“Shit, man,” I say, absently letting my finger trace the vein across the back of his hand.
He doesn’t mention it and doesn’t move away from me. He just keeps those eyes on the road.
“If you have to ask to define your wealth, you’ve got to be filthy rich.”
“I suppose.”
I snort as my fingers continue to caress the back of his hand. “You do realize you’re hanging out with a redneck this weekend, yeah?”
“And why does that matter?”
“We do things differently,” I reply.
“I assumed so after meeting your family.”
“Got that right,” I say, and then he turns his palm up, and I slide my fingers between his. Like its totally fucking normal to hold hands with some dude while he drives me to my house for the weekend.
Yeah, totally straight. That’s me.
We drive in silence for the next hour, me flipping through songs on his playlists, searching for something we’d both like.
Apparently, the one thing we have in common is music.
“You like EDM? I thought you’d like classical music or something.”
“And I thought you’d like country music or heavy metal.”
I shrug. “I could go for both, but EDM is cool too. Now, Sem and Luke like classic rock.”
“You have better taste then.”
Whit’s mouth turns up in a small smile and I preen.
“Turn here,” I say, pointing to an unlit, unpaved road. It’s begun to sprinkle, and Whit turns his windshield wipers on and then sits forward a little more, slowing the car a bit because there are no streetlights out here. It’s just rocky hills, shrubs, and a few native trees.
Whit steers the car, and we bump along, rocks pinging the outside of his vehicle as he maneuvers down the dirt path.
“How much longer?” he asks, and I snicker.
“Told you I should’ve driven,” I say, but he just sends me a look.
“I was not driving in that death trap for over an hour. I’m amazed it still runs.”
“Serves you right, then,” I say, squeezing his hand. “You’re such a snob.”
Yeah, I haven’t let go of him. Don’t fucking judge. His hand feels nice in mine.
“Right here,” I say, and Whit drives down a long driveway. A moment later, an old two-story house appears before us. A little worn, but it's home. To the right is an oversized, detached garage that houses all the toys my aunt and uncle have collected over the years, and to the left are a few of the trucks we play with.
I should come home more often. But being here reminds me of my mom. Of watching her slowly wither away to nothing.
I rub at my chest and swallow roughly.
I’ve got this. I’ve got Whit here as a distraction, and my cousins will keep me busy. Or get me into trouble. Could go either way, really.
When Whit parks and I finally let go of his hand, I turn to look at him.
“You were warned.”