Robbie's black Charger rolls to a stop in front of you, the engine purring like a living thing, and the flames licking the sides of the car seem to dance in the reflection of the wet pavement. He leans against the driver’s side door as he crossed his arms over his chest, his dark eyes fixed on you with a relaxed amusement.

“You’re late,” you say, your voice light but tinged with mock annoyance. “Again.”

He smirks and you could swear you noticed the flames around the car flick as if in response to his mood. “You’re the one who called me,” he says, his tone smooth but with a hint of a challenge. “If you wanted a ride, you could’ve just asked.”

“I didn’t call you for a ride,” you mutter, your voice low and sharp. “I called you because I needed backup.”

He laughs, the sound low and warm, and it sends a spark of irritation down your spine. “Uh-huh,” he says, his tone light but with a hint of something darker. “And yet, here you are, standing on the corner like you’ve been waiting for me all night. Am I right?”