I was afraid my description was too vague, but I’m hiding in the corn, waiting for her winking right headlight, to flag her down. I knew she’d get the text; she’s got a serious tech addiction and sleeps with her phone on her nightstand, ringer on because she’s just that forgetful. And I knew she’d respond and come fast because as much as she messes with me and meddles in my business, she knows when I’m serious. She’s the only person in my life I’ve ever been able to count on, and she’s proving it again now.

I stop her at the road. It’s been less than twenty minutes since I texted, but most of the night is far too long for anyone to sleep in a truck bed. I’m fearfully certain that Riley is going to wake up any second, and I’ve spent the time since sending the text trying to decide what to do if she does. So far, the best option was to hide. Seriously. That was my best option.

Bridget is driving in her pajama shorts and a tank top. Her hair looks hurriedly pulled back, and her smudged makeup tells me she just sort of collapsed at some point last night rather than doing things properly. I’d laugh at her if I was in the mood, but I’m definitely not.

I think she’s going to make fun of me, chastise me, or invoke some painfully misguided species of I told you so, seeing as Riley and I ended up together in the most uncomfortable way possible. Instead, she opens her mouth, and I hear a whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“You’re not sorry,” I say.

She shrugs. It’s nice that she paid the lip service. But she’s not sorry. This is the worst turnout of Bridget’s interference in my social life, but it’s definitely not the first time she’s done it. Somehow, she decided that I liked Riley. And somehow, she decided that Riley would be good for me. She’s an idiot, seeing as Bridget’s meddling might have cost me both promotion and current job, but she won’t see those consequences until they occur.

I look back at Riley’s still form, certain that it’s only a matter of time until she does.

“What do you need?” 

“You aren’t supposed to talk.”

She shrugs again. I imagine this means it’s been feeling better and that she’s deciding to ignore doctor’s orders, but this isn’t a discussion I want.

“Pull up beside the truck, near the front. We’ll need to jump it.”

She pulls up. I stay where I am, by the road.

As the new vehicle approaches the truck, Riley stirs.

I consider running again.

But when I finally get ahold of myself and walk forward, I see Riley composing herself, huddling as if cold. And she won’t meet my eye.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Riley

I’M SUCH AN IDIOT.

I’M a dumb, impulsive, ridiculous little girl.

I knew better than this, but here I am.

I’m sitting on the edge of the tailgate, looking east, seeing the sky turn slightly more orange, slowly losing its red. We’re still a while from sunrise, and I hope Brandon and Bridget finish what they’re doing long before then. Right now, it’s dark enough that Bridget couldn’t see my eyes when she passed, and we were both able to act like we each hadn’t noticed the other. Bridget pretended I was hanging out back here like cargo. I pretended too. Nothing happened. Just two people out for a ride, with one in the pickup, when something went wrong and they ended up stuck for hours and hours of nothing at all.

The truck’s hood is up. There’s a white-yellow glow around its edges from where I’m sitting, and in the dark it’s bright enough to be stark. I can see the ground around them, but not their faces. Brandon had some sort of hanging light. He had to ask me to move so he could grab it from a toolbox. His voice was flat and courteous. I moved away, practically apologizing. We’re stupidly civil. Nothing makes people polite like having sex that shouldn’t have been had.

I don’t know what came over me. One moment, I was angry, and the next I was ripping his shirt open. We were arguing then he was kissing my neck. I had plenty of chances to stop it. Everything before my panties came off. Everything before he was inside me.

Even as ashamed and stupid and guilty as I feel, my mind keeps going there. My mind keeps seeing the way he looked. My body keeps reliving the sensations. I don’t have a long sexual history, but last night — if it counts as last night this early in the morning — would have stood out even in a whore’s resume. I didn’t think lust like that existed outside of movies. I felt helpless. I should have stopped it, of course. But I couldn’t.

And Brandon? He just fucked the boss’s daughter. He should have stopped it, too.

The dirty words circle my head like a halo.

He fucked the boss’s daughter.

He fucked me. 

It should be more tender than that, but it wasn’t. And my traitorous mind wants to keep repeating the images, the words, the shameful lack of restraint. This was a terrible idea, and both of us knew better. If anyone finds out, Brandon’s career will be over, and I’ll never take over my father’s company. Dad won’t fire me like he will Brandon, of course, but I’ll be a permanent intern. A receptionist or clerk at best. He’ll never take me seriously. He’ll never look at me and see as more than a teenager, even once I hit thirty. He’ll even pretend to understand. He’ll say I’m a grown woman and allowed to be with whomever I choose. But that won’t change the fact that I fucked his protégé.

I want it to be something different. I want to say we made love. But I can’t. I can barely even say we had sex. No. That was animal. Primal. The kind of thing that a sensible up-and-coming, college-educated, responsible executive should have been able to resist because not to was the pinnacle of poor judgment. A key example of letting base instincts overcome reason. Dangerous impulsiveness. Which was fine, except that it wasn’t the kind of thing anyone wanted near the controls of a corporation.

And still I can’t stop thinking of Brandon’s hands on me. I can’t stop thinking of his lips. I can’t stop thinking of the rhythm of our passion. I can’t stop thinking of how strong he’d felt. That sense of delirious helplessness, as if I couldn’t have fled if I’d wanted.

Brandon climbs into the cabin.

The engine starts.

I hop down to see what’s next, but by the time I make it to where they were working, my eyes averted, the truck is pulling away with Brandon at the wheel.

I find myself facing Bridget. Her car is behind her, still running.

“Come on,” she whispers, her voice husky, barely audible beneath the sound of an idling engine and Brandon’s departure, “I’ll take you home.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Brandon

AS MORNING DAWNS AND I speed back toward Inferno Falls, the passing nothingness and quiet, dark road lull me into a distant kind of highway hypnosis. My mind wants to wander. I can barely feel my hands and feet, which are doing the automatic job of piloting me as faithfully as those self-driving cars everyone talks about.