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Goddess
Our goal is to get in and out of Target in under an hour. Huxley told me I’d get a few Rosalita shirts similar to the one his mother wore last night for a uniform, so I didn’t go crazy with clothes. I bought a few pairs of black slacks for uniform pants, bras and panties, of course, a few sundresses, and the rest were essentials like feminine products and toiletries. Huxley originally wandered off to sift through the music. Nobody really buys CDs anymore, but that’s what he has upgraded to in his old pickup truck. Apparently, he’s already found what he’s looking for because he’s standing at the front of the store. He heads toward me when he spots me, but I don’t want him looking at the personal things I grabbed. I’m sure he’s coming to put it on the company card, but I wave him off. He’s still approaching. He stops when he reaches me.
“Huxley, I don’t want you to look at what I bought.”
He turns his back, immediately catching on.
“I’ve seen plenty of undergarments before, doll. Usually on the floor, but still ... ”
I can’t believe he just said that out loud. I can feel the heat creep up my neck. The cashier just chuckles. “I bet you have,” she mumbles under her breath. I admit she’s cute. Busty blonde with a uniform a size too small—yep, just like Arlo’s type. Any man’s type, really.
A stab of jealousy hits me from nowhere. I need to get a grip. I’m sure a guy who looks like Huxley has women lined up for him. He’s not mine, so why should I care. The cashier takes her sweet-ass time ringing me up and bagging my stuff. I don’t even have a lot, so I know it’s a ploy to extend the glances she keeps sneaking at Huxley. Some people have no shame. What if he was my boyfriend? Ugh. Refusing to let him look at my unmentionables and feminine products is probably a dead giveaway that he’s not. I’m sure she thinks we’re related, but still.
I blow out a frustrated breath, and she finally takes the hint to move a little quicker. “That’ll be two hundred and eighteen dollars,” she says after she bags my last item.
On cue, Huxley turns around with the credit card already in hand. She’s all smiles and over the top with flaunting her assets. I would argue to pay, but I know that’s not happening. I snatch the bags and focus on looping my arm through them. I don’t want to watch him soak up the attention from that thirsty chick. As soon as I have them all, I start to the truck.
“Wait up.” I hear Huxley coming up quick behind me. “Let me carry some of those.”
“I got it,” I snap.
“Whoa. Why the attitude?”
I know he doesn’t deserve that. I don’t know what the hell has come over me. I have no right.
“Sorry. It’s not you, okay? Girls like that just get under my skin.”
“Girls like what?” he asks, trying to contain his stupid grin.
“Bimbos,” I huff.
“Why? I thought she was really nice. She does her job quite enthusiastically, I might add.”
He’s just fucking with me now. “Can we change the subject, please?” I walk a little faster, not letting him take any of the bags. He doesn’t say anything else about her. He unlocks the door for me, and I throw all the bags inside. Don’t want them to get blown away in the bed of the pickup. He closes the door after I’m in. We drive a few miles before he attempts to make conversation with me again.
“You like country music?”
“Some.” He slides the CD he just bought into the player. Moments later, Luke Bryan’s “Country Girl” starts filtering through the truck. He taps the steering wheel in time with the music as he sings along, and my frustration starts to dissipate. He is too damn cute for his own good. He looks over at me and winks. He actually has a really nice voice.
“Sing along if you know it,” he yells. I sing with him in an octave lower while he belts out the lyrics. Eat your heart out, Target girl.
We drive down a gravel path until we get to a clearing with a lake. He maneuvers the truck until the bed faces the lake and the front of the vehicle faces the way we just came. He kills the engine but turns the ignition so the CD continues to play. He then hops out and is around to my side before I can get out all the way. I’m not used to this chivalry stuff.
“Well, this is your surprise, my little hitchhiker.” I look around, confused. The lake? Are we getting in because I didn’t buy a suit. “C’mon,” he says, pulling me to the back of the truck.
He pulls the tailgate down with one hand before letting my hand go. It’s only now that I see the bags he threw back there. He jumps up on the bed and takes out some blankets and pillows. My heart speeds up. What is he doing?
“Don’t worry. It’s just a picnic,” he assures, reading my mind.
“Oh, I figured,” I lie. I climb onto the bed and help him take the food out of the bag. The little casserole dishes still have condensation from the heat. The insulation bags do a good job of keeping things warm, but there’s no way we’ve been riding with this stuff since we left this morning. The hair salon alone took most of the day. He must have grabbed the food right before he picked me up.
“I thought I’d share one of my favorites with you, chicken piccata.” I watch as he spoons it onto actual plates. When he pulls the wineglasses out of the bag wrapped in newspaper, I can’t help but giggle.
“Paper plates and cups probably would have traveled better,” I point out.
“Ah, but not as classy. Besides, plastic doesn’t go with our setup here,” he says, pointing at the daybed he’s created for us.
If I was reading into things, I’d say this looks suspiciously close to a date, but I keep that to myself. I don’t want to spoil whatever this is. It’s nice. Arlo would have never done anything like this for me.
