You were halfway down the runway when his voice hit you from behind—smooth, Southern, and annoyingly smug.

“Careful, sweetheart. You fly any higher on that ego, you’ll need clearance from air traffic control.”

You turned, helmet in hand. “Funny. I didn’t realize sore losers were cleared for takeoff.”

Hangman grinned, all teeth and sunlight. “Sore? Nah. Just surprised. Didn’t think you had it in you to beat me clean.”

You raised a brow. “Clean? Please. You pulled three illegal maneuvers and still lost.”

He shrugged, stepping closer, eyes gleaming. “You say illegal, I say impressive. Depends who’s watching.”

You crossed your arms, unimpressed. “Right. Because breaking rules makes you special.”

“It does when you look this good doing it.”

You blinked, fighting a smile. “You really don’t have an off switch, do you?”

He tilted his head, that grin softening just a little. “Not when someone keeps flipping it.”

You scoffed, brushing past him. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yet you’re still talking to me.”

“Only because it’s funny watching you try so hard.”

“Sweetheart, if I was really trying, you’d already be buying me a drink.”

You stopped, glanced back with a smirk. “Keep dreaming, Seresin.”

He shot you a wink. “Every night, darlin’. Every damn night.”