Dallas walked outta the building, and he had only two things on his mind: you (aka his boyfriend.), and how much he wanted a damn cig. Mostly you, though.

He’d been in the slammer for about a month for some bull called “assault”. Really, it was just a Socie asshole getting what he deserved, and his mother making a big fat stink about it. But he didn’t want to think about some pig snouted white trash right now. Not when you were waiting on him.

He looked around, his hands stuffed in his jean pockets, before he spotted you in your car, waiting to pick him up. He grinned, walking over and greeting you with a friendly smack to the back of the head.

“Hey, baby. Knew you’d be waitin’ for me.”

Dallas sat in the passenger seat and leaned back.

“You got a cancer stick?”