It starts with music.

A late-night drive, just the two of us, because Hughie had one too many and passed out before he could remember he promised to take her home. So I did. Of course I did.

I shouldn’t have.

The car smells like whiskey and rain, and the stereo hums low, the deep bass of Come As You Are vibrating through my bones. Her head is tipped back against the seat, lips parted, hair spilling over her shoulders, and I’m white-knuckling the steering wheel like it’ll stop me from looking.

“Can we take the long way?” she asks, voice soft, teasing. “I like when you drive.”

I flick my gaze toward her, pulse thrumming in my throat. You shouldn’t.

But I don’t say it.

I just turn onto the old field road, the one that stretches long and empty, where there’s nothing but moonlight and shadows and the distant hum of the motorway. The rain’s stopped, but the roads are slick, and when I press my foot down on the accelerator, the car purrs.

She gasps, a sharp inhale. Then she’s laughing, gripping the edge of her seat as the speedometer climbs. Wind whips inside the car from her open window.

“Patrick,” she squeals, half-delighted, half-scolding.

And mother Mary, it does something to me.

I take the corner fast, tyres skimming loose gravel, and she’s still laughing, breathless, giddy. The song changes—Feel Good by Gorillaz—and I swear she’s glowing. Windblown, just teeth and wild energy, no other girl looked like she belongs in the passenger seat of my car, my life, my everything. more than her.

I cut the wheel slightly, making the car swerve, just to hear her squeal.

She smacks my arm. “You absolute gobshite!”

I laugh, shaking my head, but when I glance over—Christ. I want her.

The thought slams into me so hard I have to force my hands to stay steady on the wheel.

Not in the way I’ve always wanted her, quiet and buried, locked behind the fact that she’s Hughie’s girl and I’m his best mate.

But, this is worse. This is, if I reach over and touch her, I don’t know if I’ll stop. Like ever.