After all the things he’d done to me last night,thatshouldn’t have been enough to make me blush. I snorted and ducked my head to take another sip from the travel mug.
Miller grabbed his own travel mug and picked up his car keys off the counter. “Got everything?”
I guessed we were on our way.
I trailed down the stairs behind him, still half-asleep despite my hit of caffeine, thinking of just how nice this apartment building was and how if the guys and I lived here we’d be kicked out within a week, probably. Like, we weren’t bad neighbors,despite what Harlan Whittaker said—we just liked to kick back sometimes, you know? And I bet the people in this apartment building wouldn’t love our idea of a good time, which was firing up the grill, popping open more than a few beers, and listening to music. It seemed like more of a poetry, wine, and cheese evening kind of a place.
Miller’s car was parked out on the street. There was enough of a chill in the air that I shivered a little, and Miller glanced at me. He started the ignition and turned the heat up.
“So where am I dropping you?” he asked. “At your truck, or at work, or at your house?”
Jesus. It wasn’t even 5:00 a.m. yet. I wasn’t ready for that level of decision-making.
“Work, I guess,” I said.
“You don’t want to get some fresh clothes?”
“Miller, I work at Goose Run Gas,” I said. “We’re not big on the dress standards thing, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
Miller checked his blind spot before pulling out of his parking space. “Yeah, your boss has an interesting fashion style, that’s for sure.”
“Right? It’s like he went to a Fourth of July party and never bothered to change afterward. But it makes the rest of us look good, so.” I shrugged. “Bobby makes his own rules.”
“How did he get to be mayor?”
“He tells everyone he was the best candidate for the job.”
Miller shot me a disbelieving look.
“I mean, he also ran unopposed, so I guess it’s true.”
Miller let out a snort of laughter. “That tracks.”
I leaned back into the comfortable seat and half dozed as Miller took us out of Hopewell. A little while into the drive, the low murmur of a voice dragged me back from the brink of sleep, and I heard, “…construction of the rail line joining Las Vegas and the dam site began in September.”
I straightened up. “What?”
“Oh, do you want to listen to something else?” Miller asked.
“Have you heard ofmusic?” I asked. “Instead of—of whatever that is.”
“It’s a podcast about the construction of the Hoover Dam.”
“Why?”
“Well, the Bureau of Reclamation wrote a report for the government that?—”
“Fuck, Miller!” I started to laugh. “Is this what you do for fun?”
“It’s interesting!”
“Well, in that case you should drop by my place on the weekend. There’s some grass growing there that will blow your mind.” The look on his face made me laugh even harder. “If you play your cards right, you might even be able to watch some paint dry.”
He rolled his eyes but he was smiling. “It’s educational.”
I grabbed my phone and took a moment to figure out how to connect it to his car. Then I went straight to Spotify, found “Fortunate Son” by Creedence, and turned it up. “Thisis educational.”
“I’ve heard Creedence before, Danny,” Miller said with a laugh. His fingers drummed out the rhythm of the song against the steering wheel and when the next song came on, he didn’t make any move to switch his boring-ass podcast back on, so I took it as a win.
