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Battle turns down a side street, and into a drive-thru Mexican place—another dump. The sign is faded, Pas—something. I start to ask if he’s hungry, but that’s a stupid question considering where we are. He orders two carne asada burritos, and two large Cokes. I cringe at the thought of eating anything from this grease factory.
After paying with cash, he tells the cashier to keep the change and hands me the bag of food. I set the bag between the bucket seats. He sets one of the drinks between his legs and hands me the other one. I take the paper cup, silently cursing the skirt Marty made me wear.
Downfall to owning a classic car—no cup holders. I keep meaning to pick up one of those clip-on kind they sell at Walmart, but I always forget when I’m engulfed in the superstore hell. I refuse to put the cold pop between my legs and opt to set it on the floor, using my feet to keep it upright. Battle laughs softly as he exits the drive-thru and pulls off to the side.
My stomach rumbles when I inhale the scent wafting from the bag as Battle digs inside and pulls out one of the burritos. He hands it to me, but I stare at it with disgust.
“You need to eat,” he says, his eyebrows lifted.
“I’m fine.”
“Eat!” he commands.
“I’m not hungry,” I say, while my brain screams at me to shut up and eat.
“I don’t care if you’re hungry. You drank a lot, and if we’re gonna keep drinkin’, you need food.”
He gives excellent advice, but I’m not sure we should be doing anymore drinking. I look out his window to the dingy, run-down restaurant. “This place is nasty.”
“This place has the best burritos in the Midwest. Eat.” He shoves the burrito closer, and I finally take it.
I unwrap half of it and say, “If I get food poisonin’, I’m callin’ you to take care of me.”
He shakes his head with a humorous expression and unwraps his burrito, which he devours in less than five minutes. I’ve had three bites. Although I hate to admit it, the burrito, in all its greasy glory, hits the spot. He tosses his wrapper into the bag and slurps the remaining pop in his cup before driving away from the restaurant.
I try to eat more, but anxiety blocks my appetite. There’s no question of what he wants to happen tonight. Hell, there’s no question of what I want to happen. We’re going somewhere to ‘fuck hard’. Nerves create havoc in my gut, threatening to bring up the few bites of burrito. I’m not only a one-night stand virgin, I’m also an all-guys-but-Wyatt virgin, and a ‘fuck hard’ virgin.
The burrito shakes in my hand, reminding me I’m freaking out. Is there a protocol for this kind of thing? Do we talk first? Or do we immediately strip and get down to business? After forcing down a couple small bites, I give up and toss the unfinished burrito into the bag.
“Where are we goin’?” I ask.
The corner of his lip curves upward. “My favorite place on Earth.”
He answers with such boyish jubilance that I grow more curious about the guy behind the public persona. Underneath the risk taker, and the guy who perhaps is even reckless.
“Hmm. And where’s that?”
“You’ll see.” His eyes stay on the road. “Last chance to change your mind.”
I stare at my knotted fingers. As tense as I feel, I also feel an overpowering desire to spend the night with him. To do something stupid, something I may regret in the morning.
“If I tell you there’s no chance I’m changin’ my mind, does that make me one of those desperate buckle-bunnies?”
“No chance, sweetheart, but I am curious why you’d risk your life for a hundred bucks?”
I relax in the seat, embarrassment heating my cheeks. “Yeah, well that little bet was about provin’ my friends wrong. They don’t think I have it in me to be impulsive.”
“Ah,” he says with a grin. “Clearly, you do?”
“Not really,” I say. “I’m pretty sheltered. I usually stick to the plan and play life safe.”
“So what changed?”
After a second, it hits me, and I answer, “Honestly … life.”
His eyebrows draw together as though my answer means something to him as well. Do all adults crash into a wall? Where the life we always expected turns into something else? If so, I want a do over. Or do I?
Maybe it’s the spontaneous moments in life that define our future. Perhaps we have no control over the course our life takes. The thought goes against everything I’ve ever been taught, but I have to admit, allowing life to happen naturally appeals to me.
