“Let me just get your bags then.” “Oh no,” I cry, patting his shoulder. “Just pop your trunk and I’ll get the bags. You just stay dry, okay?” “Thanks, ma’am,” he says with obvious relief. “You know how to swim, right?” “Sure do,” I reply, flinging open my door. The rain pelts in, making me yelp as I hurry out of the backseat and around to the trunk. I work fast to drag all my bags out of the back. My computer bag is slung over my shoulder, the strap slicing between my breasts.
