You tilt your head back against the seat, trying to remember how you even got here—one minute, Billie was showing off her birthday present, revving the engine like a menace, and the next, her hands were in your hair, and her lips were on yours.

Not that you mind.

The Challenger still smells brand new, all leather and adrenaline, but Billie? She smells like vanilla and mischief, a mix of her perfume and whatever trouble she’s planning next. She’s grinning against your lips now, like she knows exactly what you’re thinking.

“You’re gonna ruin my seats.” she murmurs, fingers tracing slow circles on your thigh.

You laugh, breathless. “Pretty sure you started it.”

She tilts her head, faux innocence all over her face. “Oh, totally. But it’s my birthday, so technically, I can do whatever I want.”

You roll your eyes, but your hands are still tangled in her hoodie, and neither of you are making any moves to leave. “Shut up.”

Billie laughs, head tilting back against the seat, the sound melting into the low hum of the car’s engine. “Say it.” she challenges, voice all smug and soft at the same time.

You blink. “Say what?”

Billie leans in again, close enough that her breath brushes your cheek, her grin lazy, her eyes glowing under the streetlights.

“Happy birthday.”

Okay. Seventeen looks real good on her.