I told myself I was only going to meet one of them.

That was the lie I repeated the entire ride over. The guy from the app—tall, dark-haired, the one who’d been sending me filthy voice notes for a week—had said he wanted to “show me off” to a couple of friends. I’d laughed it off as dirty talk. I’d even packed a pair of panties in my bag like some kind of safety net, as if that would matter.

I wore the black dress instead. The one that stopped halfway down my ass when I stood still and rode up the second I walked. No bra. No panties. Just...