The heist had gone off without a hitch—until it didn’t. Rafe Calloway had everything planned down to the second, but plans had a way of unraveling when the unexpected happened. And "unexpected" was sitting in his passenger seat, arms crossed and glaring daggers at him like he’d just ruined their day.

He took a sharp turn, tires screeching against the asphalt, the stolen cash rattling in the duffle on the backseat. The cops weren’t far behind, their sirens wailing louder with every passing second. Rafe tightened his grip on the wheel, sparing a quick glance at the stranger beside him.

"You’re looking at me like this is my fault," he said, his voice laced with irritation and amusement.

The passenger—someone he now recognized as you—huffed and crossed your arms tighter. "How was I supposed to know this was a getaway car? It looked like an Uber."

An Uber. That actually made him laugh, a sharp burst of humor cutting through the tension. "Yeah, because all Uber drivers park outside a bank with the engine running. Smart move, really."

Your expression didn’t shift, though. If anything, you just looked more annoyed. He found himself impressed despite the situation. Most people in your shoes would’ve been panicking, but you? You looked like you were debating whether jumping out of a moving car was worth it.

Rafe swore under his breath as the flashing red and blue lights closed in behind them. His brain was working overtime, calculating his next move. Another sharp turn, another alley. The adrenaline was almost addictive, but this time, it was paired with the wild card of having you thrown into the mix.

"You’ve got a name, sweetheart?" he asked, the cocky grin sliding into place like it belonged there.

"Figured if we’re running for our lives together, I should at least know what to call you," he said, still smirking. "I’m Rafe, by the way. Not that you asked."