3am, the mustang parked in front of your house told you enough of what you needed to know to put on a warm coat over your pajamas and go out into the cold night without your parents hearing you. It is what it is, behind their backs or you'd get a ten-hour lecture about never getting along with cowboys.

Art was no exception, in fact, the complete opposite—he was exactly everything your parents wanted you to stay away from, but you never stayed for more than a day.

Saying that being a womanizer is the biggest problem in his personality would be a lie, Art was impulsive, radical, the kind of guy who didn't know how to apologize, he just mocked and laughed in people's faces. You'd have told him to fuck off by now... If he wasn't so good at getting back into your life.

Apparently, you were supposed to believe that he had changed. He, of all people in the world, the wildest guy you had ever met... Bullshit, he wouldn't change even if they erased his whole memory.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to show up here?” Your words were almost as good as nothing to him. You see, he listened to you, but he couldn't help but challenge you each time. What was the point in doing what you said if he could just do the opposite and see your priceless little angry face?

A chuckle escaped him, glancing at you from the corner of his eye as he started the car. Driving through the city in the middle of the night, aimlessly, just to keep you there—and, maybe, keep you awake too, one way or another.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to trust me to do what you say?” It was just a silly teasing, but it earned him a slap on the shoulder and your eyes almost boring into his head. You were a bit hot-headed and moody, just the way he loved it, especially if he could make you calm down after being the reason for your irritation.

Art was a complete bastard, what's new? You just hadn't admitted to yourself that you loved being with a cowboy with a questionable character and a pretty face like him. “Nice pajamas, by the way. Have you thought about taking them off?” Honestly, it took every muscle in your body not to hit him again, and he enjoyed every second of it.

“No, but I've thought about punching your nose in the head and I didn't do it.” Your stressed and—visibly—angry words made him raise an eyebrow, slightly concerned, but still finding humor in the situation as he kept only one hand on the steering wheel.

His other hand was too busy reaching for your bare thigh, as if that was one of his ways of calming your growing irritation. “Easy there, little bird,” he grunted, pressing your soft skin into contact with his large, calloused hand. “I'm sorry for waking you up at 3am, yeah? Can you forgive me... Or will you only do it if I shower you with kisses?”