SUFFICE IT TO say, Hunter will probably never let me behind the wheel of his truck again.

He does his best to teach me how to drive it. He explains how to switch gears and what the clutch is. He also tries to explain something called "three-on-the-tree", but I'll admit, it makes absolutely no sense to me. At least he's gorgeous to look at, it makes it easier to smile and nod as if I'm getting what he's saying.

Thankfully, I don't have to drive far to get where we're going. Hunter directs me down an old dirt road that runs through his family's property I makes two lefts and a right, and fiddle around with the break when he tells me to stop.

As soon as I've turned the keys into the off position, I sigh, and I feel five tons of weight lift off of my shoulders.

"That wasn't awful, Skirt," he tells me. But he's chuckling as he says it, and I know better than to believe him.

I glare at him across the seat. "That was the single most stressful thing I've done in my life. And I've spent Black Friday on Fifth Avenue."

My analogy is lost on him. "It's nothing a little practice won't fix," he tells me, squeezing my knee before climbing out of the truck. I huff, blowing hair out of my face, and the driver's side door opens.

"Get out here," he grins, taking my hand and pulling me out of my seat. His hands grab my waist and he literally lifts me up like something out of a freaking romance novel.

I can't help but laugh when he sets me down on my own two feet. "So what are we doing, anyways?" I ask, smiling kind of like an idiot.

He goes around and opens the back of the truck. There's a tarp covering the top of the bed, which is unusual. But when he pulls it off, I understand why.

"Wow."

The bed of the truck is full of mismatched pillows, old blankets and quilts. It looks cozy and inviting, and when he climbs up, I take his hand and follow.

His smile is kind of shy, which is unusual for Hunter. "It's kind of lame," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "I figured you've done dinner and a movie a million times. So, why not try some good old fashioned fresh air and a cooler full of snacks my mom insisted on making."

My heart swells beneath my ribs. I grin. "It's actually pretty cool, Maddox. No guy's ever made a bed in the back of his truck for me before."

That makes his smile turn genuine. "Gotta stand out somehow, eh?"

We settle in amongst the blankets. Hunter flips the radio in the truck on to his favorite country station and starts unloading the little blue cooler his mom apparently packed for us. It's full of little sandwiches, cookies and fruits. There's a couple of beers and a few flavoured wine coolers too. Who chose the drinks, I'm not sure of.

I don't tell him, but it's actually the sweetest date I've ever been on. His ego doesn't need the boost, but he's right when he says dinner dates and movies are tired. I've been on plenty of those, followed by long nights sneaking into clubs underage. This is different, its unique, it's refreshing.

I devour the first half of my sandwich. I haven't even since my lunch break, hours ago. "So what are your plans for next year exactly?" I ask, wooing crumbs from the corner of my mouth. "Nobody really talks about college much around here."

Hunter cracks open a drink, holding it in one hand while he leans back on the other. "Guess it's not as big a deal here," he shrugs, taking a swig. "Dad's got it in his head I'm gonna follow in his footsteps. Pretty sure I'm enrolled at the fire academy over in Fayetteville."

I raise a confused brow at him. "Really? You don't know?"

"Nah, I've never really thought about it much in the first place. It's not like I'm missing out."

Picking at my sandwich, I tilt my head as I look at him. "You never thought about what you want to be?"

"Well, sure, I've thought about it," Hunter admits, pulling one of his knees up and resting his elbow on it. "What are you planning on doing?"

I smile confidently. "Well, for starters, I'm going to get my history major from NYU. After that, I might go to grad school, but I'll see where I'm at then."

"Sounds like someone's got her life figured out," he chuckles, knocking my shoulder with his. His smile turns wistful as he stares out at the sun on the horizon.  "Figuring shit out was always Carson's thing, not mine. He's the one who wanted to put on Dad's boots and be the big bad fire chief."

I'm surprised to hear him mention his brother's name so easily, considering I'd only first heard of him a half hour ago. But it's nice, knowing he actually wants to talk to me about his family and his life, rather than just chatter about useless things like sports or people at school.

I move over a bit, leaning into Hunter's side. He's always so warm. "And what did you want? You know, back then."

"My grandpa and I used to fix up old cars and stuff. He helped me rebuild this truck when it was just an old hunk of metal growing weeds in a field," he says. He pats the side of the truck. "I wouldn't mind doing that again."

I bite my lip. "Why don't you tell your dad then? That there's something else you'd rather be doing, something you love."

He lets out a humorless chuckle, taking another drink. "He's doesn't really give a shit. Notice how he took off before you could meet him?"

I follow his gaze to look out at the setting sun. The once blue sky is now streaked with orange and pink. The green and yellow fields sprawling in front of us seem to go on endlessly.

I try to hide the small frown on my face. By the time we had gotten back downstairs, the red truck in the driveway was gone. When I nod, he continues. "He spends more time at the station than at home. He won't say it to my face, but I know he still blames me."

My eyes flit from the setting sun to Hunter's impassive face. "Blames you for what?"

Hunter sighs and sets the can in his hand on the side of the truck bed. One strong arm wraps around my shoulders and he pulls me down beside him as he stretches out. I lay there, head on his chest, his heart beating beneath my ear as he explains it to me.

"I was fifteen, my brother'd just turned eighteen. He'd gone to a party with a of buddy his just outside of town. They were seniors, they were graduating in a month, they wanted to celebrate, you know?" He takes a deep breath before he continues. "Anyways. They had a bit too much to drink, and like an idiot, Carson decided he was okay to drive."

There's a moment of silence between us. Hunter doesn't have to tell me what happens next, I already know. It's the same timeless tale that claims so many young lives every day.

"That's not your fault," I tell him quietly. I can't possibly be the first to tell him that. "You didn't put the keys in his hand."

"No," Hunter admits quietly. "But he called me, and I didn't answer. I was supposed to be there if he needed a drive. It's just what we did. But I fell asleep, and he got behind that wheel and drove the car into a tree."

I can't bring myself to look up at his face. I can hear the emotions in his voice well enough, and frankly, I'm terrified that if I look up and see that sadness in his eyes, I won't be able to handle it. Bearing souls, feelings, connections— I'm not prepared for any of that. I've never done any of that with someone.

I don't know what to say and it shows as I freeze up.

By some miracle though, I'm saved from the horror of Hunter realizing what a shitty person I am. "Shit, I didn't mean to get all mopey. We're supposed to be having fun. This isn't why I brought you out here."

I look up at him from under my lashes, thankful for the change of subject. "And what did you bring me out here for? To butter me up with food and have your way with me?"

His hand travels down to my hip and he gives me a smarmy grin. "Is it working?"

I lean in like I'm going to kiss him. "Absolutely," I murmur, my lips twisted into something of a seductive smile. But at the last second, I plant a loud kiss on his cheek and fall back down beside him, giggling as he makes a low, growling noise and grabs me playfully by the waist.

"Hey, now," I laugh loudly, digging my phone out of my pocket for the first time since we'd left Addison's. The device used to be practically glued to my hand, but more and more often I now I find myself having to search for it.

I open it up to the camera and hold it up in front of us, or well, above us. When Hunter asks what I'm doing, I playfully pat his cheek with my free hand. "It's called a selfie, you dork. I'd have thought even you small town folk would know what that was."

His attempt at a glare is pathetic. "Do I look like I was born in the fifties?"

"I'm immortalizing this moment," I tell him, leaning my head on his shoulder and smiling at my phone as I hit the button. It captures the mirth in his eyes perfectly, even if he's not looking. "A rare moment when Hunter Maddox showed his caring and thoughtful side by planning a Pinterest perfect date night."

His chest rumbles with a laugh. "I mean, I just wanted to bang in the back of my truck. But what you said sounds much better, so let's just go with that."

I know he's lying. Hunter will never admit it, but he can be a sweetheart when he wants to be. But I'll humor him anyways, for the sake of his massive ego.

Of the dozen or so photos I snap, about one has us both smiling. For the others, Hunter's too busy staring at me or making me laugh by tickling my sides where my shirt has ridden up. Some are blurry, but I like them too. It doesn't matter if the picture is perfect, the point still gets across— we're happy.

Finally, I crane my neck and kiss him, smiling against his lips as I take the cheesiest picture every lovestruck teenage couple is guilty of taking. He doesn't hesitate to kiss me back, his lips soft and warm against mine. It lasts only a moment before his hands tighten on my waist and his kiss becomes more urgent.

My phone suddenly becomes irrelevant, and I drop it somewhere on the blanket beside me. My hands are much happier to take hold of Hunter's shirt instead. I grab handfuls of the soft cotton fabric between my fingers as I hook my leg around his hips and pull myself against him.

He has one hand under my shirt, resting against my spine, pressing me into him while the other hand is wrapped up in my hair. I kiss him hard, making my intentions painfully obvious as my hands push his jacket off of his shoulders. He may have been joking earlier, but I'm fairly certain he's not about to turn down an invitation to follow through with it.

So quickly I barely notice, Hunter sits upright and I fall into his lap. His mouth finds the hollow of my throat, and he helps me rid him of his jacket. His shirt quickly follows when I tug it eagerly over his head and discard it somewhere beside us. My fingers trace the well defined planes of his chest. It's truly a shame that he doesn't play on a football or soccer team. I'd pay good money to watch him run around shirtless for hours at a time.

Hunter pulls me from my fantasy by pulling away from where he's kissing my collarbone. Just far enough that I can hear him talk and be supremely annoyed by the lack of contact. "Now whose having their way with who?" He asks, quoting my earlier question.

"Screw you, Maddox," I mumble and push his chest gently, just enough to make a point of it.

I can feel his lips pull into a smirk against my sensitive skin. "Please, go right ahead."

This boy is going to kill me, I think. And I don't think I'll mind.

Straddling his lap, I rock my hips gently into his. His hands are on my hips, and I feel his fingers dig into my skin as my ministrations become more deliberate and far less gentle. He loves it, I know he does. I can feel it.

"Okay."

Like I've struck a match and lit a flame, Hunter's mouth come crashing into my own. My lips part against his, and I can taste him, like beer and spearmint. There's a certain level of desperation to our kisses, a certain kind of pleasurable pain, but they're not sloppy. We both know exactly what we're doing. The wait may not have been intentional, but it certainly makes the prize all the more sweeter.

The sun has set, and there's a chill in the night air, but I don't feel it as I unbutton my plaid shirt, or when Hunter helps pull my tee over my head. I find the button on Hunter's jeans next, my fingers making quick work of it, and I can't help the giggle that escapes my lips when he reaches for mine.

His hands continue with their task, taking every opportunity to touch and caress wherever possible. But he pulls far enough back that I can see the wanton and amused expression on his face. "What's so funny?" Hunter asks breathlessly.

I can't stop snickering, even as he pulls my borrowed denim jeans down over my hips. "Nothing, just— you finally manage to get into my pants, and they're not even mine."

If it wasn't for the quiet music playing out of the truck stereo and our heavy breathing, I'm sure you could hear crickets chirping. Clearly, he's not as amused by this epiphany as I am.

But the silence doesn't last long. Hunter mutters something about buying Addy a thank you card, which should totally ruin the mood, but I'm quickly distracted by his warm hands on my bare thighs and his soft lips pressing against mine. Soon enough, both begin to wander.

Time seems to stretch out after that. It's a haze of kisses and caresses, lust and euphoria. Not an inch of skin goes untouched. At some point, a tiny foil package is torn open, and when I finally find myself crying out, I'm grateful for the privacy of this abandoned field.

Let's just say having someone's mother walk in on you is an unpleasant experience I don't want to have again.

Once I regain my composure, and catch my breath, I cuddle up against Hunter's chest. His breathing is heavy, but I love the sound of his heart beating erratically against his ribs.

His arms are wrapped tightly around me and I see his blue eyes watching me and I trace patterns on his stomach. He notices me start to shiver, even before I do, and pulls another quilt over the both of us until we're one human burrito.

We don't talk for a while, and I'm okay with that. We just lie there together, under the stars, and listen to the soft sounds of a country song on the night air. To my surprise, I recognize it.

You got me hooked on kissing you, getting, getting you turned on.
Buzzing and loving on you all night long.
Like a hit song on the radio, you already know the way it goes.
All it took was a look and I was hooked.

Maybe his taste in music isn't so bad after all.

Look who actually remembered to post an update on Wattpad!
So— quick life update for those of you keeping track. I recently finished doing two years in prison, more commonly known as nursing school. Suffice it to say, it took up literally all of my time. BUT, now that I'm finished, I plan on dedicating a lot more time to writing. And P&P is on the top of my list.
I'd like to thank you to all of you for being so patient with my unreliable ass. I promised y'all I would see to it you know what happens to Peyton & Hunter (ship name open for ideas) AND YOU WILL.
Until next time, here's a cute little ship trailer put together by your favourite author— tayxwriter

[There should be a GIF or video here. Update the app now to see it.]

Lots of love,