, looks it over and murmurs, "It smells so good." Her tongue darts out and licks her lips. For the first time in my entire life, I wish I was that damn burger. I immediately start picturing her lips on me, licking and sucking like she wants to eat me. I shift uncomfortably, trying to accommodate a growing problem down south. Fuck, I have to try and control myself around this girl. The emphasis being on the word try.
I take out a pitcher of sweet tea and pour her a glass as a way of not looking at her. I grab a beer for myself, settle next to her and unwrap my own burger. She starts making little moans of pleasure with each bite and it's driving me crazy. I hold my burger in mid -air, ready to take a bite, but when another moan escapes her mouth I'm completely transfixed. Goddammit, those sounds.
She looks at me and blushes when she realizes I've heard her making noises while eating my food. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry. I couldn't help myself. You gave me an orgasm."
My eyebrows shoot up. It’s a good thing I don’t have any food in mouth because I would’ve choked.
"I mean your food gave me an orgasm."
Does this girl not even realize what she's saying?
I want to laugh but the innocence with which she says it stops me. It's like she really didn't mean to say it, like she couldn't help herself.
"I'm glad my food gives you an orgasm," I tease. I want to tell her I want to be the one to give her those but I don't. Instead I smirk and then take a bite of my own food. The problem is I can't focus on the taste. I'm too busy replaying the sounds that came out of her mouth.
She smiles shyly and looks away.
"Have you had enough?" I ask, desperate to extinguish any awkwardness she may be feeling. I don't want her to ever be uncomfortable around me.