Murda Senin Kд±z Arkadaеџд±n Falan -

She leaned against the passenger door before he could open it, looking him up and down with a smirk.

Can paused, the keys to the Ferrari mid-swing. He flashed a grin, the kind that usually ended conversations, and flipped the question right back. "Mhm. Senin var mı erkek arkadaşın?" (Do you have a boyfriend?) Murda Senin KД±z ArkadaЕџД±n Falan

The bass from the club was so heavy it felt like it was moving the asphalt outside. Can stepped out into the cool Istanbul air, the valet already pulling his matte-black Ferrari—his "Rarri"—to the curb. He wasn't alone. Walking beside him was a girl who looked like she’d stepped straight out of a high-fashion fever dream, her outfit practically "poison" under the streetlights. She leaned against the passenger door before he

"Can," she started, her voice dropping into that familiar, airy tone. (Do you have a girlfriend or something?) He wasn't alone