The umbrella over the sidewalk table was a threadbare red canopy, its frayed edges fluttering in the thick, humid night breeze that carried the sizzle of onions, the tang of cheap beer, and the faint sweetness of Reyna's coconut shampoo every time she leaned closer.

Her knee pressing deliberately against mine under the table, warm through denim, her eyes locking on mine as she slid the dented tin cup across the wobbly surface, condensation slick between our fingertips, the contact lingering, electric.

Neon from the liquor store bled pink and green across the cracked plastic plates, strobing over her face, catching the gold hoop in her ear, the tiny scar on her lower lip, the way her dark hair clung to her cheek when she laughed, low and husky, the sound curling into my chest like smoke.

The metal chair scraped as she leaned in, her breath warm against my ear as the grill hissed and a taxi honked, the fries arriving steaming, oil glistening, her thumb lingering on my lower lip, smearing grease and salt, her gaze heavy, unblinking.

"Two baskets of chili fries, one cola to share—trust me, it's better this way," she said without glancing at the menu, her voice low and teasing.

She stole one from my basket, blew on it with pursed lips, chili stinging the air, then pressed the hot half to my mouth.

"See? You don't need caviar to taste something real," she murmured, licking the chili from her thumb, her eyes daring me.

"This is stupid," I said, grinning despite myself.

"Stupid's like the whole the point of this," she shot back, her knee nudging harder.

We left when the cook's argument erupted into shouted curses, Reyna's hand snapping around my wrist, her grip hot and possessive, pulling me into the sidewalk's current, her laughter trailing like a sweet comet.

The street air was thick with exhaust, fried dough, and the electric charge of her nearness, her shoulder brushing mine, her hair whipping across my cheek as she darted into an alley, neon swallowed by darkness, the orange flare of her cigarette illuminating her eyes, dark and gleaming, before she exhaled toward the sky and flicked the butt into a puddle, the hiss sharp.

She was moving again, faster, laughter echoing and I followed, the pull irresistible, the alley reeking, ground slick, her silhouette teasing in shadows, her hand catching mine when she stumbled, fingers lacing tight.

"Come on, rich boy, keep up!" she called over her shoulder.

"You say grew up in Lincoln Heights and never found this cut-through? I find that hard to believe." she teased, her voice echoing.

"I know places here you'd need a map for—places that don't care about your bank account."

"This is insane—we're gonna get mugged."

"That's the thrill, isn't it?" she tossed back.

Reyna spun ahead on the cracked sidewalk, her sneakers kicking up tiny puffs of dust under the flickering streetlamp, her laughter echoing off the boarded-up storefronts as she walked backward, facing me, her dark hair whipping in the breeze, eyes gleaming with mischief.

The city hummed around us—distant sirens, a low-rider rumbling at the red light, the faint sizzle from a late-night taco cart—but all I saw was her, arms out for balance, hips swaying just enough to tease, the hem of her tank top riding up with each step to reveal a sliver of skin that caught the orange glow.

She bit her lower lip, the tiny scar whitening, then threw her head back and laughed louder, the sound raw and free, pulling me forward like a rope around my chest.

"You told me used to preach this, you know," she called, her voice carrying over the hum of traffic. "Actually... I remember that whole conversation you told me... Back when you were all fire and no fortune—'Money's just paper, Tommy, the real rush is out there.' Remember that? Things you said you told your Tommy?"

"I remember saying a lot of dumb shit I will use to impress a girl."

"Well, tonight I'm collecting on it," she shot back, still backward, her steps light, daring the uneven pavement. "Proving you don't need a hundred dollar bill to feel alive. Just stupid, reckless fun."

She laughed even more, the sound bubbling up like it had been bottled for years, and spun once, arms wide, before facing forward again, grabbing my hand to tug me faster. "And look at you—heart racing, cheeks flushed. Admit it, this is better than any rooftop bar."

"I can't believe you've never done anything like this," I said, shaking my head as we rounded a corner into another shadowed alley, the thrill sharp in my veins.

"This is my first too," She stopped abruptly, turning to me, walking backward again, her eyes narrowing playfully. "Don't get me wrong—I've done this more times than you can count."

Then she stepped closer, her arms sliding around my waist. "Just… never with a boyfriend."

"Oh, really?" I said, my voice dropping, arms tightening around her, a jealous edge slipping in despite myself. "I was under the impression you dragged guys through nights like this all the time."

She pulled back just enough to grin, eyes sparkling under the streetlamp. "Jealousy I smell?"

I shrugged, pulling her flush against me. "I'm territorial. Can't blame me for hating the idea of your exes getting this version of you—laughing, wild, mine—and here I am, thinking I'm special."

She laughed, loud and free, then cupped my face and kissed me hard, messy, tasting of chili and rum and her. "You're my only boyfriend in my whole life," she whispered against my lips. "No details, though."

"Not enough," I murmured, kissing her back, the alley spinning.

The bar at the alley's end had no sign, just a red bulb over a battered steel door, the air inside a haze of smoke and sweet rum burn that seared the throat and numbed the tongue.

The bartender, a giant with a shaved head and gold tooth, roared "Trouble!" and slid two shot glasses across the scarred wood, amber sloshing.

Reyna clinked her glass against mine, eyes never leaving mine, downed it in one swallow, throat working, then slammed the empty down, bottles rattling, her laugh bright.

The bartender poured again, adding fizzing green, eyes daring me, pressing sticky fingers to my lips, tart sting mixing with rum, her breath hot, body close, heat radiating through her tank top.

The scratched record skipped into salsa, and she pulled me into the crush, hips swaying, her back to my chest, hands guiding mine to her hips, body moving against mine, rhythm pulsing, her laughter vibrating my ribs, shots lining up, the burn chasing chili, her hips grinding, head tilting back against my shoulder, pulse racing under my thumb on her neck, breath hitching, eyes half-lidded.

"On the house for Reyna and her fancy date," the bar man bellowed.

"To stupid nights!" she toasted.

"This place? Found it sneaking out at sixteen," she said, wiping her chin.

"Bartender's like family—taught me how to hustle pool."

"You're awful good at this—like you've done it a million times."

"Told you—million times. Just solo."

"Feel that?" she said over the music. "No wallet needed."

We spilled out the side door into a narrower alley, walls close, air cooler with river tang and train rumble.

Reyna ran ahead, then turned, beckoning, silhouette framed by streetlamp glow, smile flashing white.

I followed, gravel crunching, her laughter pulling, and when I caught up, she was on a low wall, legs swinging, city lights in her eyes like stars, offering crumpled gum, fingers brushing, contact electric, mint sharp.

She hopped down, grabbed my hand, fingers lacing, thumb circling my knuckles, breath warm as she whispered nonsense, lips brushing my ear.

"Lincoln Heights secret—old rail yard's this way," she called, knowing shortcuts I'd never found despite growing up here.

"You forgot this feeling, didn't you?" she said softly.

"Fun without the price tag."

"I've never brought anyone here," she admitted.

The danger was in the details: buckled sidewalk catching her heel, dog barking behind chain-link, man at lamppost tracking us.

Reyna never slowed, grip tightening as we crossed against the light, cab swerving, tires squealing, driver cursing, her laugh wild.

She pulled me into a run, shoes pounding, city blurring, hair streaming, hand hot in mine. Under the bakery's awning, fresh bread smell leaking, she pressed me against brick, body flush, breath hot on my neck, hands on my chest, fingers curling into my shirt, pulse racing under my thumb on her wrist, the world narrowing to her—coconut scent, heat, the promise hanging heavy, siren distant.

"This is what you believed in once," she whispered, lips hovering a breath from mine, eyes searching, daring.

"Before the money made you forget."

On the riverwalk, water black glass under the moon, railing cold under palms. Reyna stood beside me, shoulder pressing, reflection shimmering in her eyes.

She flicked a subway token into the water, plink lost in traffic hum, then turned, smile soft, wild edge tempered.

The silence stretched, filled with lapping water, distant laughter, my heart thumping, her leaning closer, breath warm, lips brushing my jaw, not quite a kiss, promise heavy, eyes locked, pupils wide, reflecting city glow. We stood until chill seeped through, thrill melting into warm, pulsing ache, her hand in mine, thumb tracing knuckles, night alive with unspoken, cheap magic of her touch worth more than any fortune.

But there are many ways nights like this can end and this time...?

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.