thirty-six hours with you | georgenotfound x reader

22. driving

. hour 26 .

George and I decided we would stop at a hotel today, then drive the last five hours in the morning to make it to the Dream Team house. We'll be missing one of the park days, but Tommy and Dream reassured us that we can still go to the second day.

"The second day will be more fun," George had read the group chat message out loud to me. He shook his head. "Tommy just wants us to be in the vlog enough to put us on the thumbnail."

I laughed. "That's smart business, you know?"

"Oh yeah, exploiting your friends," he joked.

George booked a hotel; the first one we'll be staying at that's actually in Florida. He added the payment to Dream's notes app tab before pulling up Twitter.

The GPS has put us on a backroad. It's one of those back roads that you're unsure how the GPS even knew they existed because you're unsure anyone else has been on it in the last six years.

I stifle a yawn now. It's only been seven hours in the car, so we have five more hours today. Which means there's only ten hours in the car ride in total.

I glance over at George, realizing I have driven this man across half the country; twenty-six hours and counting.

I glance in my rearview mirror, knowing nobody was going to be driving on this road, and if they are, then they probably won't be a problem.

I pull over on the side of the road.

George sits up straight. "Oh my god."

I put the car in park. "You don't even know why I pulled over, yet."

"The tire's popped, didn't it?" George turns in his seat, not even unbuckling, as if he would be able to see the tire from there.

"I think you would feel a tire pop, George."

"Then you're going to kill me and leave me in the woods." George leans his head back. "I knew this was going to happen at some point. You hate my guts so much; this was bound to happen."

"George–"

"Just at least tell me you have a good cover up," he interrupts, "Just something with an ounce of dignity."

I laugh, pulling the keys out of the ignition. "You are so–"

"No, no." He covers his eyes. "Don't tell me how it ends."

"I'm not killing you, George," I reassure him, "You'll make it to the Dream Team house first."

"In my own home?" George puts a hand to his chest, still being dramatic. "You're going to kill me in my house? Not in front of Patches."

I shake my head. "I think I should be more worried about you killing me."

His brows furrow, then he smiles. "Well, I didn't know I was being so obvious about my plans."

"Shut up." I hold the keys out for him. "You're learning to drive today, George."

His jaw drops, and he's finally speechless. His eyes flit from my face to the keys, then back to my keys.

I wiggle the keys in the air, causing them to jingle. "You got this."

"I don't know how to drive," he says slowly.

"Trust me, I know." I take his hand and force his fingers around the keys. He glances up at me as I do it. I meet his eyes with confidence. "It's one of the many things I don't like about you."

"One of many?" George's eyes widen as he tries to change the subject. "What all do you not like about me?"

I open the car door a crack. "I hate a lot of things in life; don't think your special."