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It was my eighteenth birthday party two years ago and only a few days before Hunter kissed me. Carter had shown up unexpectedly, not knowing it was my birthday. Apparently, that was something he did often. When he realized his faux pas, he left for ten minutes and returned with an envelope filled with five hundred dollars as a “birthday and apology for crashing your party” gift. So he didn’t seem like a bad guy–just one I didn’t know well.
We walked until I realized we were close to the taco stand. “Tacos sound awesome,” I said, my stomach rumbling at the thought.
“Tacos it is, then,” Hunter said, and we started toward the stand.
It was lit up with neon lights and had the menu painted on a bright yellow and orange surfboard. The handful of bright barstools for people dining in was full, and the line was long behind us.
“Damn,” I said. “I forgot how busy they get on Wednesdays. Let’s go somewhere else. We won’t even be able to hear ourselves think in here.”
“Not a chance,” Hunter said, looking at me like I had lost my mind. “We’re getting tacos.”
We stood in the line for at least twenty minutes. I felt more and more uncomfortable as several patrons overdid it on the discounted margaritas and started to get rowdy. When it was our turn, a guy my age took our orders. Hunter got two grilled chicken, one steak taco, and I got a barbecue pulled pork taco and a traditional beef.
“And a large bag of chips,” Hunter said, indulgently smiling at me.
He never ate the chips when we got food here, but I could destroy a bag of the freshly homemade tortilla chips on my own in about five minutes, and he knew it. I couldn’t even count the number of times we would arrive home with our tacos and an empty chip bag, and Hunter would teasingly ask me if they flew out the window.
“Here or to go?” the guy asked.
“To go,” Hunter replied.
I shot him a suspicious look but said nothing. We walked back to the truck, him holding our food in one hand and lacing his fingers into mine with the other. God, would I ever get over how thrilling and calming he could be all at once? Once we were in the truck, he reached into the bag and handed me the brown paper bag of chips.
“Bon appetit,” he said with a wide smile as he turned the ignition and pulled back into traffic.
I could barely resist once the smell of the chips reached my nose, and I shoved three in my mouth in rapid succession. But even the incredible flavor of one of my favorite foods did nothing to distract me when he slipped his hand back onto my thigh, even higher than before. I could feel my pulse hot and quick between my legs, right in the spot he’d put his mouth on earlier.
“So, uh,” I said, clearing my throat, hoping to keep myself at least somewhat sane, “where are we going?”
He didn’t reply. There was something so frustrating about that, and at least half of the reason was that it was so sexy and mysterious that I didn’t know how to handle myself.
We drove along the beach until the lights of the main strip faded out, until only a long stretch of darkness greeted us. Only a few shops were out this far, mostly catering to the locals who frequented this part of the beach, which was much quieter than down by the food stands, except on Thursdays. On Thursdays, this was where they’d put up a giant inflatable movie screen and show old classics, new releases, whatever people voted on as the “movie of the week” that the town could get a hold of.
Hunter turned the wheel and drove onto the beach, finally parking the truck about fifteen feet from where the waves licked lazily against the sand.
“I thought it was illegal to drive on the beach unless it’s movie night?”
“Technically,” he said, reaching into the back seat and pulling out the movie night blanket. “But they don’t enforce it after dark. Not like there are hundreds of people walking around.”
It was true, especially this far down the beach. I’d only seen one couple walking in the last few minutes, and they were up closer to the street than down by the water.
Hunter set the blanket up in the bed of the truck, then came to my door and opened it.
“Those chips fly out the window?” he asked.
“Ha. Ha. Ha,” I said drily, but with a smile that told him, I found it amusing nonetheless. He took the bag from me, crumpled it up in his hand, then led me around to the back of the truck, where he lifted me onto the bed.
He climbed up after me, tacos in hand, and sat next to me as he unpacked them. His side pressed into me and reminded me of dozens, maybe hundreds, of movie nights right here. Those had always been my favorite nights, especially when he came with us. The three of us would pack in back here, and he’d sit on either my side or Ashley’s. I always loved when he’d sit on my side because he let me lay my head on his shoulder. It wasn’t like I had any sort of physical comfort or affection at home, and Hunter provided more than I could ever have asked for.
Maybe that was why movie nights had been so important to me because someone who cared about me made me feel safe and taken care of. Made me feel seen and not like I was just an obligation. Hunter never, not once, made me feel less than loved, and now sitting here with him as he handed me my dinner, I realized that I wanted him to keep making me feel loved, and I knew it was in a totally different way.
The only sounds were chewing for a few moments as I savored the flavored meats and veggies in the tacos. But, as with all long stretches of silence, it was eventually broken.
“So, why are you still a virgin?” He said, taking another bite of his taco.
I was so stunned by the bluntness of his question that some of the cabbage fell out of my mouth and onto the foil wrapper.
“What?” I sputtered. “I… is there something wrong with it?”
