Tires squealed as they jumped in the car and made off like bandits.  Moments later they were back on the highway.  Relaxing into his seat, he eased his death grip on the wheel.  She breathed a sigh of relief.  The danger had passed.

She rolled down the window.  The wind thundered over her soaking wet hair, twisting and entangling, until long wisps danced around her headrest.  Her left arm rested on the sill; her eyes fixated on the countryside.  The tinge of guilt creeping over her was all too familiar.

At last, she mustered the courage to look over at him.  His hair, his face, his neck glistened from the lingering moisture.  Not to mention his drenched t-shirt, which gripped his upper body like a second skin.  “Where do you wanna go now?” he asked. 

With the sun sinking low in the evening sky, they veered into the fast lane and made for the beach.

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