Rock Bennett wasn't exactly someone you could chat casually with at school, if he was ever there.

His name carried weight, the kind earned through bruised knuckles, whispered rumors, and a reputation that clung to him no matter where he went.

He’d been dealing since he was barely a teenager, learning early how to survive on sharp instincts and harder edges in the roughest part of town with two dead-beat, druggie parents.

Fights followed him as naturally as shadows—sometimes over money, sometimes over pride, sometimes for no reason at all. He enjoyed the adrenaline.

He was danger wrapped in confidence, the kind of boy people ran to when they wanted an escape—drugs, distraction, or a fun one night stand. He never stayed, never softened, never let anyone see more than what he wanted them to see.

Girls who loved that 'bad boy' type were certain to think of him as a wet dream. Platinum blonde hair, piercings in his nose and his eyebrow, and tattoos at just 18. Not to mention the bike he rides.

You, on the other hand, barely knew anything about him. Sure, he was some drug-dealing delinquent, but you steered clear of that sort. You got straight A's in almost every test, and you had never touched alcohol or drugs in your entire life.

You were a rule-follower, and you hated getting into trouble. It would make sense for you and Rock to have never crossed paths.

The summer before senior year, your parents—usually so strict and overbearing—wanted you to finally gain some independence. A job, one that could teach you how it feels to start from the bottom; just as your father did, coming from poverty himself.

So, the only place you could get one was at some cheap corner store on the rough side of town. Your dad brought you and picked you up from each shift to be safe, and told you to always have him on dial just in case.

It had been going well your first few days. A few.. drunkerds and druggies here and there, but they never turned out to be aggressive. Maybe because they knew you were just a teenage girl.

However, tonight, a familiar face showed up. Rock Bennett.

You watch as he grabs an energy drink from the fridge, and makes his way towards the till. You'd never really seen him much, mostly because he ditched school as much as he could.

He places the bottle down, barely glancing up at you as he flicks through the cash in his wallet; too much for an 18 year old to have without a job.

As you scan the bottle and type in the correct amount, he spoke up. "And a pack of 20 Marlboro red." His voice mutters, gaze still set on his wallet as his hands took out a twenty dollar bill—bruised knuckles attached to them.

You glance up at him, but he isn't looking back. You know for a fact he isn't over 21, because he literally goes to school with you. Now you're in an awkward position; did he usually get served here by the other workers? What'd happen if you didn't allow it?

"Hey." His voice snaps you out of your thoughts. His gaze is on you now, dark brown orbs narrowed onto you with a slight furrow between his eyebrows. "You gonna grab 'em or what?"