The second I slid into his passenger seat, I knew I wasn’t making it home with dry panties.

The rain had been pounding all evening, the streets slick with reflections of neon and headlights. We pulled into the automatic car wash, the whole place glowing with a strange, wet light. Blue soap foamed against the windshield, brushes hissed and churned, water pounded the roof in waves. The world outside blurred into noise and wetness from the rain

He killed the engine but left the ignition on so the cycle kept moving. His hand slid over the console, landing heavy on my thigh. His palm was hot through my jeans, squeezing,...