Coder Girl 2 /Dreamwastaken/

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Nick yawned and stretched his arms, turning in his seat and trying to wake up. He groaned and rubbed his eyes, struggling to adjust to the daylight.

"Are we there yet?" He mumbled, his voice hoarse from sleep.

"Of course not," I answered. We had probably been on the road for no more than three hours.

"My ass hurts," he whined, stretching again. "It's fused with the seat."

"Mine's fused with George's," I complained.

He turned around and his eyes widened at the sight of George sprawled across my chest. Nick raised a brow in surprise.

"Damn, guess George is comfortable," he joked.

"He's like a leech," I sighed, looking down at him, "won't even budge."

Nick chuckled. "I would've shoved him off long ago."

"That's what I'm saying," Clay's voice was louder than it should've been.

"I tried," I said. "He's like dead weight. And I feel bad. I don’t want to wake him up."

"Want me to try?" Nick looked, sounded and seemed determined. I knew he was about to do something completely absurd, but I didn't want to stop him.

"Sure, go for it," I said, curiosity getting the best of me.

Nick raised his hand. Very slowly. As if he was about to kill a fly. And for a moment, I thought he was about to slap George.

But instead, he just flicked his ear.

George’s head nearly smacked into my jaw, but I jerked away just in time. He looked around, blinking like he'd just woken up on a totally different planet - or should I say between two planets.

"What the hell...?" he mumbled, rubbing his ear. He tried to sit up but just ended up groaning and flopping back down. "Ugh, my back!" He reached around to rub it, and once again, elbowed me.

"Want to move to the front?" Clay asked George through the mirror. "We can stop to grab food, then Nick can drive, and you and I can switch seats."

He's a mastermind.

George's face lit up at the idea.

“Oh, please god, yes!” He sounded utterly relieved.

I couldn't help but roll my eyes at Clay's obvious ploy. He was acting like he was being so nice, offering to switch seats with George and all. But I knew he just wanted an excuse for us to be squeezed up against each other.

I groaned until I saw his smirk in the mirror and found a new reason to groan again.

Two hours later, we finally spotted a rest stop and pulled in. The feeling of finally getting out of the car was incredible. I’d never thought stretching my legs could feel so good, but it gave me full body tingles.

"I'm starving," Nick yawned, eyeing the tiny spot we had no other choice than to eat at. It didn't look too promising.

"Me too. The granola bar tasted like shit," I said. "I hope the food's at least edible."

"Anything's edible after your food," Nick had to bring that up at least twice a day.

"It's getting old. Tasteless joke. Not funny." I shook my head, trying to ignore the fact that the other two were disproving my point by laughing.

"More like tasteless food." Nick laughed, and I couldn't lie, I set myself up with that one.

The food was greasy and salty, but they insisted it was better than "no flavor." We were so reluctant to get back in the car that we stayed for coffee and dessert too, and then ended up waiting for each other's bathroom breaks to finish.

After what felt like forever, we finally got back on the road with Nick driving. I ended up wedged between the door and Clay's body.

Yet somebody was living his best life.

"Oh my god, this feels so good!" George spoke, practically sprawled out in the front seat with his legs spread as wide as they could probably go.

"So happy for you, George," my voice was dripping with jealousy, and I had no intention to hide it.

Clay was totally in my space. Not like I had any personal space left after the past four hours, but at least George's frame was smaller.

"What? Not comfy?" Clay seemed content with the position he was in.

"Your knees are basically in my throat," I complained, "choking me."

"Thought you were into that?"

At least he had the decency to lower his voice so only I could hear. Nick's loud music saved us. Or them.

I shot Clay a glare, but he just smirked in response. I tried to shove him with my legs and make some room for me, but he had the audacity to pull my legs onto his lap.

"What-" I was ready to throw a fit, but changed my mind. At least it was more comfortable.

But unlike George, who was in the same position hours ago, this fucker rested his hand on my thigh, his thumb lazily tracing patterns on my skin.

"I'll kick you," I whispered, giving him a warning.

"Want me to stop?" He asked, sounding way too casual about it.

To be honest, I couldn’t say I minded it much. I was just being pissy. In fact, his hand on my thigh felt soothing, and the way he traced patterns into my skin was comforting. It was actually kind of relaxing. So, I decided not to bother stopping him.

I leaned back against the door, letting myself relax.

Nick was singing along to his playlist, his voice slightly off-key, but still comforting. George was tapping his hands on his knees, bobbing his head to the beat, and getting every single line wrong. Neither of them seemed to pay any attention to whatever was happening back here, and I learned to not pay attention to the loud music.

It went on for hours. Two, maybe even three.

I could feel my mind starting to drift, the warmth of Clay's hand making me feel woozy.

"You look tired," he said, his voice low and soft in contrast to George's outrageous performance.

I turned my head, my heart fluttering slightly when I saw how close his face was to mine. I tried to ignore the damn butterflies that should've been dead by now but were still fluttering in my stomach.

"I am tired. And uncomfortable," I said, shifting a little bit in my seat. "I feel like a canned tuna."

Clay chuckled at my words. "Want me to put you in a comfortable spot?"

"Where? Inside the suitcase?" I looked at him skeptically. There was practically no other spot than-

"Hey!" I gasped as he suddenly lifted me up and repositioned me between his legs. I was facing away from him, my back pressed against his chest as his arms came around my waist, securing me in place.

He knew this was one of my favorite positions to be in. This was how we watched TV, how we watched videos on his phone, and how I watched him play games sometimes. It was like my body was hardwired to fit perfectly against him, and the feeling of his arms around me felt just natural.

"Comfortable now?" I heard his voice right behind my ear.

"No," I muttered, sinking back into him, "but at least you're not as hard as the door."

"I can get harder than the door-"

I elbowed his ribs. Thanks to George, I knew how much it hurt.

"Sorry," he laughed softly at my jab, clearly not very bothered by it as long as he could keep me this close.

I didn't mind the proximity. Nor the ongoing performance in the front seat. I didn't even mind the evening sunrays hitting the side of my face. Slowly, I drifted off to sleep.