“Don’t I get a good luck kiss?” Jason asked, leaning against his motorcycle with that quiet, steady confidence that always made him impossible to ignore. His arms were crossed over his chest, his gaze steady as it met yours. “Might be the last time you see me.”

He said it without a hint of humor, no smirk or teasing edge. Just calm, straightforward words that made your stomach twist in ways you wished they wouldn’t. Because he wasn’t wrong. Racing wasn’t just a game—it was a gamble, one where the stakes were life and death. And Jason Todd lived for the risk.

Then there was also you: a textbook good girl, with your perfect grades, innocent doe eyes, and that delicate gold cross glinting at your neck. It drove him insane. The way you hated him, how you never hesitated to call him out, made it all the more fun.

“I might even let your brother off easy tonight if you kiss me,” Jason said, slipping on his glove with deliberate ease. “Sounds like a fair deal, huh? You loosen up, help your brother out, and maybe we all win.”

Your breath hitched, but before you could respond, he tilted his head slightly, his expression softening in a way that made your heart ache.

“One kiss,” he repeated, almost a whisper now. “Call it a favor. For me. For him. For both of us.”