I weighed my answer and closed the tailgate again. “Not really. If God is real, I have a bone to pick with him. You?”
“I don’t know. No, I don’t think so. My dad’s wife goes to church a lot, and I can see the good they do, of course. They organize a lot of initiatives to help people in need.”
I nodded with a dip of my chin. “That’s how my ma sees it. She works closely with some congregations that help out at shelters. But then you have a big serving of anti-gay shit.”
“Exactly.”
We got into the truck, and I checked the rearview before I pulled out of the tight space.
“Thank you for driving me,” he said. “Who would’ve thought I’d have a nice afternoon with a paste-eater?”
“Crayon-eater,” I reminded him.
“Right. Sorry.”
I grinned and turned on the radio while Nathan inspected the interior of my baby. It’d seen some things over the years. My folks had driven it all over the country for festivals and protests in their hippie days. It was about as old as me.
I’d done my best to restore it to its former glory once Dad gave me the keys. I’d replaced the padding and the leather on the bench seat. I’d sure as fuck removed the two hundred air fresheners hanging on the rearview.
“Is it just me, or does it smell like weed in here?” he asked.
I scratched my nose. “It ain’t just you. The previous owners have a past as free spirits. I found an old bong under the passenger’s seat when I took over.”
He chuckled. “I’ve never tried it.”
“Really?”
“You have?”
“Sure,” I said. “But I grew up with two parents who have a past as free spirits and left an old bong under the passenger’s seat.”
That made him laugh.
He had a sexy laugh. I liked it a lot.
“What’s the hotel?” I asked.
“The Westwater by Reading Terminal.”
Very close to my place, in other words. “On that note…” I dug out the napkin and handed it to him. “In case you wanna hang out after work. Or crash, for that matter.”
He was quiet for a beat, studying the napkin. Then he cleared his throat. “I don’t get off until two AM.”
“I’ll be up, but it’s your call. I figured it could be nice to have a night you didn’t have to go all the way back to Strawberry Mansion.”
“Heh. That’s unfortunately my reality three times a week,” he said. “It’s not a normal shift. My dad’s wife’s cousin is the manager at the hotel, and he created a position for me. Most second-shifters come in at three and get off at eleven…” Was he nervous? He was almost rambling now. “Sometimes, I’ll work the night shift too, and then I gotta go directly from the hotel to my regular job.”
Fucking hell, it all sounded exhausting. “And you have a third job too?”
“Yeah, I deliver pizza on the weekends.”
I shook my head. That was fucking insane. “I’d lose my fucking mind. I’m not a stranger to sleeping three or four hours a night, but if I don’t get my weekends off, hell has no fury.”
He chuckled. “Hath.”
“What?”
“Hell hath no fury.”
