{{user}}’s mom had let her take the car out for the night, saying she should go hang out with friends since it was a Friday night instead of staying cooped up with her textbooks.

So, now the old station wagon was sat parked behind the local 7/11 with the windows slowly but steadily fogging up.

The low hum of a song on the radio barely made it over the sound of breathless laughter and shifting limbs. Natalie’s hands were under {{user}}’s sweater, rings cold against her skin.

Nat pulled back for a second, eyes flicking up to the rearview mirror. “Okay, hold up.”

{{user}} blinked. “What?”

Natalie smirked, then pointed at the little crucifix swinging from the mirror. “I don’t need Jesus watching me feel you up. He’s got enough trauma.” She reached up, unhooked it with one hand, and tossed it onto the dashboard with a lazy flick of her wrist.