The man stirred, raising his head groggily. Blood trickled from a cut above his eyebrow, but his eyes were shockingly blue. The car shifted beneath us, inching further over the edge.
“We don’t have much time,” I urged, unbuckling his seatbelt with shaking hands. “Can you move?”
He mumbled something unintelligible, but turned toward me. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, bracing my feet against the door frame as I pulled. The car made an ominous creaking sound, rocks skittering down the embankment beneath it.
With strength I didn’t know I possessed, I dragged him from the driver’s seat just as the car tipped. We stumbled backward, falling onto the road as the vehicle surrendered to gravity. It tumbled down the cliff with a sickening series of crashes, metal crumpling against stone until it finally came to rest among the trees below.
We lay on the hot asphalt, our chests heaving in unison. The man’s weight pressed against me where he’d landed half on top of me in our fall. I could feel his heartbeat, rapid and strong, against my breast.
“You saved my life,” he murmured, his accent rich and melodic despite his breathlessness.
Before I could respond, he pushed himself up, looking down at me with those impossible blues. A wild, daring glint flashed across his face. The look of a man who’d just cheated death and felt invincible because of it.
Without warning, he crushed his lips against mine.
My first kiss. And it was stolen—pressed against my lips by a stranger.
For a split second, I froze, stunned. His lips were warm and soft, and my body betrayed me. My hands, meant to push him away, curled into his shirt instead. I wasn’t just letting it happen, I was responding.
I liked it.
What kind of girl melts into a kiss from a dude who nearly killed her? What did that say about me? Was I really so starved for connection that I’d let a stranger assault me with his lips?
His mouth moved against mine with urgency, and I let myself experience the heat, the excitement and the way my heart thundered.
He pulled away and smiled, like we’d just shared something magical. “I’ve never kissed a Black girl before,” he whispered, voice husky with wonder.
The words shattered whatever spell I’d been under.
My stomach twisted. Great. I was a bucket list item.
Shame burned up my neck. Not just at him, but for letting him kiss me. For wanting it. For not stopping it the moment it started.
“Oh,” I managed, pushing him away.
“I’m sorry,” he said, taking my hand. “That came out terribly wrong. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Clearly,” I replied, extracting my fingers from his and getting to my feet.
There was something familiar about him, though I couldn’t place it. His clothes were expensive, and his watch was probably worth more than my entire education.
“My father will be furious about the car. That’s the third one this year,” he announced as he attempted to stand.
Hold up.
“The third one this year? It’s only June.” My voice came out stronger than I expected. “You’ve totaled three cars in six months and you’re worried about your father being angry rather than the fact you could have died? Or killed someone else?”
His expression shifted, a rueful smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he ran a hand through his disheveled golden hair. The blood from his cut had dried, making him look like a warrior fresh from battle.
“You’re right,” he said, his accented voice softening as his eyes locked with mine. “I’m being an ass.” He stepped closer, moving with casual grace despite having just survived a crash. “What’s your name, aggelé mou?” he asked.
The screech of tires shattered the air before I could answer. A black SUV skidded to a halt inches from where we stood. Gravel sprayed against my ankles.
A tall man in an impeccably tailored suit stepped out of the SUV, surveying the scene. His eyes landed briefly on me before fixing onMr. Reckless, and he began speaking rapidly in Greek. I couldn’t understand the words, but the man’s demeanor reminded me of Secret Service agents I’d seen in movies.
I scanned the area for my belongings. My headphones lay in the road about ten feet away, still pulsing with music. I walked over andsnatched them up, brushing off dirt before placing them around my neck.
My phone remained propped against my tote where I’d left it, still recording. The screen showed a sixteen-minute video. Evidence of my dance, the crash and my sprint toward danger. I quickly stopped the recording and pocketed the device.
