A shudder runs through me before I can stop it.
“I’m on my way,” I say, already sliding into the car.
“You better be.”
He hangs up.
I toss the phone onto the passenger seat, jam the key into the ignition, and floor it.
The stolen Lexus purrs to life, smooth and silent. My reflection in the rearview looks like a ghost—hollow-eyed, jaw tight.
As the city blurs by, I replay everything in my head, trying to focus on the road and not the weight sitting in my chest.
That’s when it hits me.
The one detail my stupid, sex-drunk brain didn’t process until now.
No condom.
I blink. Once. Twice. The feel of her, the heat, the way everything blurred and cracked open.
“Oh, fuck.”
I grip the steering wheel tighter, knuckles whitening.
Of all the reckless things I’ve done tonight—stealing a car, breaking into a dorm, sleeping with her—that’sthe one that might ruin everything.
I curse under my breath, slamming my palm against the steering wheel.
The light ahead turns red. I stop, chest heaving. My pulse won’t settle.
Sirens flash in my rearview mirror.
Red and blue.
“Fuck.”
I pull over, trying to look calm. The cop car eases up behind me. Two officers step out—one older, one fresh-faced, both wearing mirrored sunglasses even though it’s pitch dark. That’s never a good sign.
One taps on my window. I roll it down.
“Evening,” he says. “License and registration?”
“Yeah, sure.” I hand over my fake ID and the papers that were in the glove box. My voice sounds steady, but my palms are sweating.
He takes them, walks back to his car. The younger one stays by my door, flashlight flicking over the interior.
“You live around here?” he asks.
“Campus,” I say. “Student.”
He hums, noncommittal. His light pauses on the edge of the seat. The corner of a bag that isn’t mine.
“Mind popping the trunk?”
“Is that necessary?” I ask carefully.
He tilts his head. “Just routine.”
