I left the underwear at home.

The next afternoon Harlan was waiting in the usual spot. When I opened the rear door he simply looked at me through the rearview mirror and said, “Front.”

I climbed into the passenger seat. The locks clicked the moment the door shut. Harlan pulled into traffic without another word. His eyes stayed on the road, but the silence felt different now—charged, intentional. After three blocks he reached over, took my wrist, and placed my hand directly on the hard ridge behind his trousers.

“Keep it there.”

I did. The heat of him soaked through the fabric. Harlan drove with one hand on the wheel...