"George."

I jolted awake with Abby's blurry voice. "Yeah?"

"Can you hand me my bag?" I gazed around and spotted it on the sofa. "It's probably on the sofa."

Taking it, I walked to the bathroom door. "Are you available?" 

She muttered a yes, and the door opened a bit. The warmth hit me when she extended her hand out, waiting for me to give me her bag. I suddenly imagined the unreachable, the forbidden—and shoved the bag into her hand in embarrassment.

When I first planned this trip, with Abby and the great Route 66, I hadn't considered these details. Being alone with her for more than a few hours was too hard without untamed thoughts registering in my mind. My mind unconsciously traveled through her features, then arose inside me. Yeah, I was totally messed up.

When the door was shut again, I came back from my thoughts. Then, my phone vibrated in my pocket.

"Dude, where have you been?" It was Roy. He was seriously a pain in the ass.

"Here."

"I saw your post on Instagram. You're rocking this life, man. I wanna join you."

I didn't answer him. The last thing I wanted was him tagging along. My silence didn't affect him at the slightest, as he went on telling me the recent rumors. The hot topic was who got an acceptance letter from which university. I was still waiting for acceptance letters from several universities but I'd already received one from UC Santa Barbara.

The door suddenly opened, and Abby walked out, drying her hair with a towel.

I'd immediately muttered a bye to Roy and ended the call. I didn't want to spark a new conversation between them. I could see that my phone call—or my sudden hang-up—colored Abby interested, though.

In lieu of touching upon that subject, she put her hands on her hips and said, "Take a quick shower, and I have a surprise for you."

"What surprise?"

"That's the whole point, idiot. It's a surprise."

When she looked at me in disbelief, I figured out my only choice was to get ready as soon as possible and wait for her surprise. I literally ran into the bathroom and took the quickest shower in history. Putting on the first thing I found, I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked fine—cleaner and sort of better.

I swung the door open and found her sitting on the bed. When I took a step forward, the floor crackled so she tilted her head up. "Why did you dress up?" She asked, an amused grin forming on her lips.

"You said you had a surprise."

"Precisely. A surprise, not a date." My heart made a flip at the mention of the date, but I tried my best to hide it behind an eye roll.

"You're jealous because I look dashing, Whittaker."

"You bet, Shaw," she said.

This flirtatious—it really felt so when we were exchanging such words—conversation continued as Abby drove off to a drive-in theatre. I was sort of expecting her to take me to a unique restaurant she found online, but the drive-in theatre was a new level. When she pulled over to the second row, somewhere we could watch the movie comfortably, she stopped the engine and looked at me in a certain expectancy. "How'd you like my surprise?"

"I'm truly surprised."

"You didn't like it?" Her face instantly fell.

"You kidding me, Abby? I love it!" It was worth seeing the satisfaction in her eyes. She hopped off the car without another word, and the opening sound of the truck quickly followed. She returned with two thick blankets, two solo cups, and the bottle of Bourbon I'd bought earlier. After she'd put them on the front of our car, she gestured for me to come out as well.

When we sat in the front, wrapped in our blankets and cups of bourbon, I thought this was better than a date. "Drinking isn't a good idea," she murmured.

"It's my turn tomorrow, and we'll sleep tonight."

Though the clouds didn't entirely disappear, she sipped on the bourbon. Her eyes shut in pain, and an oof left her mouth. "This is..."

"....bourbon," I completed her sentence. "Welcome to the other side." She reopened her eyes and glanced at me in a different sense like she was dumbfounded by my comment—or maybe, it was my exotic tone.

The movie soon started, and she was occupied from the beginning. I wasn't complaining though, for her concentration made it quite easy for me to give her a once-over without her notice.

It was super easy to read Abby's emotions when she was focused on a particular thing. For instance, when she was watching a movie, I could see all the swirling thoughts going on in her beautiful mind and could sense her feelings. The problem arose from the fact that I couldn't understand a single thought of her about myself.

The movie was about two best friends falling in love—too fitting. The difference was that the thing was two-sided from the beginning but both parties were afraid of admitting their feelings to each other. It was set in the 70s, so fancier clothes and a fancy language with lots of timid glances. By the time we were near the end of the movie, Abby asked me to refill for the fifth time.

I hadn't really stopped her, for she needed a break from being tense all the time. One cup loosened her shoulders, and three made her rest her head on my left shoulder. She suddenly buried her face against my chest and I could feel the vibration of her laughter. "She said that they are friends."

"Yeah."

"Friends," she said, laughing even harder. "Can you believe it?"

"Because they are friends, dummy."

She tilted her head and looked at me in disbelief. "They love each other."

"Means nothing until you confess, you know."

I heard her snort before she turned back to the screen. Means nothing until you confess. I took a deep breath. What if I confessed to her now, in the middle of this emotional puddle? Alcohol running in my veins made it easier for me to collect my courage and I felt like I could say it to her face if I wanted to.

I turned at her and cleared my throat. You can do this, George. I'd died a thousand times thinking about Abby and my to-be epic confession but dying once if I got rejected was much better than dying a thousand times more. Cowardice didn't work.

When the movie was over, I'd waited for her to wipe her tears—I didn't really understand why she'd been crying but I thought it was a side effect of alcohol, too. "Abby," I said, but my voice came out like I was hypnotized rather than decisive. My heart was pounding against my chest, and I only noticed my bouncing leg then and stopped.

She turned at me with red eyes, but her eye color looked much brighter under the moonlight; almost mystic. It was impossible not to feel the sudden pull. If a simple glance could make my mind go this wild, I didn't want to imagine what a kiss could do to me. Oh, God. I prepared myself to speak up, taking her silence as an acknowledgment, almost like she'd known what I was about to say, and like she'd been waiting for it for a while.

For the first time in my life, I thought I could read Abby Whittaker's mind through her eyes.

Alas, I was utterly wrong.

"Have you ever thought of me that way, George?"

Taken aback, I replied with a question. "What way?"

"You know," she said, one of her legs hanging down from the car, and she tossed a small stone as she continued. "That way. Like beyond a friendship." She looked down and I noticed the blush on her cheeks—either because she felt as embarrassed as me or she was intoxicated.

Her words were slurred, but still, her question sounded thoughtful and astonishing. It was another way to start what I was about to say, and maybe this was the assist to my goal but I was just rendered speechless by her sudden question that I'd waited for her to elaborate. I didn't want to mistake her question and miss the goal—or have it saved by the goalkeeper.

"Hmm?" She said, urging me to answer.

I huffed a burst of laughter. The boy who was ready to confess suddenly vanished, and the one he left behind was a coward. Such a coward that he even fretted to talk. When the next words followed, they were out of my control—almost reflexive. "Of course not." My eyes shut in disappointment like my own body was ashamed of my own existence.

Then, it was her turn to laugh. Unlike mine, her laugh was deep, not like the times she found a joke funny or the times she'd watched something great, but it resembled the times she'd laughed not to hurt someone's feelings or when she didn't get a thing but filled the void not to let people think she was dumb.

When she looked at me, my world crumbled. Standing up, she stumbled to the passenger door but finally entered. I didn't feel as buzzed as she was and thought I could drive back to our place. Quickly tucking our blankets and the bourbon bottle into our truck, I hopped into the car and started the engine.

By the time I parked in the driveway, she already dozed off. It took me a while to get myself off the car, open her door and carry her in my arms to our room. I'd actually sat down on the wooden stairs on our way twice to catch my breath. I wasn't even sure of my stability at that moment. The hardest was to keep her standing as I fumbled in my pocket for the keys.

She looked like she could fall down any second, her eyes slightly open, and whenever I told her to lean against the wall, she just nodded her head but I could see that she didn't get any words I was saying to her. Hence it was totally predictable for her to throw herself on the bed after we managed to step inside.

Each moment the alcohol was hitting me harder, so I didn't really have the energy to urge her to change into fresh clothes. All I could was move her to the side of the bed. Running out of energy, I just let myself fall beside her on the bed, letting out a long sigh. I shouldn't have let her drink too much—her question was going to haunt me forever. I could say that I was in love with her for a very long time, but I freaked out. Fuck.

When she suddenly threw an arm over my chest and hugged me closer, I was first shocked but didn't find it in me to push her away. She shifted until her head found the side of my chest and she rested her hand just below my heart.

It was a precious moment to let go, so I'd seized my night as long as I could until my eyelids couldn't keep open, and I'd yelled my confession to her in my dream.

***

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