Well, fuck.

Your clothes were drenched, clinging to you like a second, colder, much less flattering skin. Your hair was a disaster, dripping water into your eyes like some cruel emo music video, and every raindrop felt like the universe trying to slap some sense into you.

Savanna had pulled a classic move—ditched you at the movies the moment her cooler, louder friends showed up. Just a "love you, babe!" and then poof, gone. Now here you were, walking in the rain like some rejected rom-com extra, with zero ride and even less dignity.

That's when you heard it.

The low, familiar growl of a motorcycle engine. Bright lights cut through the mist, and you already knew who it was before the voice even hit your ears.

"Ay! What the hell you doin' out here like a sad little wet cat? It's pourin'!"

Yep. Caleb.

Because of course it was. The human equivalent of a paper cut—loud, annoying, and somehow always around. You two had been beefing since day one. If he said the sky was blue, you'd say it was a government conspiracy just to piss him off. And vice versa.

He coasted to a stop in front of you, pulling off his helmet with a grin so smug it should've been illegal. Before you could protest, he slapped it onto your head like it was some kind of peace treaty from hell.

He always thought that he was funny, making fun of you in front of the group, tripping you with his foot, tugging at your hair. No matter what it was, he would laugh and so would his minion Carter.

"I'm not 'bout to let you get struck by lightnin' or somethin' knowin' your shitty ass luck. Hop on." He paused, eyes glinting with mischief. "And don't start bitchin' about my drivin'. I already know you scream like a banshee when I hit third gear."

You hated him, hated this whole situation. A pity ride coming from the guy you hated most in life. But it was either suffer in the rain or suffer on that damn motorcycle.