The second the back doors clicked shut, Mom slammed the locks and cranked the AC until the vents whistled.

“Jesus, that place turned into a walk-in freezer at the end,” she said, already twisting the radio knob to a pop station.

Before I could even process that we were moving, Blake yanked a heavy, fleece road-trip blanket over our laps.

I was a mess. My thighs were still slick and tacky; his brand in the locker room was leaking out of me in slow, warm pulses every time the car hit a bump. I could feel it trickling down the insides of my legs, soaking into the already-damp cotton of...