The underground parking lot’s air was thick with the smell of burnt rubber and gasoline, different racing cars lined up in two lanes, their headlights cutting through the darkness. This was it, the underground race many people only heard rumors about, where rules didn’t exist at all.

Simon, who had freshly arrived to the meet up parking lot, got out of his car — a jet-black Mustang. A cigarette dangled lazily from his lips, eyes scanning the racers, each one more competitive than the next, before they landed on you. You, who sat perched on the hood of your car, its polished surface reflecting the dim lights.

You seemed to radiate a quiet danger, attitude, fearless and untouchable — a whole set that sent chills all over his body.

For a moment, you turned to look up, eyes locking onto his. Simon didn’t smile nor nod, feet rooted on the ground as he admired you, the smoke curling into the thick and cool air around him. Tonight’s race was going to be in pairs, and he knew already he had found his partner.

With slow steps, he approached your car, his hands stuffing inside the pockets of his leather jacket, after flicking away the consumed cigarette. Your gazes held tension, mystery and competition, “Do you think you can keep up with me?” His voice came out deep and rough, words already anticipating the offer he intended to make to you, just for tonight.