@taylorswiftmicrofic january 8, date, 246 words
Ilya looks over from the driver’s seat; the driver’s seat of Shane’s boring car that he insisted on driving part way to the cottage. It’s odd having Ilya in his car, even before he’d relented and handed over the keys. He can’t take his eyes off the way his elbow rests on the centre console and his fingers drum on the steering wheel.
“Passcode?” Ilya asks, glancing down at his phone in Shane’s hands.
“Yeah, your passcode. If you’re driving, I get to choose the music. Those are the rules.”
“What is it? Your birthday? The date you got drafted?” Shane asks, trying both without luck.
“Uh – it’s eight, one,” he pauses, and initially Shane thinks it’s because he’s waiting for Shane to input the numbers, but it takes a generous pause and Shane repeating the first two numbers back at him before Ilya continues, his grip on the steering wheel tightening as he says, “Two, four.”
As Shane types the last number, the phone unlocks, but he’s not paying attention to that anymore, eyes on Ilya’s profile as he stares straight ahead.
“Your passcode is our jersey numbers?”
“Shut up. What is yours?”
“The date I got drafted.”
“See, also about me. Drafted same date.”
Shane’s lips quirk up at the corners as he holds back a smile, saying quietly, “Okay.”
He lets Ilya off the hook, but as he scrolls through Ilya’s playlists, his heart feels a little lighter.
andulkaphoto
prguitarman
titsay
stormborns
jbbartram-illu
jacobvanloon
blakekathryn
