hear the passenger side door creak open and look over to see her, red-faced like a ripe tomato, sliding onto the bench seat beside me.
“Buckle up,” I tell her. “We’ve got a long ride.”
I step on the gas.
* * *
F or the first half-hour we sit pretty much in silence. She asks me to turn the air conditioner up once, but that’s about it. Neither of us wants to be the one to start a real conversation, and I figure the more suspense I put her through the better.
I don’t know why I’m doing this. What I’m about to show her is nothing I’ve shared with anyone. When it comes to my personal life, I’m pretty guarded. I don’t just let anybody in. Most people look at me and think I’ve had it easy my whole life. They see my performance on the field, the life I lead off the field, and they just assume.
But nothing could be further from the truth.
And this girl’s going to get the scoop. I don’t even know why I’m doing this. Is it out of spite? I’m probably overreacting, but that article really got to me. I’m used to bullshit rumors going around about me, but to see it in print, especially from her…that was something new.
But why shouldn’t she write something like that? She doesn’t owe me anything. It’s not like we’re dating. It’s not like we even slept together.
I look over and see Emmy sitting straight up, stiff as a board. She’s uncomfortable. Most people would be lounging by now, leaning on the window, looking outside, but she’s sitting at attention like a marine or something.
Fuck, she’s cute . What is this girl’s story?
“So, what’s your deal?” I ask loudly, causing her to jump. “You got a boyfriend?”
Brushing her hair from her face, she finally turns to look at me. “Yes, I do actually. His name’s Ronald. He’s pre-law.”
“Fancy,” I reply sarcastically. Of course she’d be dating some bookworm dickhead. “Does he appreciate you?”
“Yes!” She replies, sounding totally offended.
“That’s a no,” I laugh. She doesn’t reply. “What’s the matter? He spend too much time on the books and not enough on your pussy?”
That was probably too much, but it got the reaction I was looking for. She gasps and turns to me like she wants to hit me. “What, are you gonna tell me I just need a good dicking?”
“Hey, you said it. Not me.”
“Actually, for your information, I’m the busy one.”
“Yeah, spending all your time on me,” I reply, looking right into her eyes. “What’s he think of that?”
It takes her a second to respond. I can practically see her mulling over the best response in her mind. She’s cute when she’s mad . Make-up sex with her would be phenomenal.
“Where are you taking me?” She finally replies, changing the topic to avoid a difficult question.
“You think you know me,” I tell her. “You’ve heard all about me on campus, maybe you’ve seen me play. But what do you really know?”
“I know enough—“
“Enough?!” I laugh. “That’s some reporter you are there, Emmy. You know enough about me to write a hit piece that belongs in a gossip column. Oh, you’ve got a bright future ahead of you as a journalist.”
All she can do is scowl at me. She knows she took the easy route with that article, and she has nothing to say to defend herself. Eventually, she turns away from me and back to the road.
“Fine,” she says. “But this better be good.”
We sit in silence for another twenty minutes. I can smell her and her scent is intoxicating. My eyes keep being drawn back to her stomach, just poking out beneath the t-shirt. So cute. Her pants are riding pretty low and I can see her hip. I can just imagine what it would feel like in my hands, pulling her back and forth as I slide in and out of her. I’d fuck that scowl right off her face.
The country is nothing but flat out here. Trees and the occasional herd of cows are the only thing breaking up the never-ending landscape. No one comes out this
“Buckle up,” I tell her. “We’ve got a long ride.”
I step on the gas.
* * *
F or the first half-hour we sit pretty much in silence. She asks me to turn the air conditioner up once, but that’s about it. Neither of us wants to be the one to start a real conversation, and I figure the more suspense I put her through the better.
I don’t know why I’m doing this. What I’m about to show her is nothing I’ve shared with anyone. When it comes to my personal life, I’m pretty guarded. I don’t just let anybody in. Most people look at me and think I’ve had it easy my whole life. They see my performance on the field, the life I lead off the field, and they just assume.
But nothing could be further from the truth.
And this girl’s going to get the scoop. I don’t even know why I’m doing this. Is it out of spite? I’m probably overreacting, but that article really got to me. I’m used to bullshit rumors going around about me, but to see it in print, especially from her…that was something new.
But why shouldn’t she write something like that? She doesn’t owe me anything. It’s not like we’re dating. It’s not like we even slept together.
I look over and see Emmy sitting straight up, stiff as a board. She’s uncomfortable. Most people would be lounging by now, leaning on the window, looking outside, but she’s sitting at attention like a marine or something.
Fuck, she’s cute . What is this girl’s story?
“So, what’s your deal?” I ask loudly, causing her to jump. “You got a boyfriend?”
Brushing her hair from her face, she finally turns to look at me. “Yes, I do actually. His name’s Ronald. He’s pre-law.”
“Fancy,” I reply sarcastically. Of course she’d be dating some bookworm dickhead. “Does he appreciate you?”
“Yes!” She replies, sounding totally offended.
“That’s a no,” I laugh. She doesn’t reply. “What’s the matter? He spend too much time on the books and not enough on your pussy?”
That was probably too much, but it got the reaction I was looking for. She gasps and turns to me like she wants to hit me. “What, are you gonna tell me I just need a good dicking?”
“Hey, you said it. Not me.”
“Actually, for your information, I’m the busy one.”
“Yeah, spending all your time on me,” I reply, looking right into her eyes. “What’s he think of that?”
It takes her a second to respond. I can practically see her mulling over the best response in her mind. She’s cute when she’s mad . Make-up sex with her would be phenomenal.
“Where are you taking me?” She finally replies, changing the topic to avoid a difficult question.
“You think you know me,” I tell her. “You’ve heard all about me on campus, maybe you’ve seen me play. But what do you really know?”
“I know enough—“
“Enough?!” I laugh. “That’s some reporter you are there, Emmy. You know enough about me to write a hit piece that belongs in a gossip column. Oh, you’ve got a bright future ahead of you as a journalist.”
All she can do is scowl at me. She knows she took the easy route with that article, and she has nothing to say to defend herself. Eventually, she turns away from me and back to the road.
“Fine,” she says. “But this better be good.”
We sit in silence for another twenty minutes. I can smell her and her scent is intoxicating. My eyes keep being drawn back to her stomach, just poking out beneath the t-shirt. So cute. Her pants are riding pretty low and I can see her hip. I can just imagine what it would feel like in my hands, pulling her back and forth as I slide in and out of her. I’d fuck that scowl right off her face.
The country is nothing but flat out here. Trees and the occasional herd of cows are the only thing breaking up the never-ending landscape. No one comes out this
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