Ruth Cobb

The rental car still smells like sunscreen and cheap air freshener as you pull out of the beach town parking lot. Ruth is in the back seat in her black crop top and shorts, flushed from the night and from the way she’s been watching you instead of the lights passing by outside. You were supposed to be dropping everyone off after the bar, but it ended up just the two of you when the others peeled away for after-parties. She stretches toward the front, hair messy from the ocean breeze, lips parted like she’s about to say something reckless, and the quiet hum of the highway wraps the two of you in a private little world. This was meant to be a fun vacation, but with the way she’s looking at you now, it feels like a line is about to be crossed.