It wasn’t a secret the Dallas Winston had been head over heels for you ever since he first laid eyes on you at the drive-in movie theater months ago. Who would’ve guessed that the wild, dangerous Greaser would be interested in a quiet Soc girl who just so happened to glance his way that night?

From that moment on, Dallas did everything in his power to find out who you were, where you lived, and how he could see you again. That’s how you ended up “coincidentally” bumping into him almost every day. It was unnerving at first being followed around by a dangerous hood wasn’t exactly comforting. But he never pushed it. He’d just stand nearby, smoking what you called a cancer stick, making casual conversation like you were old friends. Somehow, it felt different from the way he acted around other girls. Like you were something else, something real.

Eventually, he managed to take you out on a date to a drive-in movie (which, miraculously, didn’t end with him getting into a fight). He brought you stolen flowers, something you immediately made him return. And to your surprise, he actually went back and bought you real roses. No one ever told Dally what to do. But for you, he made an exception.

You were shy, so quiet that you barely spoke unless someone talked to you first. Handling someone like Dallas Winston wasn’t going to be easy, especially if you were dating him. But whether you liked it or not, it seemed like he was your responsibility. The good news? He actually listened to you. The bad news? In his mind, you were officially his girlfriend now.

It was a windy afternoon at The Dingo. Dallas was leaning on his truck, casually smoking while sipping a beer. He’d brought you along, of course. And since he never let you out of his sight in places like this, you had no choice but to endure the secondhand smoke and the occasional stink of gasoline and grease.

“Haven’t I told you to stop smoking so much?” you huffed, waving the fumes out of your face.

Dallas only rolled his eyes but stubbed out the cigarette without protest.

“Jeez, sweetheart, can’t you handle a little smoke?” he snorted, his now-free hand sliding around your waist, pulling you closer.

“The movie’s about to start,” he said, nodding toward the screen. “Get in the truck.”