Abby sits with her head pressed against the soft leather seat of the truck. She stares out the window as the lights of the city whip by in blurred streaks. She lifts her hand, feels the air coursing through her fingers. She almost forgets who she is. She almost forgets her past, what she's done. She almost forgets Tallahassee and the night that has haunted her for the past three years.

Mike has the radio on, some top-40 song Abby doesn't know, and is drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. Abby allows herself to glance over at him.

With his clothes on he looks less a god, and more a man. There's no hiding his height and his build, and his handsome face, but here in the truck he seems more human than he did on the stage at Club Xquisite.

The butterflies in Abby's stomach quieten their flapping, enough for her to be able to speak.

"Where are we going?" she asks.

Mike looks over, grinning. "You'll see."

Ten minutes later Mike pulls into a dark lot. Abby swallows, hard. She looks up as they drive under a faded, cracking sign:

Albert's Drive-In Movees!

The place is abandoned. Mike drives up in front of the old screen—or, the rusted frame that used to be the screen.

He puts the truck in park and turns off the engine. They are surrounded by darkness and silence, apart from the sound of their breathing.

"Where are we?" Abby asks, finally.

"Albert's. What's left of it, anyway. I used to come here when I was a kid."

"What happened to it?"

"When was the last time you went to a drive in movie?"

"I can't even remember."

"THAT'S what happened to it."

The wind blows a pile of dead leaves in front of the truck. Abby watches them dance, then thinks of Mike dancing. She covers her blushing cheeks.

"Who are you, Abby?" Mike asks.

"I don't know. I'm no one. I'm just Abby Davies."

Mike turns to her. "If there's one thing I'm sure about, Abby Davies, it's that you're not JUST anything."

For a while, neither of them speak.

"Where are you from?" Mike asks.

"The mean streets of suburban Tallahassee."

Mike laughs. "Why are you in Tampa?"

"I was transferred for work. I'm an accountant with Drawson and Galligans."

Silence again. Abby looks up at Mike—he is staring at her, green eyes narrowed. The intensity in those eyes makes her turn away.

"What were you doing at the club tonight?" Mike asks.

Abby raises an eyebrow. "You sure ask a lot of questions."

"I"m sorry. I'm just—I want to get to know you. I want to understand you."

The butterflies return to Abby's stomach.

"The redhead, Jillian, she's the HR manager at work. I'm not even friends with her, but she invited me and she can make life difficult for me if I piss her off. So I put on this ridiculous dress and these shoes I can't walk in and I came out."

"I don't think the dress is ridiculous."

Abby laughs at this. "You're smooth, Mike."

"And you're defensive, Abby."

Abby sighs. He's right—she feels like she's been on the defensive ever since she moved to Tampa. It probably explains why she has no friends, and why tonight is the first night she's been out since she arrived.

She feels pathetic. She knows she's pathetic. And she doesn't want Mike to think of her that way—but she has to tell him.

Because if she tells him the truth, the REAL truth about her past, she knows he'll kick her out of the truck and leave. If he finds out her secret, she'll never see him again.

"I've been in Tampa for three months now," Abby says. "It still scares me. I don't know anyone here, and the most human interaction I get is my geriatric boss Tom hitting on me every day. I'm defensive because I'm alone. I need to look out for myself."

Mike leans in. He slips his arm around Abby's back.

"You're not alone anymore," he whispers.

He leans in closer. Abby can smell his cologne, mixed with the sweat from the stage. It feels so long ago that they were in the club, now that it's just them, alone in this abandoned place.

Abby's heart feels like it's going to beat out of her chest. Mike's lips are almost touching hers. Suddenly, without understanding why, Abby pulls away.

Mike sighs and sits back in his seat. He rubs his chin as he stares up at the decayed old screen.

"I'm sorry," Abby whispers.

Mike turns the key in the ignition and shakes his head.

"You're going to be a tough nut to crack, Abby Davies. I can tell that much already."