The man beckons to the girl standing by the curb. He’s parked at a reckless angle—leaning from the passenger window. She looks past him watching for her bus. 

“Want a lift?” he shouts, straining to be heard above the traffic. He rakes his hand through rough blonde hair as she steps closer. He pushes open the door. 

“You’re going to the uni, right?”

The queue jostles forward. A bearded man anchors the front with his briefcase. 

Turning her face into the wind, the girl pulls her cherry red jacket across her chest and grips the strap of her bag. 

“Better get in,” he says. 

A spark catches. 

“Okay.” 

Inside, spiced musk suffuses the atmosphere, fanning the small wildfire in her head. 

He slides his long legs back down into the driver’s side—his gaze on her body unbroken. Grey eyes wrinkle into a smile. 

She slips her student bus pass into a pocket and stuffs her bag in the footwell. On her lap, pale hands tipped with crimson nails. On his third finger, a shiny gold circle—a strip of blanched skin just visible underneath. 

Her youth startles him. The backs of his thighs sweat. In the hollow of her neck, he glimpses the sheen of a delicate gold chain. One hand steady on the steering wheel. So much unfinished business. Had he planned this—today of all days? He pulls a cigarette out of its packet with his teeth and offers her one, imagining those talons on his back pressing into his flesh—maybe leaving a scratch—or two.

“Thanks,” she says, placing the cigarette between moistened lips. Her face. His hand. Click. She leans towards the flame and draws smoke inside her.

He snaps the lighter shut, tosses the pack of Marlboro on the dashboard, then cracks the window open, inhales, and flicks ash into the cold morning. “I don’t usually wear a suit,” he says. “I’m in court today.” 

His tie is loose—with one tug on the knot he could look smart, she thinks.

He shakes his stainless-steel watch to the bottom of his wrist, brushes the back of his hand across her leggings, before changing up a gear. 

His glancing touch—exhilarating—fires a constellation of possible futures into her mind. An unprovoked laugh reveals his lupine eye teeth. 

“I noticed you at the bus stop. You were staring at me,” he says, keeping his eyes forward. 

The indicator ticks. They turn off the main road onto a dirt track. The car’s suspension rattles over muddy ruts, past dark ragged rows of sycamore trees. 

“A quick detour,” he says. He parks by the side of a groaning skip and jumps out. From the boot he heaves a holdall, then he’s back in the car. Sharp sniff. Sour taint of fear. 

“Okay?” he says.

 “Yes.” 

He lights another cigarette.