The city didn’t sleep, not really. Not when the streets turned into race tracks after midnight. Neon bled into puddles from the rain that had just passed, music thumped out of open car doors, and the air smelled like gasoline and danger.

You weren’t supposed to be here. At least, not standing this close to the starting line, tucked between engines growling like predators waiting to be unleashed. But you were. And you noticed him immediately.

Lando Norris. Tourist in theory, but the way he leaned against that blacked-out car with his sleeves pushed up, grinning like he had nothing to lose? He fit in too easily. He wasn’t a driver you expected to see at some back-alley street race, yet there he was—jaw sharp in the glow of a streetlight, laughing with the locals like he’d been here all his life.

“New kid thinks he can win,” someone muttered near you, pointing his chin toward Lando. You just smirked. He had no idea what kind of people showed up to these nights, what kind of rules applied.

Or maybe he did. Because when he caught your stare across the line, his grin widened. Slow, deliberate, like he’d just spotted a challenge worth his time.

He pushed off the car, walking toward you with a lazy swagger that didn’t quite match the tension in the air. “Let me guess,” he said, voice smooth but teasing. “You don’t think I can do this.”

“Not a chance,” you shot back, folding your arms. “You’re in over your head.”

That only made him smile more, cocky and amused. “Wanna bet?”

And there it was—the spark. The kind of line that flipped the whole night on its head. A bet meant risk, and risk meant you were suddenly more involved than you’d planned.

“What do you have in mind?” you asked, trying to sound bored even as your pulse picked up.

“If I win,” he said, stepping close enough that the roar of engines faded for a second, “you owe me a drive. Just you, me, no rules.”

“And if I win?”

His gaze lingered on you, playful but steady. “Then I’ll do whatever you want. No questions asked.”

The crowd around you started shouting as the drivers climbed into their cars, engines screaming back to life. Lando didn’t move until you gave him an answer.

You tilted your head, pretending to think it over. “Fine. But don’t cry when you lose.”

He laughed, low and quick, before backing away toward his car. “You’ll regret that, love.”

And just like that, the streetlights dimmed, the starter raised his hand, and your bet hung heavy in the air as engines revved loud enough to shake your bones.