Vanessa stashed the bottle on the floor and wiped her damp palms on her jeans. Her stomach flip-flopped as he slid from the pickup and walked over. She couldn’t believe she was doing this.

He stopped by the car, and she pushed the door open. He watched her from beneath the brim of his ratty baseball cap, and she could smell the smoke on his clothes. Marlboro Reds.

“Long time,” he said.

“Do you have it?”

He held up a bag.

It was a lunch sack, like her mom used to pack for her. PBJ and a pudding cup. Vanessa took the bag, and the paper felt soft and greasy. She looked inside.

“That’s four hundred.”

Her head snapped up. “You said three-fifty!”

He pulled the bag away. “I need four.”

“I don’t have it.”

His gaze dropped to her breasts, and she knew that look. Her gut clenched. The thought of sex right now made her want to throw up.

Twisting in her seat, she grabbed her leather tote from the back. She pulled the stack of bills from her wallet and counted twenty twenties. She turned and held them out.

Tucking the sack under his arm, he took the cash and thumbed through it.

“You look different,” he said, and she caught the disapproval.

Vanessa gritted her teeth and waited. His attention fell to the bottle on the floor, and his brow furrowed as he leaned on the door.

“You all right, Van?”

“Yeah.”

Something flickered across his face. Pity? Tenderness? She had to be imagining it.

He passed her the bag. “That’s not really for your sister, is it?”

Vanessa didn’t respond. It was none of his damn business. He stepped away, and she yanked the door shut.

For a moment he didn’t move. But then he turned and walked back to his truck, stuffing her money in his back pocket.

The lights flashed on. Wincing, she watched in her rearview mirror as he backed up and made a three-point turn. When he was gone, she rested her hand on her stomach and let out a breath.

Vanessa started her car. She retraced her route over the pitted road until she reached the two-lane highway. When her tires hit smooth pavement, she pressed the gas and a wave of dizziness washed over her—probably the whiskey. She sighed with relief as the Austin skyline came into view.

Done.

She looked at the houses scattered on either side of the highway, some with lights on, some without. Through a gap in the pines she caught a glimpse of the lake glimmering under the half moon.

Eyeing the brown bag beside her, she felt a pang of yearning. She checked the mirror, then pulled onto the shoulder and parked. She grabbed the bag and reached inside.

Seventeen ounces.