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When George Shaw tries to find a plan for the last fifteen days to spend with his best friend, who he's had a crush on for as long as he can remember, all he needs is a map to plot out a road trip and his daily h...
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When a hand suddenly shook me, I jolted awake.
A terrible headache hit me along with a shock in the wake of the shake.
"Georgie," a soft voice murmured, sleepy and gentle. "Wake up."
I opened my eyes to look at Abby. It was literally the best view to wake up to. Jesus Christ. This brief moment of felicity was short-lived, for she smacked my head next. "Wake up, you jerk. I told you to be ready at six—it's 6:15."
"Can't we sleep a bit more?" I said, yawning and pulling her so that she fell on the bed beside me. I wrapped my arms around her, pretending to be tired but actually dying of adrenaline in the meantime. She smelled of roses, taking me right into heaven.
When she chuckled beside me and pushed me a little, our faces stood too close. Inevitably my gaze drove lower, upon her lips. When she was this close, it was so easy to make a mistake. I looked up to see her looking at me, too, but there was no trace of what I'd been just feeling in her eyes—just a pinch of amusement. She didn't seem to mind our proximity, damn, was I the only one getting too overwhelmed by her presence? "I bought us tickets to O'Hare," she said, at last, studying my face.
"O'Hare?"
"Yep," she said, propping her head with her arm. "Chicago is the traditional beginning of Route 66 and I want it to be as it should be." I wanted to ask her what she actually dreamed of on a road trip with me. With Abby and me, the lines weren't so sharp. She was my best friend, yes, but maybe because of my feelings, we were never friend-zoned. Or it was my delusional imagination.
"When is our flight?"
"At nine. I figured you would sleep your ass off."
Getting up, she walked up to my wardrobe. Since I didn't bother to organize my wardrobe, my clothes were a pile of mess and her sigh confirmed that she wasn't so pleased with the sight. However, she wordlessly took out my backpack and started to look through my stuff. She first picked up my orange t-shirt, folding it neatly and placing it into the bag. A crème, a navy blue, and a dark green followed. Then, she put on some pants as well as shorts. "What else do you need?"
"I'll handle the rest," I said, finally forcing myself up and kneeling beside her to put on some clean underwear. I looked to my side to see her crimson red as I tuck my boxers into the bag. "You can also select your favorites if you wish." Though that gained me a slap on my back, it was worth it to see her even redder. I picked up my toothbrush, a map, sunglasses, two towels, a pen, and a notebook. As she was looking around, I also tucked the mixtape into the front of my bag just in case I found an appropriate place and situation to play it. George, this is your chance — take it or leave it.
