“Never said you didn’t,” JJ retorts, doing something on his phone. Probably ordering the car. Weshouldgo. I don’t want to, but we should.
The car is here ten minutes later. We hug Rudy and Maxwell goodbye with promises to do this again soon—though I’m not sure how much more of this my body can take in one year.
The car that picks us up is nice, the seats heated and leather, and the back is just big enough to fit the both of us.
“Evening,” the driver says, looking at us in the mirror. He’s an older man, maybe mid-fifties with a kind face. The hair on his head is as white as his bushy beard and mustache.
We smile in response, and he takes off as I rest my head on JJ’s shoulder and close my eyes.
His hand finds my thigh, just resting it there. It isn’t sexual. It’s sweet.
I don’t fall asleep, but I am relaxed the entire way to my house. The car comes to a stop and I open my eyes, surprised that we got here so quickly.
I take off my seatbelt and open the door, glancing back at JJ. “You could come in…”
He watches me carefully, the expression on his face not changing. I’m not sure what to expect, but I am pleasantly surprised when he undoes his seatbelt.
“I know you have to charge me for the rest of the ride, and that’s fine—just please don’t give me a bad rating. I’ll give you a good tip,” JJ says to the driver.
The driver laughs. “It’s no problem. You boys have a good night, now.”
JJ gets out of the car and meets me around the other side. We walk up to the door together, and I let us in.
“Are you hungry?” I ask once we’re inside.
“Starving. You want to order something?” he asks.
“Don’t think anyone would deliver this late—but there are leftovers in my fridge. Hope you like tacos.”
He groans happily and follows me into the kitchen. I pull multiple containers out of the fridge and hand them to JJ, who puts them on the counter.
“I think that’s all of it.”
He’s already putting the meat in the microwave, so I get the tortilla wraps. We work together flawlessly, pulling off covers, getting plates, utensils, and napkins.
The microwave beeps. JJ takes the steaming container out and puts it on the counter between the chopped tomatoes and shredded cheddar cheese.
“Oh, I forgot!” I go back to the fridge and grab the sour cream. “Can’t have tacos without this.” I hold it up.
“Eh…” He shrugs. “Don’t really care for it.”
I scoff, hugging it to my chest. “More for me, then.”
We stand there, and in the most drunken way possible, make and eat an ungodly amount of tacos.
I pull out a bottle of white grape juice from the fridge and drink right from it, offering it to JJ. He takes it and looks at it with a curious smile.
“Grape juice, huh?”
“It’s for Noah.”
“Uh huh…” He takes a sip. Then another before offering it back.
“Oh my God, please tell me you love brownies and deviled eggs.”
His brows raise. “Maybe not together…”
I give him a playful shove. “Obviously. Well, sort of.”
