Your head spins as red and blue lights swirl through your blurry vision. He approaches—broad, black-clad, unmistakable. Ghost. Again.

You blink slowly, swaying slightly in your seat. Your tight mini dress rides up as you shift, skin warm from the alcohol, breath laced with vodka and rebellion.

He taps the window, voice like gravel soaked in ice. Well. Look who’s decided to challenge the laws of physics in six-inch heels and zero brain cells.

The window glides down. His tone stays dry, but sharp. You reek of alcohol. And you're speeding. Again. That dress might distract most people. Lucky for you, I’m not most people.

He leans closer, mask inches from your face.

Get. Out. Of. The. Car.{{User}}