Our hero plays a tense psychological mind game with the girls during a late-night drive, building heavy anticipation inside the car.
Harmony slid into the back seat without a word. Kathy hesitated for a heartbeat, then started to follow, but Harmony caught her arm, shaking her head. She pointed toward the passenger side with a playful smirk.
“Back’s full,” Harmony teased. “Guess you’re up front.”
Kathy climbed into the bucket seat and pulled the door shut. I slid behind the wheel and cranked the engine. The CD player was already humming, blasting a Kid Rock track that screamed:
“… one that I can take straight back to my house … and have suck my dick and put my balls in her mouth …”
I quickly fumbled for the dashboard and pressed the eject button, my ears burning as a hot blush of embarrassment crept up the back of my neck.
“Was that Kid Rock?” Harmony quipped from the back seat. “God, I hate Kid Rock.”
Kathy spoke up, her voice steady and unexpectedly thoughtful. “I think his music is unique,” she said. “The way he blends classic hard rock, funk, hip-hop, and country into something tight … not many artists can pull that off. It gives him a style all his own, and when you combine that with his on-stage presence and that self-aware charisma, he’s almost impossible to hate. His later stuff reflects the country-rap genre that made him mainstream, but I prefer his raw, early works. Grits Sandwiches for Breakfast is a great album, regardless of what other people say. While songs like ‘Yo-Da-Lin in the Valley’ and ‘Wax the Booty’ may be dated, they’re both excellent tunes in my book … and ‘Pimp of the Nation’, that one laid out the roadmap for everything that followed. But this song is just as good.”
I turned to look at her, completely floored by the sudden critique. She caught my gaze, gave me a small, knowing smile, and quickly looked back down at the floor.
“Well, goddamn,” I muttered. “Aren’t you the enigmatic, quiet giant type.”
Hearing her insightful description of Kid Rock, I was intrigued by her. “So, what do you wanna listen to then?” I asked.
She shrugged her shoulders. Harmony, as always, was quick to pipe in with her choice.
I looked in the rearview mirror at her. “You’re just along for the ride, kiddo. Kathy’s in the radio controller seat, she decides, not you. If you wanted to be the controller, then maybe you shouldn’t have sat in the back seat.”
I handed the CD case to Kathy. Harmony said she didn’t care what it was, as long as it wasn’t Kid Rock. Kathy looked over the CD case, slowly flipping through the pages. She settled on a disc and placed it in the player. The car was filled with Slash and his guitar blaring out the opening riff of Guns N’ Roses’ “Welcome to the Jungle.”
“Now we’re talking!” Harmony said as she leaned back against the seat and started playing her air guitar along with Slash.
I flashed Kathy a quick smile and said, “Good choice. I love this song.”
Kathy smiled back. “Do you mind if I turn it up? And just to let you know, I thought your impressions of Brando and James Cagney were spot on.”
I smiled back at her. “Thanks, and you heard me, you’re the radio controller. Crank it.”
She only turned it up about a third of the way, loud enough to rock to, but not enough to blow your eardrums out. Just then, Axl let out his scream into the microphone, and the three of us started to sing along:
“… Welcome to the jungle, we got fun and games … We got everything you want, honey, we know the names …”
I shifted into gear and pulled out onto the road. The night was heavy and still, broken only by the low, predatory rumble of the Monte Carlo. Harmony leaned forward, her face hovering just behind my shoulder, that smile still playing on her lips.
“You really are the best, you know.”
I glanced at her in the rearview, then over at Kathy. Kathy was watching us both, her expression unreadable in the shadows inside the car.
As the music thumped low, the rigid posture Kathy had been holding started to soften. Her shoulders relaxed, and she glanced sideways at my profile. Harmony had spent the last year bragging about the one steady guy who actually showed up and didn’t let people down. Kathy seemed to realize the stories weren’t just talk.
“We’ll see,” I replied, catching her looking before she could mask it. “The night is still young.”
We rolled down the rural road, the headlights cutting sharp white tunnels through the encroaching trees. Guns N’ Roses was still playing, shifting into the heavy, rhythmic groove of “Mr. Brownstone” as the engine hummed against the occasional groan of the old suspension.
Harmony shifted again, leaning as far forward as her seatbelt would allow, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “So … are you actually mad I asked?”
“No,” I said. “Just making sure you understand that ‘anything’ isn’t just a word you throw around lightly.”
She bit her lip, the smile remaining. “I know. I meant it.”
“You two always like this?” Kathy asked quietly. The hesitation was gone from her voice now, replaced by a genuine curiosity as she settled deeper against the smooth, flawless leather of the bucket seat.
Harmony glanced over at her. “Pretty much. He’s been around since before I was born. I keep telling you, he’s the only one who actually does what he says, and shows up when he says he will.”
I looked over at Kathy. She was sitting with her knees pressed together, arms loosely crossed, but her frame was no longer stiff. Every few seconds, a passing streetlight would strobe through the car, illuminating the curve of her body under that tight-fitting top. Her breasts were small and firm, her waist slim, and as the light hit her, I could see the distinct, hard points of her nipples pushing against the thin fabric. She caught me staring, but she didn’t look away. There was no panic in her eyes anymore, just a heavy, quiet recognition of the game being played.
“Where are we going?” Kathy asked. “Is there a place around here that sells … Justin Bieber dolls this late?”
Harmony laughed and looked at me. “Walmart! They’re open all night.”
I nodded. “Walmart it is.”
“You’re really going to make me work for it, aren’t you?” Harmony asked, her voice trailing off.
“That’s the idea.”
She studied my profile in the dark for a long moment. “Okay. Then tell me what you want.”
I kept my eyes locked on the road, thoroughly enjoying the simple pleasure of holding the line. I didn’t actually want or need a single thing from her; the pure joy of dangling the proposition over her head was entertainment enough. I could stretch this cat-and-mouse routine out all night, pushing the leverage to its absolute limit, before turning around at the end of the night with a smirk and a casual, Nah, we’re cool. But for now, the silence was my best weapon.
“Not yet,” I murmured.
Beside me, Kathy shifted, arching her chest forward as she settled deeper into the bucket seat. The thin, garage-sale fabric of her shirt left nothing to the imagination, tracing the vivid outline of her nipples. She didn’t move to cover herself or shrink from my gaze; instead, she remained completely relaxed, staring out the window, watching the trees drift by.
Harmony leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Is it something bad?”
“Depends on your definition,” I replied.
She went quiet for a heartbeat, then added, a flicker of curiosity in her tone: “Does it involve both of us?”
I didn’t answer right away. I watched the lights of the main road emerge from the gloom and steered the car toward the store.
“Maybe,” I finally said as I felt an internal smile touch my lips, thoroughly enjoying the private mind game I was playing with them. “You did say anything.”
I glanced at Kathy. Our eyes locked, and this time, she held my gaze a second longer before looking away, her lashes fluttering. Harmony sank back into her seat, but the atmosphere had shifted. The superficial excitement of a birthday trip had evaporated, replaced by something heavy and expectant that sat between the three of us.
A few minutes later, the massive, blue glowing Walmart sign materialized through the dark. I pulled into the sprawling, nearly empty parking lot, navigating toward the back where some trees offered a shred of privacy.
The engine died, and the black Monte Carlo seemed to dissolve into the shadows.
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