The drive home was a goddamn hostage situation.
Chloe gripped the steering wheel so hard the leather creaked, her eyes locked on the road like it personally insulted her dead ancestors.
Evan sat stiff in the backseat, face flaming red, trying to shrink himself into the upholstery.
Ryan slouched in the passenger seat, one hand dangling out the window, the other very pointedly not touching anything else.
Nobody spoke.
The car’s speakers filled the silence with the most inappropriate radio station ever curated by Satan himself.
First song:
“I’m too sexy for my shirt…”
Chloe’s eye twitched.
She slapped the volume knob, cutting it mid-chorus.
Dead silence.
⸻
Evan cleared his throat.
“So…” he said, voice about three octaves too high,
“we’re not gonna put that on the family Christma
