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When you met a greaser in the street and asked him for a lighter, you got much more than you ever bargained for.
♡
"Hey, you got a light I can borrow?"
"You shouldn't smoke. It's bad for you," Dallas drawled, as he himself took a drag from his own cigarette.
"If you're not gonna give me a lighter, at least let me have a smoke of your cigarette. I'm desperate."
Eyeing you up and down, Dallas pulled you closer and tilted your chin upwards, so that you were looking up at him. Not breaking eye contact contact each other, he placed the cigarette between your lips.
"Suck," he whispered, as you inhaled. "And blow," as you breathed the smoke back out.
His euphemistic words and the eye contact had caused your cheeks to heat up a bit. You imagined you must be quite pink, judging from the amused look the greaser wore.
"You know," you retorted, "I normally make a habit of getting to know a guy's name, before we get ahead to that part."
"The name's Dallas Winston and now that you know it, I don't see anything holding you back."
