"I still don't understand why I can't just Uber to therapy like a normal person with a suspended license," Jim grumbled, slouching in the passenger seat of Sam's gleaming black Mercedes. The new car smell hadn't faded yet—Sam had only driven it for two months before the shooting.
"Because," Sunny explained with exaggerated patience, "Dr. Park is only ten minutes away, and I needed an excuse to drive this beauty." She patted the leather dashboard affectionately. "It's criminal to let a car like this just sit in the garage."
"Pretty sure the criminal in this scenario is the guy with the suspended license."
"Technicality." Sunny executed a perfect turn into the medical plaza parking lot, the car handling with the precision of something that cost more than most people's annual salary. "Besi
