"It's embarrassing."
"Tell me anyway."
"I got wet, okay?" Her face is flaming red now. "Your hand was on my knee and you were sitting there defending me to my parents and you looked so… And I just, I've been wet since therestaurant and it's mortifying and I'm telling you this because apparently being stranded in a car is like truth serum for me."
I forget how to breathe.
She's wet.
She's been wet since dinner.
Since I touched her.
"That's not embarrassing," I manage.
"It's humiliating. You're doing me a favor and I'm sitting here having physical reactions like a teenager."
"Claire, look at me."
She doesn't move.
"Please."
Slowly, she turns her head.
"It's not embarrassing," I say again. "And it's not humiliating. You want to know what's humiliating? I had to jerk off in the shower before dinner because I couldn't stop thinking about how you were going to look in a dress. I've been hard since you asked me to be your fake boyfriend. I've spent the last three months watching you and wanting you and telling myself I couldn't have you because I'm too old, too broken, too—"
I stop, breathing hard.
She's staring at me with wide eyes and parted lips.
"You jerked off thinking about me?" she whispers.
"Yeah."
"Today?"
"Today. Yesterday. Pretty much every day since you moved in."
"Oh my god."
"So no," I say. "You don't get to be embarrassed about getting wet when I've been walking around half-hard every time I see you take your trash out."
She makes a sound that's half-laugh, half-moan. "This is insane."
"Yeah."
"We're supposed to be fake dating."
"I know."
"This wasn't supposed to be real."
"I know that too."
Thunder rumbles again, closer this time.
Claire looks out the windshield at the dark sky. "It's going to rain."
