I'd slept throughout the flight, my head resting on the top of Abby's and she slept soundly in my arms. To her, this was a natural thing. We'd slept like this countless times before; to our parents, we were inseparable. However, with each year passing, our proximity gained a special meaning in my book, rendering each interaction much more worthwhile. I loved her—I loved her in a way that the word friendship didn't feel enough.

When we finally landed in Chicago, she took us to the rent-a-car store to get our car and shushed me saying she used her dad's credit card to rent when I offered to pay this time, since she already bought us the plane tickets. It seemed like Abby was keen on spending her father's wealth until he noticed his card was taken.

After we were set to go, Abby offered to drive the car this round because she slept throughout the flight. Since she made a plan herself, I accepted to ride shotgun and let her take us wherever she wanted. As we started our ride, she said our first stop was Jackson Boulevard, the official start of Route 66. This was my first time in Chicago so I was up to anything she suggested. Kidding, I would be down even if it was my umpteenth time.

I smoked a cig and rolled down the window so that she wouldn't get annoyed by the smoke. However, I figured out my theory failed when I felt her gaze on me. "I wish you'd quit that thing."

Taking an inhale, I gazed at her and turned on my side to blow the smoke out of the window before I turned back to her. "Then, we need to find another addiction." Someone who didn't smoke would never get this but your body craved for it, and honestly, I liked it. However, I loved teasing her so much.

She rolled her eyes, focused on the road, and replied, "If you don't smoke for fifteen days, I'll kiss you." I had to play her sentence several times in my mind to register. Did she just say that she would kiss me? Then, I remembered that I always teased her by saying she was the only girl I hadn't kissed in town. "You know," she said, sparing me a side glance, "for you to break your town record."

"That's very considerate of you," I replied, kind of hesitant to comment on her previous request. I didn't think she was serious about it. A short silence followed as we both didn't say anything and I just continued to smoke.

"So, what do you say?" She asked finally, her tone kind of teasing but I could also sense an awkwardness beneath it. "Will you quit?"

Throwing the remainder of my cig out, I turned at her and frowned. "Are you for real?"

"If a kiss can make you quit smoking, I'm all for it."

"Deal," I said, not wasting a second and the eagerness in my voice was so obvious that it took us both off guard. She threw me a look and I felt the need to add something that would make it less awkward. "Uh, you know, to break my record."

I didn't know what she'd thought of me but I wasn't much of a kisser. For instance, I hadn't even kissed all of the girls in our school, maybe just a few. I had a worse reputation than I actually was. People told people that they slept with me and the other parties chose to believe them. Well, I never corrected them because sleeping around was considered cool.

We toured Jackson Boulevard by car and when she stopped the engine, halting to the side, I was sort of confused. "Look, George, this house is gorgeous. I want a photo there." She unbuckled her belt and went out of the car straight. It took me a while longer since I had to grab my camera from the backseat. Once I approached her, she stood in front of that house she liked and gave me a pose. "Today's goal is to take me an Instagram-worthy photo, okay?" Nodding with a laugh, I positioned the camera and took several photos. She changed her pose each time I asked her to. Then, she ran beside me to look at them. "No," she said, skipping to next. "Ew."

"You look great in all," I replied, slightly pissed. "Can you stop that?"

"Boys know no aesthetics."

"I'm so offended."

Sighing, she asked, "Should I do some makeup, maybe? I have mascara in my purse."

"You're fine." My answer didn't satisfy her at all. It was impossible to understand girls. I just told her she looked beautiful as she was, without makeup, and she rolled her eyes. I swear if I told her she needed makeup, she would just kick me.

We tried again after she completed her short makeup session and she finally liked one of a hundred photos to put on Instagram—a photo of a Route 66 sign, not her own.

Hopping back into the car, she grabbed the map from the glove box and looked at the locations she'd marked. "Next stop: Joliet Area Historical Museum." When she typed the name on the navigation, I grabbed my phone and put it on my lap.

"I want everything classic."

"What if we get lost?"

"I don't care. Do you?"

She threw me a glance and her look changed once she saw the sincerity in my eyes. I could tell that my words often puzzled her because she wasn't sure about the meaning beneath them. Maybe she figured out I wasn't thinking that friendly anymore but we danced around that blurred area, stepping back whenever someone crossed the line. It was always me though, who crossed the line.

When she drove out of the driveway, I figured that she was convinced. As she turned the radio on, a rock song streamed and it filled the silence between us. Shaking my head with the rhythm, I focused my gaze out and watched the road. I was planning the day I was going to confess to Abby when her phone vibrated on my lap. She didn't hear it so I could risk a peek at the screen. A knife-like pain tore my heart when I saw Roy's name on the screen but the message was hidden so I couldn't see the content. Were they really talking?

I suddenly pulled my phone out and found Roy in my contacts. Making sure Abby was looking at the road, I texted him a message:

In Joliet, as Abby enjoyed the museum, my mind was still stuck on the messages. Consequently, she felt the tension and asked me what was wrong but I blamed the headache. When I could focus my attention, I managed to take a few photos of the museum. If I was in a clear state of mind, I would actually enjoy it.

After we left the museum and visited a few more attractions in Chicago, it was nearly seven in the evening. Abby suggested that we would find a place to pass the night. Eventually, she took us to a hotel she'd found online.

The hotel was huge and fantastic. As Abby walked to the reception, I slowly followed her there, trying to calculate the approximate cost of one night here because I only had enough budget to last the whole trip—no room for luxuries.

Abby looked at me in a way that she was waiting for me to do the talking, because I was the talker and she was the mind, and I cleared my throat and looked at the receptionist girl. "Hello," I said, leaning a bit closer, "We'd like to book a double room for the night."

"Two single rooms," Abby corrected me. I turned back to see her pissed off but bit my tongue not to say it would cost us a fortune. She took one step forward, resting her arms against the counter, and repeated her statement: "We want two single rooms for one night."

Nodding, the receptionist checked the availability and asked for our ID cards. It was our first time being a real adults so I felt weird walking into a hotel without my parents and people not asking for their permission. Abby's glance at me proved that she was thinking the same when she offered me a smile.

The receptionist's voice interrupted us. "800 dollars."

I was expecting this. This was like a quarter of my whole money. I let out a sign and threw an annoyed look at Abby as I shoved my hand into my pocket to grab my wallet but she grabbed my hand right in time and extended out her dad's credit card. "Here," she said.

After a few minutes, the receptionist replied, "It says the card is canceled."

Abby's face instantly fell. "How? Can you try again? I used it yesterday." It didn't really work, and it didn't take her long to figure out that her father found out and immediately canceled her card. Sighing, she replied, "How much is a double room?"

"We have only one suite room left. 672 dollars."

Sighing, Abby looked at me and leaned close to whisper: "I only have 200 dollars as cash." The message was taken. She blushed as I handed the receptionist 672 dollars. For one night. After we'd gotten our IDs and the key, we walked toward the elevator.

"Did we really have to spend the night here?"

"It was on my to-do list."

"Hope you also added spending the night in the car into your list, too."

Though she elbowed me, her speechlessness proved that she knew I was right. We spent a fortune on a hotel room. We entered our expensive suite room after Abby opened the door and the first thing I did was throw myself onto the bed. At least it was comfy.

I watched Abby sit on a couch from my position and drown in her phone immediately. Was she texting Roy? Fuck. Even the thought hit my heart. "Abby." She raised her gaze to look at me questioningly. "Let's hit a local pub tonight."

"I'll sleep early tonight, cowboy, and I suggest you do the same. It's your turn to drive tomorrow."

"You're no fun."

As she rolled her eyes at me, her phone started ringing. "Hi," she answered, and by the sudden smile growing on her face, it was an easy cake to guess the caller. "Yeah, we're in the hotel room." She looked at me. "Roy says hi."

Fuck him. "Hi."

And with that, she was in a deep conversation with him. Their conversation skipped from one topic to the next and the more I listened the more I felt like throwing up. They were getting along—they were actually getting along. No, fuck you, George. It was your genius idea to get them together in the first place. You deserved to hit the iceberg.

When I got up from the bed, I ignored her curious gaze and left the room. If she wasn't coming but talking to her boyfriend all night, I wasn't going to witness that. I remembered seeing a local pub near the hotel and after clarifying the address, I headed there for fresh air. Roy-less air. Since it was a small place, nobody questioned my fake ID. Sitting on a barstool, I ordered myself a beer.

I didn't know how long I could last during the whole trip without exploding. Roy suddenly came and sat between us. He was consuming Abby's time. My Abby's time. Angry, I pulled out a cig from my pocket and lit it. What Abby didn't see wouldn't hurt her. After finishing up the first glass, I ordered another one. I knew I shouldn't have drunk a lot because I was going to drive tomorrow so I promised myself it was the last.

My phone vibrated and I checked to see a notification from Instagram: abbywhittie just posted a new photo. It was the Route 66 begin sign we saw on Jackson Boulevard. The heart emoji at the end of her caption almost pulled my strings until I remembered she was talking to Roy when I left the room.

The rest was my loneliness accompanied by a glass of beer and two cigs.

When I returned to the hotel room, Abby was sleeping on the right side of the bed. My head was spinning because the night ended with four glasses. My eyes were shut as I managed to throw myself on the other side of the bed, my clothes on as I kicked off my sneakers.

I parted my eyes when a soft whisper tickled my skin. "George, where have you been?" A half-asleep Abby was looking at me with worried eyes as she scooted closer to me on the bed.

"Found a pub."

"Hmm," she said, shutting her eyes. Her head fell back on the pillow as she murmured, "Okay." Then, she was asleep again. Daring to move a little closer until our faces stood at a safe distance, where her breath hit my face, I watched her sleep.

No matter how hard the waves hit my ship, they always calmed when she was around.

***

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