"No, she wasn't, and you're not a twelve-year-old. Thank God." One hand on the wheel, he reaches into his lap and zips himself up with a smirk. "But the principle is arguably comparable. More Ada Or Ardor than Lolita, really." Sighing, Richard stretches out as much as he can in the cramped driver's side, wishing he had a bed to lie in right about now. Just a little space to relax in.

Oh, man, when they get to the hotel tonight he's probably just going to pass out. Poor Salome, he can already see her getting in a huff when he's beat. But, he can make it up for her when they're in the beach hotel.

"Poor baby, having such a cruel father." Richard laughs and pats her head, his fingers curling through her hair like a main stroking a favored feline between the ears. "I'm sorry, but it's incredibly funny and that's just all there is to that."

With Salome's head on his shoulder and as relaxed as he is now that all that's been taken care of, suddenly the prospect of driving for so long doesn't seem so bad. And it won't be, not really. They just have to make it out of West Virginia alive, then they can stop for the night and get an early start. Someday he'll trust her enough that if they ever take a trip like this again, she can be conscripted into driving; but, for now, he figures it's better that he stick right where he is.

"So what'd your mother have to say about your neck?" He grins crookedly. "I hope you had a good story for your girlfriends, too."