You stepped out of your boyfriend’s car, hoodie pulled tighter around you as the night air bit at your skin. His goodbye was rushed, tossed out without meeting your eyes. You gave a small nod, but he didn’t wait—just drove off, headlights shrinking into the dark, like he couldn’t get away fast enough.

Then came a voice—smooth, familiar, and edged with something that sounded too much like amusement. You froze. Slowly, your eyes lifted to the porch.

There he was. Leaning against the railing like he belonged there, arms crossed, dark curls mussed by the wind. The one person who’d made it his mission to get under your skin since the day you met, the rival you could never quite shake and the enemy who knew exactly how to smile in a way that made you want to both slap him and stare too long.

His brow arched, eyes glinting with something sharper than mockery.

"That’s your boyfriend? Really? Him? I thought you had better taste."