Texas summer is something I'll always have a love-hate relationship with. Even with the windows down and the AC blasting, it's insufferably hot in Nick's truck, packed between him and Clay, feet trapped where they sit by my backpack. We're driving to Orlando, because Nick wants to go to our beach, check out Disney and Universal and whatever else he can see in the two weeks we'll be out here. Ellen's flying, meeting us out in a few days. She could only get a week off from her new job, but she can afford plane tickets, so I'd say it's a fair trade. Trina and George are right behind us, 'banished' Clay to ride with us so there's no funny business that goes on. I mean, Nick and I stay out one too many nights just the two of us and now we have a 14 hour cockblock.
I think it's kind of rude to Clay.
Nick's got aux, playing his driving playlist, and Clay looks physically pained every time a new song comes on. It's all Nick's favorites, a few of mine, and pretty much everything Clay hates. He's trying not to make a big deal of it, though, because Nick lives to torture him and would 10000% turn the music all the way up if Clay said a word about it, but I've been keeping an eye on him and adding a few songs I know Clay likes to the spotify queue to make the drive at least somewhat bearable.
"I shoulda just bought a plane ticket." I hear him mumble under his breath, and I laugh.
"I'm sorry they stuck you with us." Clay shakes his head.
"Trin listens to fucking- the nutcracker ballet when she drives, this is so much better." It's true, she does.
"What're y'all talkin' about over there?" Nick's driving, focused on it, but he's not deaf.
"Your shitty playlist." Clay says, and I drop my head into my hand as I shake it.
"Dumbass." I say as Nick grins wild, turns the volume dial as loud as he can get it and clicks it up a few times on his phone, too. John Denver starts blasting through the speakers, appalachia country filling the truck. Clay fakes a gag and turns to look back out the window until the song ends. The next one, a Joe Diffie song that Nick loves, Clay jumps for the dial, gets it half down before Nick slaps him away and turns it back up, singing it low and drawling.
"~Well I got my first truck when I was three~" Clay is groaning loud enough that I can hear it over the radio, which gets me to laugh.
"I'm gonna pay you with a kiss so that you can understand there's somethin' women like about a pickup man." Those aren't the words, but it gets a grin out of Nick, who keeps singing the song.
"When I turned 18, I'd saved a few hundred bucks, my first car was this shitbox truck." Even Clay laughs a little at that one with an 'I remember that'. "I was cruising the town and the first girl I'd seen was this pretty lil thang sittin' nex'ta me."
"I flagged him down and climbed up in the cab and said 'fuck me daddy, you're the pickup man'." Nick goes red as all hell, and Clay fucking wheezes. Even his ears are pink, oh god.
"WHAT?!" Clay's laugh sounds like a balloon deflating, and he slaps a hand against the dash.
Nick, embarrassed, stops singing, so I continue getting rowdy for the song to get him back into it.
"Most friday nights we can be found in the bed of the truck, just fooling around." He's still red, less so though, and he's started humming to it.
"Backed into a field offa texas route six~" I hate to do this to him but it's so fucking funny.
"You know a cargo light is all you need for sex~"
"I hate you right now." Nick's statement is barely heard over a particularly painful sounding wheeze from Clay and the blasting voice of Joe Diffie from the speakers.
"You love me!" I say. I think he does. We haven't said that yet, only been official for about two weeks, dated casual before that for over a month.
"Yeah? You love me too."
I definitely do.
