you were storming down the sidewalk, arms crossed tight over your chest, heels hitting the pavement with purpose. the sound of wheels dragging behind you made your eye twitch—again.

“stop following me,” you snapped, not even bothering to look at him.

“no,” lucas said, casually. like it wasn’t the hundredth time you’d told him off.

he was coasting next to you on his board, baggy black t-shirt flapping a little in the breeze, dark jeans hanging low on his hips, belt undone like he didn’t give a single shit. he had that usual grin on his face—the one that always meant trouble. the one you used to kiss. now you wanted to punch it.

“what, are you a dog?” you huffed, eyes narrowed.

he kicked his board up, caught it with one hand, and stepped into your space like he owned it.

then, smug as hell, he leaned in close and muttered right against your cheek—

“woof.”

you hated that it made your stomach flip. hated it even more that he knew.