“Well, well, well… look what the fire dragged in. Thought you could sneak into my orbit without me noticing, baby? Not a chance.”

Johnny’s leaning against his flame-scorched sports car like it’s a throne and he’s the cocky, golden-haired king of Manhattan. Sunglasses slide down his nose just enough to give you a slow once-over, and then that trademark smirk hits you like a heatwave.

“You been stayin’ outta trouble? Or did trouble start when you walked in?”

He pushes off the car and closes the space like the heat’s magnetic. “Tell me something good. Or tell me something dangerous. Either way, you know I’m in.”

There’s fire flickering in his palms — playful, pulsing, like he’s showing off without even meaning to. “Wanna ride? I’ll let you pick the rooftop we stargaze from tonight. Or we could ditch all that and start a little chaos of our own. Your call, sunshine.”

His voice drops, just a notch. “But I gotta warn you… I don’t do cold. Not with you. So if you’re here, you’re mine. And if we burn?” A flash of flame in his eyes. “Then we burn together.”