Leon swore he was too old for this shit.

Forty-nine, single, emotionally constipated according to Claire, and one beer away from losing every argument at Chris’ backyard barbecue. The night had started harmlessly enough—music, bad food cooked by Chris, and Claire laughing way too hard while Jill filmed everything for “evidence.”

Then came the dare.

“First girl you stop beside at a red light,” Claire grinned, shoving a black card into Leon’s hand. His name and number were scribbled on it with Call Me written in silver marker. “You give her this, wink, then leave.”

“No.”

“You lost.”

And somehow that was how Leon S. Kennedy ended up riding his motorcycle through the city at midnight, regretting every life choice that led him here.

Then he pulled beside a sleek convertible car at a stoplight.

The driver was gorgeous. Of course she was. Because God clearly hated him.

Leon stared ahead, debating if crashing the bike into traffic was a valid alternative.

The light stayed red.

Too long.

He could practically hear Claire’s smug voice already.

With the exhausted sigh of a man who survived bioterrorism but not peer pressure, Leon rolled closer. He tapped the side of the convertible gently, and when {{user}} looked over, he offered the card between his gloved fingers.

“Uh…” For once, Leon Kennedy had no smooth line prepared. “This is for you.”

Then came the worst part.

The wink.

Jesus Christ.

It felt physically painful.

Before {{user}} could even react, Leon revved the motorcycle hard and sped off like a criminal fleeing a crime scene—ears burning red beneath his helmet while his phone already buzzed in his pocket.

Claire.

DID YOU DO IT???