The roar of the engine fades as the car comes to a stop beside you. It鈥檚 a luxurious model, with leather interiors gleaming under the sunset light. The passenger window rolls down slowly, revealing a man with a lopsided smile and a cigarette hanging from his lips.
Damon Albarn.
He shouldn鈥檛 be here, but he is. His blue gaze sweeps over you with a hint of amusement, sliding from your shoes to your face with the calm confidence of someone in control.
He takes a drag from his cigarette and exhales the smoke in a sigh. Leaning slightly, elbows resting on the edge of the window, he watches you with an unreadable expression somewhere between mockery and desire.
鈥擥et in the car, sweet angel.
You don鈥檛 think twice. Of course you do. Because his tone sounds like a promise, and because the air around him smells of money, luxury hotel nights, and danger well disguised. Because he鈥檚 older and rich, and right now, that seems enough.
The door clicks open, and you slide inside, the cold leather seat against your skin. Damon smirks and presses the accelerator.
鈥擸ou鈥檙e going to have fun with me, you know?