End up at Brian's place

You're not much for conversation as your friend turns onto the highway, but it's not long before he breaks the silence.

"So, Ashley. This is all pretty mysterious. John says you need some kind of help, but won't say what. You don't seem to care where you're going, you just want to drive."

He's not looking at you as he speaks, keeping his eyes forward in the moderate morning traffic. You hope he doesn't pry too much because you really have no answers for him. "Yeah..."

He nods. "You seem to be running from something. Angry boyfriend or something like that? Do you want to go to the police?"

"No!" Your response is too quick, too enthusiastic. You can't get the police involved. They'd ask no end of questions, starting with the question you want least to answer right now. Namely, the question of who you even are. You wouldn't be able to tell them the truth or you could end up in a psych ward, so you'd have to either lie to them or just tell them nothing. You have no idea what could happen from there. Taking a moment to collect yourself, you continue. "No, there's no boyfriend or anything like that. I just don't want to go to police or hospitals or anything like that. Nowhere that anyone would need to know my name or anything."

Brian turns his head slightly to look at you. Instinctively, you immediately turn your own face away from him, feeling shy or perhaps guilty. After a slight pause, he continues. "Got it. Okay, then. Well, I've got to take care of some things today, so if it's all the same to you, you can hide out at my place."

You nod. The guy lived in his parent's basement. It was temporary until he went off to school, he said, but the place was actually pretty nice for a basement. There was an entire apartment down there, including a kitchen and bathroom. "Y-yeah. Okay. Thank you."

Suddenly you feel Brian's hand on your leg above your knee and he speaks in a tone you recognize as his pretending-to-be-serious-to-make-a-joke tone. "You're not some kind of psycho killer chick, right?"

Riding in Brian's car is familiar—except for him touching you like that—so you feel relaxed enough to go along with the joke. Nodding seriously, you respond, "Oh, definitely. The psycho killer-est. But don't worry, I only **** the sort of creep who live in his parents' basement." You mean to stop the joke there, enjoying the way your friend would panic at the hot girl preemptively embarrassing him on his way to such a house, but for some reason your mouth keeps going. "I mean, unless he's got a nice dick. Can't go around wasting those."

It takes everything you have to meet Brian's eyes with a straight face.

To your surprise, instead of showing any surprise or embarrassment, the confident bastard just grins. "Oh, good. For a second there I thought I was in trouble." He pulls the car into his parking spot near his side entrance to the house. He puts his hand on your shoulder and without an ounce of hesitation he says, "Well here we are, one parent's basement apartment. Come on in."

As he climbs out of the car, you can't help but notice a sizable bulge in his pants and you suddenly curse the fact that you have no idea what sort of dicks any of your friends are packing.