“Be honest,” Brian said, with that dumb, affected grin of his. “You’re a little excited.”
“I guess,” Summer replied, glaring out the Long Island Expressway, a long stretch of curvy darkness interrupted by flickering red and white car lights. Brian turned the speaker volume up and they nodded in time to the heavy beat of generic house music.
Brian was the driver, recently twenty-one and unable to focus on much other than the nameless female bodies that crossed his line of sight. He lacked the knowledge or, more accurately, the courage to speak to any of them. But when it came to noticing them, he was an expert.
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