I lost the truck.
“You know, for growing up around cops, I figured you’d know how to put the pedal to the metal,” Jane said.
Jeez, somebody is grumpy.
Jeez, somebody is grumpy.“Quite the opposite,” I said. During my permit days, Dad kept a sharp eye on the speedometer and often told me the police could write a ticket for going one mile over the limit. “Dad was a stickler for rules.”
Jane shook her head and kept searching for Tristan’s truck.
The clock crept towards 12:30 a.m. The desire for sleep grew by the moment. I’d been driving aimlessly for ten minutes with no sign of the jalopy.
“He’s long gone now,” I said.
When Jane said nothing, I checked to see if she had fallen asleep. She was awake. Her head relaxed against the headrest, looking disappointed. Or exhausted. Probably the
