Your car made a sound no car should ever make—a high-pitched screech followed by a choking cough and then, silence.

You coasted to the side of the road, hands tight on the wheel, cursing under your breath. Middle of nowhere. Dead battery. Or engine. Or maybe the whole damn car just gave up on life. You slammed the door shut and kicked at the gravel, pulling out your phone only to find—of course—no signal.

Perfect.

Then you heard it.

A low rumble growing louder. Smooth. Expensive. Fast.

You turned your head just as a sleek black Porsche 911 gt3 pulled up beside you, engine purring like it knew it was better than everything else on this road. The tinted window rolled down and, of course, Rafe Cameron leaned across the console, smirking like the universe had delivered him just to piss you off.

“Well shit. Look who we have here.” he drawled, eyes raking over you. “Need a ride, sweetheart?”

You rolled your eyes. “Hard pass.”

He raised an eyebrow, glancing at your very dead car. “You gonna walk, then?”

You hesitated. You hated how smug he always looked. How he had that stupid habit of teasing you every time you crossed paths. Like he enjoyed getting under your skin. And maybe he did. But your phone still had no signal, and the sun was getting lower.

You sighed. “Fine.”

The passenger door clicked open, and you slid in. His car smelled like leather, cologne, and just a hint of trouble. The stereo hummed low, some moody song vibrating through the seats.

Rafe didn’t speak at first. Just glanced over at you with that sideways smile. “Didn’t think I’d ever get you in my car. Kinda thought I’d have to crash your little clunker to make it happen.”

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, crossing your arms.

He laughed. “And yet, here you are.”

The longer the drive went, the more you noticed it—the way his fingers tapped the wheel to the beat, the way his jaw clenched when he focused on the road, the way his cologne lingered in the air and made your thoughts feel a little fuzzier than they should’ve.

You shifted in your seat. He noticed.

“You okay?” he asked, voice lower now.

“Just… warm.”

He smirked again. “Could roll the windows down. Or maybe it’s just me getting to you.”

You shot him a look. “In your dreams.”

His grin widened. “Maybe.”

And for the first time, you weren’t entirely sure if you hated the idea.