By the time we stop at a Wawa twenty minutes later, Amber’s shirt is buttoned again and her skirt smoothed down. Her panties are on the floor by my feet, a fact that I’m trying to ignore. In the front seat, Ryan’s zipped up but his hair is tousled and there’s a used—but empty—condom curled into a napkin that’s shoved into one cup holder. In front of me, Bobby stares into the side view mirror back the way we’ve come. Whenever our eyes meet, he gives me a quick, humorless grin before resuming his vigil.
In Wawa’s parking lot, Ryan steers around the gas pumps and pulls into one of the spots in front of the store. Is it just me, or does he specifically park beneath one of the brightest lights in the lot? With something like relief, the car doors open and the four of us tumble out. When I stan
