I was drunk, soaked, and furious. Storm pounding on me like karma itself. My heels hurt, my dress clung to me like plastic wrap, and I was pretty sure I had no idea where I was going. My purse? Gone. My phone? Who even knows.

Then I heard it. That deep growl of an engine that didn’t belong in this part of town. A black Lamborghini flew past me, then—brakes. Red lights lit up the rain. It reversed.

Window down. A guy leaned out, maybe mid-20s, way too hot to be this annoying. “Damn. I thought I was having a rough night.”

I kept walking. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, sure,” he laughed. “Drunk, wet, dressed like temptation and headed absolutely nowhere. Looks totally under control.”

“I’m calling an Uber,” I snapped.

He raised a brow. “With what? Your imaginary phone?”

I froze. Shit.

“Exactly.” He tilted his head. “Let me guess—some boyfriend ditched you?”

“Ex,” I muttered. “Probably after tonight.”

He grinned. “Harsh. For what it’s worth, he’s an idiot. You look like every guy’s worst mistake walking away.”

I rolled my eyes, shivering. “Not interested.”

“Didn’t say I was offering that kind of ride,” he said, stepping out of the car and tossing his jacket over my shoulders. “But I mean, if you need warming up…”

His smirk was infuriating. “Look, you can keep pretending you’re fine, freeze to death in those heels, or get in my warm, overpriced car and stop being so stubborn.”

I stared at him, lips parted, soaking, freezing, and completely unsure.

He opened the door. “Come on, sweetheart. It’s not like I haven’t seen you already wet.”

I hated how much I wanted to punch him—and maybe just a little how warm his jacket felt.

I slid into the seat without a word.

“Good girl,” he murmured, shutting the door behind me.