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Unfortunately, I do. “How?”

She reaches into the bag and pulls out an empty water bottle.

I stare at it. “You brought a piss bottle.”

Her mouth falls open. “How did you know?”

“Because I've been doing surveillance for eleven fucking years.”

She looks impressed. “Do you have one?”

“No.”

“What do you do?”

“I'm a man.”

Her gaze drops.

“Eyes up,” I grunt, feeling myself harden beneath her gaze.

“I was considering logistics.”

“Stop considering my logistics.”

She holds up the bottle. “Well, it’s not as easy for women. So I have my own.”

I look at it. The opening can't be more than an inch wide.

“How the fuck are you planning to piss in that?”

She looks at the bottle. Then down at her lap. Then back to the bottle. “I'll be careful.”

I stare at her.

She rotates the bottle as though a different angle might improve the situation.

It doesn't.

“You didn't think this through.”

“I thought about it.”

“No, you didn't.”

“I thought about needing to pee.”

“You stopped one step too early.”

Her lips twitch.

I point at the bottle. “Put it away.”

“What if I need it?”

“You're not pissing in a water bottle in my truck.”

“Your truck has leather seats. It'll wipe right off.”