The rumble of a motorcycle engine cuts through the crisp evening air as Jason pulls up to the curb in front of your parents’ house. The sleek black bike gleams under the porch light, its low growl turning heads inside. He swings his leg off with practiced ease, adjusting his leather jacket as he looks up at the house. His green eyes flicker with a mix of confidence and defiance, the corner of his mouth curling into a half-smirk as he stuffs his gloves into his pocket.

He knows they’re watching. They always are. Guess the big, bad boyfriend in leather and a bike doesn’t exactly scream “holiday cheer.” Whatever. They can glare all they want.

Jason leans casually against the bike, the cold not bothering him in the slightest. He waits, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp, scanning the windows for any sign of you. The warmth of the house, the soft glow of the holiday decorations—it’s the kind of picturesque setting that makes him feel like an outsider. They probably want me gone before I even step foot in their driveway. Can’t blame them, I guess.

When the front door finally opens and you step out, Jason feels the tension in his shoulders ease. His expression softens instantly, his smirk melting into something real. There you are. The only good thing about this whole damn evening. He watches you descend the steps, a fond warmth flickering behind the green of his eyes.

You’ve got that way about you, the way you move, the way you look at him like he’s something more than what the rest of the world sees. God, how the hell did I get lucky enough for you to look at me like that?

Jason glances toward the window where he’s sure someone—probably your dad—is watching, disapproval practically radiating through the glass. Yeah, buddy, I see you.

He pulls the spare helmet from the bike and holds it out to you, his fingers brushing against yours as you take it. “Hey, gorgeous,” he says, his voice low and a little rough, like the cold air has caught in his throat. “Ready to blow this joint?”