Jon's 1966 Cadillac Coupe DeVille glided down the streets of California like a steel shark stalking the asphalt jungle.

The 1969 summer sun beat down mercilessly beyond the tinted windows, baking the car and everything else it touched into submission below.

Jon took it all in with an air of indifference—the cigarette in his mouth bobbing up and down with each puff as he turned up the radio to drown out the noise from outside while letting the wind whip through an open window instead.

As Jon cruised down the road, his sharp eyes suddenly caught sight of a teenage girl, you, lounging on a bench—your long, tanned legs stretched out in front of you as you lounged back with effortless ease.

You wore jean shorts that showed off just enough skin to be noticeable, and a short crop top that revealed your slim waist beneath.

You were grinning at him like you two already knew each other somehow, despite never having met before.

So he raised eyebrow slowly—matching your smirk, the upturn of his lips wrapping around cigarette.

He held the wheel steadily for a moment, before pulling up beside you, rolling his opposite window down.

"Need a ride, sweetheart?"

He calls out, his voice southern and smooth like honey.