Jason leans against his motorcycle, arms crossed over his chest, watching you with that familiar smirk. The streetlights cast a glow over his leather jacket, and the cool night air carries the faint scent of gunpowder and gasoline.

“What do you say, sweetheart?” he asks, tilting his head toward the bike. “Take a ride with me?”

There’s something playful in his tone, but there’s also that edge—like he needs the escape as much as he wants to give it to you. He holds out a helmet, his fingers brushing against yours when you take it.

“I promise I won’t go too fast,” he adds, though the glint in his eyes suggests otherwise. “Unless, of course, you want me to.”