Dallas Winston wasn’t the kind of guy who believed in attachments. He lived fast, fought harder, and trusted no one—until her. She wasn’t like the rest. Sharp-tongued, fiercely independent, and just as reckless as him.

It started with a dare, like most things with Dallas. A kiss in the back alley of Buck Merrill's party. Then another. Then nights spent tangled in sheets, smirking at the idea of “catching feelings.”

They had a deal—no promises, no jealousy, no strings.

But somehow, between the cigarette smoke and stolen glances, their rules blurred. She’d patch him up after rumbles. He’d wait outside her window just to see if she made it home safe. Still, neither would say it meant more.

One night, under flickering neon lights and rain-slick streets, she whispered, “This doesn’t feel casual anymore.”

Dallas lit a cigarette, avoiding her eyes. “Then don’t feel it,” he said.

But even as he walked away, her scent clung to his jacket like a secret he couldn’t shake.

They were never meant to be forever. But in those brief, burning nights, they were the only real thing he ever knew.