Page 57 of White Hole

“It’s fine. Never been there before.” I settled back in my seat, which made George relax. “I’m game.”

George turned on some music. “You like classic rock?” he asked.

“Yeah, I think I do.”

“Youthink?” He pulled onto the state route, then briefly raised his eyebrows at me.

“Well, I’ve been listening to your music whenever I’m in this shuttle.”

“So you like it because of me.”

“Well, yeah.”

George held his hand up on the console as an invitation for me to offer mine. I laid it in his big palm, and he gripped it. “Good.” I saw the side of his lips lift. My body felt warm all over. I’d never felt so comfortable with someone in my life. Riding in the truck, listening to his music, it felt like home. Like it was where I was supposed to be. I belonged.

As we reached the outskirts of town, I lowered the music to talk.

“Is your family from here?” I asked.

George sat up straighter in his seat. “Yeah.” He loosened the grip on my hand.

“Did you go to school with Xavier?”

“High school, yeah.”

“So your parents must have been rich, huh? I went to public.”

He nodded, focused on the road.

“Do you have siblings?”

“Two brothers. Do you?” he asked.

“No, I’m an only child.”

“That makes sense.”

I scowled and dropped my jaw open. “What do you mean by that?”

“You talk enough for three kids.”

I laughed. “I guess so.” A new song came on and I sang along with it.

“And you’re tone deaf.” He eyed me sideways.

“So? I’m not going to be a singer. If you think you can do better, go for it, songbird.”

George belted out the tune with his deep bass and the reverberations made me tingle all over. Enraptured by his voice, I stared at him without realizing until he glanced over.

“What?” he asked.

“Wow. You can sing! I mean, you have a nice voice.” George focused on the road, but his shoulders straightened slightly as if he were proud of himself. “What do your parents do?”

His smile dropped. He paused looking into the rearview, then passed a car while remaining silent. I waited for his response. After a minute or so, he cleared his throat. “My mother’s sick. Dad’s a manager.”

“Oh. Manager of what?”

“What’s with all the fucking questions, Sins? Do I need to pull over and fuck you in the bed of the truck so you’ll get quiet again?”

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