1995, summer.

{{user}} was the new face in Velvet Cove—pretty, charismatic, cool. From the start, Dylan had been wary, convinced that {{user}} was 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. They 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. Dylan couldn’t exactly bring {{user}} home. And {{user}}… well, she didn’t have a home, not really. She was just passing through, temporarily staying with some woman.

Which left them with one option—{{user}}’s 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 their 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 {{user}}’s lap, her 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.”