A gas station will do

You don't say much on the drive to the closest gas station. After each of you has a quick washup with the bathroom sink and a pile of paper towels, you claim a couple of sodas. Jane accepts a Sprite with a mute thanks.

Climbing back into the driver seat, Jane replaces the cap of her still-hissing bottle of Sprite and discovers the cupholder by the steering wheel. Intrigued, she slots the bottle into place. Then she turns to you as you buckle in beside her. “I can drop you off at your place,” she offers.

You give her a questioning look. "What about what just happened?"

Jane tries to play it cool and fails. Her cheeks heat. "What about it?"

You're not sure what to say, actually. It was so sudden. But it was hot, too. "Well... it was nice," you explain, lamely.

Jane fidgets. "Glad you... um... liked it."

A thought occurs to you. "Did you like it?"

Jane clears her throat, loudly, and tenses. "So your place, right?"

She does not want to talk about it. Maybe she did like it? Or maybe she'd rather forget it ever happened. Was it that bad? No, you remember every detail. Jane was into it too, you swear.