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I see a gas station I'm about to pass and turn quickly, breaking at the same time to not miss the entrance.
I'm aware I'm driving like an anxious freak because Lake's eyes widen as he grips the handle above his head while the car practically rides on two wheels. I swerve into the old, run-down Shell station that looks worse for wear. The stalls are all full, so he points towards the gas pumps.
I'm already anxiously grinding my back teeth, hoping he doesn't notice.
Please don't notice.
“I'm gonna run and grab a Gatorade. You want anything?” he asks, looking back as he opens the clown car door with his massive hand.
“Uh…” I swallow, scratching the side of my ponytail. “Nah, I'm good.”
I trail his gaze as it darts to my dash and wince.
Don't mention it. Please, don't mention it.
“Alright,” he says softly, pausing for a beat too long. “I'll be right back.”
He shuts the door, then taps on the window a few times, as if he literally can't just reopen the door and say what he needs to say. No, he needs me to roll the window down simply to pester me. His smirk awaits as he leans down, his annoyingly handsome face greeting me as I press the button to roll it down.
“Yes?” I ask, playful annoyance lingering in my tone.
“Don't miss me while I'm gone.” He flashes his cocky grin before tapping his hand on the top of the car, then jogs lightly towards the gas station.
I roll my eyes, dropping my head back against the seat.So full of himself.
I sneak a peek of him at the door through my lashes because he's Lake Decker, he’s got a great ass, and fuck me, I really like him. I quickly admire his fine ass in the sweatsuit one last time. The cocky bastard has the nerve to turn back, almost knowing I’m gazing at him longingly. He drops his head, chuckling lightly as he pushes into the glass door with his shoulder.
Seconds feel like hours as I wait, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel, staring at that barely filled gas tank meter before me.
I shiver, clutching my jacket to myself to remain warm as the heat slowly leaves the space. Dusting off the dash, I'm thankful I cleaned my car of all the McDonald's and other trash before I was coerced into giving Lake a ride.
Suddenly, I hear my car's tank open. I look up at the convenience store with no Lake in sight, then turn back abruptly, seeing the back of his head facing the pump.
Opening my door a crack, I hear a voice from above, “Pump 7. Ready.”
No. No, he better not have.
“Lake, what are you—”
He pushes my door shut, closing me inside without so much as a word as he continues to put the pump in my tank, filling my car with gas.
I attempt to open the door again, but he leans back against it, folding his arms before him and effectively holding me hostage inside as the pump fills on its own. I roll down the window.
“Lake!”
“You need to keep your tank full in the winter, Dylan,” he says simply with understanding in his tone. “It's not good for your car.”
I know it's not good for my car. I'm not an idiot. These midwestern winters can freeze your fuel line if your gas is low enough, making it impossible to start your vehicle. But sometimes you have to make choices. Choices like keeping your tank a quarter full versus half full in order to use the money for the increased heating bill until the next payday. Choices that don't include driving into the city for practice, knowing it's eating up that gas you've calculated for the week. Choices Lake has never had to make.
I huff in frustration, knowing I've already lost this battle before it began.
“I'm not coppin' a free ride. I asked you to drive, remember? Just returning the favor,” he continues.
Just returning the favor.Fuck that. This was a setup. The fact that he already paid at the counter cues me into that. He knew I'd need gas and made me drive and specifically stop here so he could fill my tank. Unlimited Gatorade at the training facility awaits him.
Making his way back to the other side of the car, he takes a seat, turning to face me with a serene smile and a bag full of Gatorade and some other snacks.
I start up the car, watching as the tiny orange meter on empty slowly rises past full. The little stick hasn't seen this side of the gas gauge in years. I'm surprised it even remembers how to get there.
