"What the hell was that?" Heather demanded as Trent came back to where he'd left her standing in the doorway of the convenience store.

"That was a fist bump," he explained. "Now… if you'll excuse me… I need a Gatorade."

"But… did you just stop here because you saw her car?" Heather followed him, the tone of her voice grating on his last nerve.

"No, I stopped here to get a Gatorade." He pulled his beverage of choice out of the refrigerated section. "Would you like something?"

"But we're almost at your parents' house. Couldn't you have waited?"

“They don’t have any. Do you want something or not, Heather? You’re...