“I assume this means you’ll be giving me a ride home,” she says, her voice low. It hits me then—this dress, the way her eyes land on mine—it was for me. For us. I saw her looking, saw her long neck crane above the crowd, her grey eyes scanning, hoping to land on one of us. Come out and play, little lamb. “If you’re good,” I answer, and when our eyes meet in the rearview mirror, something darkens in her pupils. I’m not going to be able to think of anything else until I’m inside of her.
