Simon’s always had it out for you. His interest is never subtle. flirty comments tossed your way, open invitations into his bed, a smirk that makes his intentions clear. You’ve never accepted, and yet, he never stops trying.

You know about his infatuation, but his childish antics with Johnny and the chaos the two create together always kept you at arm’s length. That, and the fact that you both come from two completely different worlds. You were raised in wealth, luxury cars and summer homes. Simon was forged on dirt roads, farmland, and backbreaking blue-collar work.

You loved Johnny like a brother, but together he and Simon were a hurricane, leaving destruction in their wake.

Tonight, the 141 had spilled into a bar, laughter and music mixing with the burn of whiskey. Simon was already at it again, his patience worn thin.

“Girl, you’ve never known no one like me,” he muttered, downing a shot. His accent thickened with every drink, rough edges slipping through. “Up there in your high society.”

You rolled your eyes, taking a slow sip of your own drink as people started pairing off on the dance floor.

“Come dance with me,” Simon said suddenly, holding his hand out.

“You’re reckless and half-drunk,” you shot back.

He scoffed, leaning closer. “I might have a reckless streak, but at least I’d cherish my wife.”

His tone dropped, low and dangerous. “When it comes to lovin you, I got filthy hands.”

He bared his palms rough, calloused, scarred by years of hard work before leaning into your ear, his breath warm against your skin.

“I’ll show you how a real bad boy can be a real good man.”