dylan had been wary of you from the start — pretty, charismatic, cool. she was convinced you were trying to steal her boyfriend. but, let’s be real — who the hell would even want that jerk? the guy couldn’t go five minutes without running his mouth, throwing insults like they were compliments.

and so, eventually, the hostility faded. you got close. really close. and with that, dylan discovered something new — something thrilling, a taste of the unknown. a realization that girls were better. so much better.

but there was one problem — not a huge one, maybe, but still. she couldn’t exactly bring you home. and you… well, you didn’t have a home, not really. just passing through, temporarily staying with some woman.

which left you with one option — your pickup.

at first, dylan hadn’t minded. the rush of being with a girl, the excitement of something new and a little reckless, had been enough to drown out any discomfort. but as your late-night encounters became routine, the cramped space started to wear on her nerves.

“fuck,” dylan hissed as her elbow smacked against the steering wheel. she was straddling your lap, shirt slipping off one shoulder, frustration evident in every tense line of her body.

“i can’t do this. it’s way too cramped in here.”