Fuel

Short dress, big chest, freckled cheeks. She’s almost too pure.

“Thanks again for the ride, mister.”

I’ll be damned if this hitch-hiker is a day over eighteen. She’s fluttering her baby blue eyes in my direction.

It’ll all be over soon. Keep calm.

“Not a problem,” I lie.

She crosses her long legs, flashing up a wink of black lace.

Uh-oh.

The engine revs.

Just make it quick.

“Say, mist-”

By the time I turn the passenger seat is empty, stained black leather stretching back into its usual form.

I lean forward and gently tap the dash. “Feel better now?”