I shoved in the clutch, pushed the shifter into first gear, and revved up the idle as we coasted out of the garage.
Cassie settled into her seat with ease, reaching forward to toggle the radio just as a streak of moonlight forced its way through the large front window.
Soft rock filled the silence, Bob Seger’s “Night Moves” deepening the already curved line of my lips.
Cassie looked from the road to me several times before sliding her way across the bench style seat and settling her entire body into the crook of my arm.
I didn’t waste time pulling her closer and keeping her there as I drove down the gravel line of my parents’ driveway and out onto the mostly deserted road.
I’d made this drive before. In this car, with a girl in exactly this position, but I’d never felt this at ease. Like no matter where the night led, it would be somewhere good.
Cassie hummed along to the music as I drove and listened, and before I knew it, it’d been a full ten minutes and we were pulling down the dark, muddy tracks that led to the lake deep in the woods.
“Is this what I think it is?” she asked, perking up and forcing my arm to fall from her shoulders.
“I don’t know. What do you think it is?”
“It’s either the place of teenage dreams, premature ejaculation, and first-time fondles, or the site of my death.”
I laughed. “Door number one, honey.”
“Holy shit. This place must be legendary for you. Do you store all the bras in your trunk? There’s a shrine, isn’t there?” she asked, rapid fire.
“I’ll have you know I’ve only been here with five women.” She raised an eyebrow, and I pretended to think it over. “Okay, six.” She rolled her eyes. I threw my hands in the air. “Fifteen, max.”
“Quit now while you’re not even remotely ahead.”
“Good idea,” I agreed as I pulled to a stop and dumped us into immediate silence with one turn of the key.
“Come on,” I called when she didn’t move or say anything. I pulled myself up and out of the car and watched as she did the same, gesturing for her to follow me to the trunk with the crook of a finger.
Mentally, she didn’t come willingly, but her body wouldn’t let her say no.
God, I loved the idea that I affected her that strongly.
“Is this where I have to volunteer my bra as tribute? Because I’ve got bad news.”
“I know. You’re not wearing one.” We both smiled. “And that’s not even remotely bad news.”
“Does this mean I have to donate something creepy to your collection? Like teeth?”
I barked a startled burst of laughter. “There’s no collection,” I told her. “Pinkie swear.”
“Oh, man,” she muttered as she linked her smallest finger with mine. Mine was double the size of hers. “Now I know you’re serious. Breaking out rule number nine.”
Rule number nine: No pinkie swears unless you mean it. Of course, I’m paraphrasing here.
She huffed adorably at the sight of my wink. I ignored the mock frost and popped open the trunk to find all the good stuff still there.
“A blanket?” she asked as I pulled it out and reached deeper into the dark opening. “And a CD player? Wow. Welcome back to the 90s.”
The corners of my eyes crinkled as I slammed the heavy metal trunk shut. “Come on.”
“Oh, I’m coming. Tell me you’ve got some 90s CDs in the car to play on that sucker.”
“Sorry to disappoint, but it’s the radio or silence.”
“Or you could serenade me?” she offered.
“I get it. How you’d think I’d have the voice of an angel, what with my obvious good looks and all-around above-average talent, but trust me, my voice isn’t performance worthy.”
“Are you actually admitting to being bad at something? Do you feel okay?” she teased.
“It took fifteen years and several video recordings for Kline, Frankie, and Wes to convince me that I was anything less than superior. I mean, it’s so unlike me.”
“You’re also not top-notch at being modest. Just saying.”
“Pshh,” I said as I spread the blanket on the ground close to the edge of the water. “Who needs modesty?”
“Um, most people. Public figures. Polite society.”
“Girls in cotillion?” I added with a skeptical eye. “Those rules are archaic. The only people who need to be modest are those who feel genetically inclined.”
“So, not me or you, I guess.”
“Exactly.”
“And what am I supposed to be?” she asked as I sat down on the blanket and leaned back onto my elbows. It was a completely different perspective to see her from below rather than towering above. I took advantage by surveying the line of her jaw and the curve of her creamy cheek to see which angle I liked better.
“That’s easy.” She put her hands on her hips and waited for my revolutionary answer. “You. All you’re supposed to be is you.”