Teena took the guy's cum on her cheek, being careful to brush her hair out of the way as he tensed to shoot. She sat up and sank back in the passenger seat of the Seville as the guy, without a word, tucked it in, zipped up, and pulled the car back onto the road. Teena used a couple of tissues to clean her face up, eyeing herself in her compact, and looking a bit, "Oh, well, that will have to do for now."
Fifteen minutes later the guy spoke for the first time. "I gotta gas up the car."
The Seville slowed down and eased over beside a pump. Teena gathered up a bag from the backseat, opened the passenger door, and stepped out.
"Just be a minute, Hon. A girl's gotta make herself pretty for her man, ya know." Snap went Teena's gum as she tap tapped around the side of the building on her sling-back high heels in short strides restricted by her tight skirt.
Twenty minutes later, a door at the side of the building opened, and Teena came tap tapping back toward the gas pumps. Halfway to the pumps, though, she came to a stop and just gawked. No Seville at the pumps. She swiveled her bottle blonde head in both directions. No Seville in front of the station or over by the air hose. No Seville over in front of what looked like a mom and pop diner next to the gas station. Her eyes went back to the gas pumps, willing an old red Cadillac Seville to materialize there. But there still was no Seville parked at the pump. What was parked at the pump was a beat-up old pink Samsonite two-suiter suitcase. Teena's suitcase; sitting up on its hinges right in the road beside the pump.
