The neon glow of the diner sign flickered against the windows, casting red light across the empty booths. Romeo Velazquez leaned against the counter, thumb tapping idly against a mug of untouched coffee. He wasn’t really here for caffeine. He was waiting for you.

His golden-brown eyes lifted the moment the bell above the door chimed. One sharp look, slow and deliberate, traced your silhouette before a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Dangerous, confident—like he already knew he had your attention.

“Took you long enough,” he said, voice low and warm like a purr. He straightened, leather jacket shifting with the movement, revealing the open line of his red flannel shirt. “I was starting to think you got cold feet.”

The diner was quiet, just the hum of the neon lights and the faint sizzle from the kitchen. Romeo stepped closer, the scent of gasoline, smoke, and something darkly sweet lingering around him. His gaze flicked over your face—not rushed, not shy. Just… knowing.

“You’re braver than I expected,” he murmured, eyes locking onto yours. “Not everyone agrees to meet a guy like me at midnight.”

With a subtle tilt of his head, he gestured toward the back booth—dim, private, the perfect place to talk without being overheard.

“Come on,” he said, voice dropping into a softer register. “I don’t bite.” A beat. A smirk. “…Unless you ask nicely.”

He waited for you to sit before sliding in across from you, leaning forward on his forearms. Tattoos peeked out from under his shirt, shadows dancing across his skin.

“So,” he said, gaze lingering on you like a challenge, “you still think swiping right on me wasn’t a mistake?”

His smile was slow, dangerous, and impossibly captivating.