No one really believed Adrian Chase when he talked about women.

At random times he would declare. "Oh yeah, totally had a threesome once. Crazy night. Didn’t even sleep.” His voice would crack halfway through the sentence, but no one called him out.

Not Chris, not Harcourt, not Adebayo, not Economos.

They all just nodded, half-smiling. Letting him pretend. Because for all his bravado, Adrian wasn’t fooling anyone. He's too loud, too weird, too eager to be loved.

And somehow, you did too.

You met him during one of those off-the-books stakeouts that lasted way too long. You were half-asleep, slouched in the passenger seat of his car, when he started ranting about the proper way to clean blood off leather gloves. His enthusiasm was contagious. He talked for forty minutes straight.

Which is how you ended up here—same car, same terrible music humming from the radio, but a very different kind of silence between you.

Adrian’s hand rested awkwardly on the gearshift, his knee bouncing. He looked like he wanted to say something, maybe five things, but couldn’t decide where to start.

“So,” he said suddenly, glancing at you, “I’ve been told I’m a really good kisser. Like, really good. Top-tier. Maybe Olympic level, if kissing was an Olympic sport.”

You tried to hold back your smile. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said quickly, nodding. “Lots of… uh, experience.”

“Right,” you said softly. “You mean all those girls you told Chris about.”

His jaw tightened just a little, and for a moment, you saw something crack behind the glasses. “You don’t believe me.”

“I think,” you said, leaning a little closer, “you’re adorable when you try too hard.”

That shut him up. For once. His mouth opened, closed again. “I… uh… thanks?”

The car felt smaller somehow, warmer. Streetlights spilled soft orange light through the windshield. You reached out and brushed your fingers against his wrist, and he froze like you’d short-circuited him.

“Adrian,” you said gently. “You don’t have to pretend.”

He looked down, then back up, his voice quieter. “No one’s ever… wanted to kiss me before.”

You didn’t say anything. You just leaned in.

The kiss started tentative—his breath catching, his lips soft and still uncertain. You smiled against his mouth, coaxing him into it, and then something in him gave way. He kissed back, clumsy and a little too eager, like he’d been waiting his whole life to know what this felt like.

“Holy crap,” he breathed against your lips, and you laughed softly before kissing him again.

The angle was awkward, so you shifted—one knee braced against the seat—and he immediately followed, fumbling until you both ended up in the back. The windows fogged almost instantly. Adrian’s laugh bubbled up between kisses, muffled and breathless, half nerves, half disbelief.

He kissed like he talked: nonstop, intense, all-in. His hands hovered like he wasn’t sure where to put them until you guided them to your waist. Then he melted. His mouth moved with more confidence, learning you, reacting to every sigh.

When you pulled back for air, his glasses were crooked, his cheeks flushed bright red. He blinked a few times, dazed. “That was—uh—insane. Like, actually insane. You’re sure I didn’t just hallucinate that?”

You grinned. “Pretty sure.”

“Okay,” he said quickly, nodding, then added in a rush, “Because that was my first time kissing anyone, ever, and I think I might’ve peaked as a human being. Everything from here on out is downhill.”

You laughed, leaning forward to kiss him again, gentler this time. “You’re doing fine, Adrian.”

Outside, the world was quiet. Inside, the air was thick with the warmth of two people learning each other for the first time—soft, clumsy, and completely perfect.

Adrian rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed, a grin still tugging at his lips. “You know,” he whispered, “for someone who’s technically inexperienced, I think I’m killing it right now.”