Page 29 of The Pleasure of Panic

“I need what was promised,” she says.

“Why?” I ask, because asking what was promised feels like the wrong move.

“You don’t need to know why,” she says, walking over to the framed magazine cover to straighten it out on the wall. She turns to me. “You just need to deliver.”

Deliver. O-kaaay. “Shall we?” I ask, standing just outside the door.

“Sure,” she says, and joins me on the front stoop, stopping to lock her door from the outside.

I take her bag—which is pretty light, and that impresses me. I appreciate a light packer—and stick it in the trunk, then open the passenger side door and wave her in.

“Rules say no civilians in the front,” she says.

“I’m gonna bend the rules tonight for you, Issy. I don’t like the idea of you riding in the back.”

“Why?”

“Why are you so suspicious of me all of a sudden? I mean, we just had a good time. What’s up?”

“You’re just acting weird.” But she gets in the front seat. So I close her door, walk around the car, and get in my side.

“It is kinda weird, right?” I start the car, check the directions on my phone, and then pull away from the curb as she thinks about that. “I mean… don’t you think this is weird?”

“Which part?” she says. “What I asked for? Or that I let you fuck me?”

“Let me?” I laugh, again. “Begged me, Issy.”

“Whatever,” she says, waving her hand in the air. “I never beg. I just take what I want.” But I catch a small smile out of the corner of my eye.

“So no, not too weird,” I lie.

“Just a little weird?” she asks, still smiling. “It’s not a strange request. I looked it up.”

“You did?” I ask. Fuck, I’m dying to know what she thinks we’re doing tonight.

“Yes. I found a study online that cited almost eight percent of the female population fantasizes about it.”

I almost stop the car. Like my foot taps the brake, and we both jerk forward before I realize what I’m doing and correct.

“What the fuck was that?” Issy asks.

“I… uh… there was a cat running across the road. I didn’t want to hit it.”

Did she imply what I think she implied? Are we playing a sex game?

“Is this a big place?” she asks in my ensuing silence.

“Nope,” I lie again. Well, is it really a lie if there’s no place? I mean, we are going somewhere, but the safe house in Silver Springs is obviously not what she’s fantasizing about.

“How many people?” she asks. And when I look over at her, she’s biting her lip like she’s nervous.

Fuck. I have nothing for that. “You’ll see,” I say, getting onto the I-70 freeway that will take us up into the mountains.

“Are you curious?” she asks.

“Very.” I laugh.

“About which part?”