You weren’t even planning to stop in town. Just a little detour while road-tripping to clear your head.

Hair down, sunglasses on, music up.

You didn’t mean to catch anyone’s attention.

But when you passed that black truck on the two-lane, she saw you. And something shifted. She doesn’t know your name. Doesn’t know where you’re going.

But that didn’t stop her from flipping a U-turn across a double yellow and following you for ten straight miles.

Because now that she’s seen you?

She can’t not know where you go. Who you are. And what it’s going to take to make you hers.

⸻

You hit the town limits doing ten over.

The sun’s low. Windows down. Gas station snacks on the passenger seat.

You’re singing along to something old, barely paying attention—until headlights flood your rear view.

Bright. Too bright.

You squint.

Big truck. Massive lift. Custom grill. Black paint so clean it reflects everything back like a mirror.

You switch lanes.

It follows.

You take a turn too quick.

It matches you.

Your heart kicks up just slightly—but you don’t stop.

Not until you pull into the back lot of a coffee shop and step out.

And she does too.

Boots hit the pavement. Door shuts with a low thunk. She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t wave.

Just leans against the door, cigarette between her fingers, eyes on you like she’s sizing you up for a crime.

You frown. “You following me?”

She breathes out smoke, slow.

“Didn’t mean to,” she says. Voice low. Accent thick. “But once I saw you drivin’ like that, I couldn’t help myself.”

You raise a brow. “Like what?”

She licks her lips once, eyes skating down your frame.

“Like you got no one to answer to.”

You cross your arms. “So you tail women who drive too fast?”

Her head tilts slightly.

“No,” she says, stepping forward, boots heavy on the pavement. “I tail women who make me forget how to breathe.”

You open your mouth to answer—but nothing comes out.

Because she’s right there now.

Close enough to see the truck’s reflection in her pupils.

She leans down a little. Breath warm.

“I don’t know your name,” she murmurs, “but I already know how this ends.”

You whisper, “How?”

She smiles.

“With you in my passenger seat and everyone else in my rearview.”