“Who are you—” I glance outside the window, and I see them. Reporters. Ahead of us, just outside the building. “Oh no.”

He shakes his head. “I’m so fucking thankful I’m not famous. I don’t think I can stand them.”

I agree with him, but I’m kinda in a situation right now, so… “What do we do?”

“Grab my hoodie from the backseat and put it on.”

I stare at him. Does he think that’d stop them from recognizing me?

“Quickly.”

I doubt the credibility of his plan, but I’m unable to come up with any other option, so I reach toward the backseat and grab the sweater, putting it...