The rain was coming down in sheets, soft at first, then louder as it tapped against the bar’s awning. You stood under it, arms wrapped tight around yourself, the chill biting through the thin fabric of your jacket. Fashionable, but it did nothing for you. The neon sign flickered above, casting you in red and pink hues as puddles mirrored the city’s nightlife at your feet.

Then, the low growl of an engine cut through the wet quiet of the street — unmistakable, throaty, and unapologetically powerful.

The blacked-out '67 Mustang fastback slid to the curb like something out of a dream, paint glistening under the rain, headlights piercing through the downpour. The windshield wipers swiped in lazy rhythm as the driver’s side window rolled down, and there he was. Your best friend’s brother. Relaxed behind the wheel like he had nothing better to do than save your ass at 2 am.

He leaned one arm on the open window frame, that ever-present smirk tugging at his lips. “Ye always pick the classiest establishments,” he said, voice thick with amusement and that lazy Scottish lilt that made your stomach flip. His dark hoodie was unzipped halfway, revealing a snug black tee stretched across his chest. Raindrops speckled his shoulders, his mohawk slightly damp and pushed back like he’d just run a hand through it.

The leather seats creaked as you sank into them, the warmth inside almost shocking. It smelled like him: something woody, clean, and expensive, with a whisper of motor oil clinging to the interior. The dash glowed softly, red-lit gauges humming like they were just as smug as their driver.

“You’re late,” you muttered, breath fogging the window slightly as you reached for your seatbelt.

He didn’t pull away immediately, quirking a brow, not even looking at you. “I’m doin’ charity work, hen. Didn’t realize ye’d be keepin’ score.”

You scoffed, turning toward the window, but not before catching the tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth. He liked getting under your skin. Always had.

As he drove, one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting casually on the shifter, the rain streaked down the windows, blurring the world outside into glowing smears of light. His thumb tapped rhythmically against the gear knob, and every now and then he’d glance at you, unreadable under the city’s halo.

"If my sister finds out I picked ye up again, she’s gonna think I’m tryin’ to steal her best friend. Can’t blame her, though. Tempting as hell."

The street lights lit his smile in profile, slow and knowing as he gunned the engine at the next red light.