Chapter 30

The band had argued about dinner for twenty minutes before anyone made a move. When the noise reached a certain pitch, Dani tossed you the car keys with a grin.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s rescue them from themselves.”

*

The red sports car purred to life, the windows down, city lights streaking past. The two of you sang badly to old pop songs, stealing fries from the bag before you’d even left the drive-through.

“Think they’ll notice we ate half of these?” you asked.

“Not if we eat the evidence,” Dani said, mouth full.

You laughed so hard she almost missed a turn. The night air smelled like rain and fried food, and it felt easy – like being away from everything for a while.

On the way back, she pulled into a quiet overlook. “Five-minute break,” she said, stretching her arms until her bracelets clinked. “You can’t rush art.”

You gave her a look. “Art? You mean eating fries in a parking lot?”

“Exactly. Culinary performance piece. Title: Two starving girls and a medium fry.”

You snorted, tossing her a napkin. She balled it up and flicked back at you. One thing had led to another and soon enough a tiny paper-napkin war filled the car. You caught her last throw, triumphant, and that’s when she said, “Alright, referee, truce. Back seat’s more comfortable anyway.”

You laughed – shaky, high on her reckless driving and the way her knuckles had flexed on the gear shift. But you climbed between the seats anyway, knees wobbling over the centre console.

The rear of her car was snug, leather-scented, shaped like a cockpit built for two bodies who don’t mind touching. You barely had time to settle before she was there too, shoulders squared, door thunking shut behind her.

“Seat belt?” You teased.

“Not tonight.”

She crawled forward, one knee planting outside your thigh, the other squeezing between your legs like the car had been designed for this exact geometry.

Roof low, her lavender hair brushed the ceiling; she ducked, mouth finding the hinge of your jaw, breath hot from adrenaline and spearmint gum.

Her hand slipped under your denim jacket, palm skating up your ribs, thumb brushing the underwire of your bra like she was checking clearance before takeoff. You arched – there was barely room, but the seat angled just enough.

Outside, a passing SUV swept light across the windshield.

You both froze, foreheads touching, grinning like teenagers who’d parked behind the bleachers.

“Windows are tinted,” she whispered, nipping your lower lip. “But let’s give them a show they can’t quite see.”

Fingers popped the button of your jeans. The zipper sounded louder than the engine had at full throttle.

She didn’t pull anything off – just slid her hand inside, knuckles grazing skin until your hips lifted off perforated leather. You swallowed a moan that tasted like speed and moonlight.

Somewhere below us, L.A. kept spinning – freeways threading red and white – but inside the car, the world had shrunk to her mouth on your neck, the slick rhythm of her fingers, and the soft squeak of suspension every time you forgot to keep still.

“Still think I drive too fast?” she murmured against your ear, adding a second curl of her fingers that made your thighs clamp around her wrist.

“Fast is- ” You gasped, head knocking the side window, “-clearly working for me.”

She laughed, low and filthy, then sped everything up – wrist twisting, thumb pressing exact coordinates she’d memorised months ago. The seat heater, still on from the drive, baked pleasure into your back while cool night air kissed your chest where she’d tugged your shirt down just enough to expose lace.

When the orgasm hit, it felt like down-shifting at ninety – body surging, engine braking, every cylinder firing at once.

You bit her shoulder to stay quiet, tasting the cotton hoodie and engine heat.

She eased out slow, wiped the back of her hand against her grin, then slumped sideways so you were shoulder-to-shoulder, foot wells tangled. Through the rear glass, the moon huge, a spotlight you’d stolen for yourselves.

*

You stayed like that for a while, trading lines and half-smiles until the giggling turned into a comfortable quiet.

Eventually Dani sighed, sitting up “Okay, fine, responsible adult mode.”

You just smirked, still coming down from your high.

She grinned, turning the key. “But you’re explaining to Lara why the fries are cold.”

“Deal,” you said.

When the car pulled back onto the road, the silence between you wasn’t empty – it felt like something shared, folded neatly between the laughter and the headlights.

———-

A nod to Dani’s car that the girls love to go on about – typically the speed of her driving lmao

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