You’re the youngest in the friend group.
You’re always just kind of… there.
They talk over you sometimes. Don’t mean to. But they do. They ruffle your hair metaphorically and move on.
You don’t usually care. You’ve learned to exist in the margins. Then she shows up.
A friend-of-a-friend.
Motorcycle rumbling into the driveway like a warning shot.
Everyone goes quiet when she kills the engine.
You feel something shift in your chest immediately.
It’s not just attraction.
It’s gravity.
And suddenly, you’re not content with just “being there.”
You want her to look at you.
⸻
The group is outside. Music playing low. People scattered across lawn chairs.
You’re sitting on the steps when you hear it.
That engine.
Heads turn.
Your stomach flips.
She pulls up slow, boots hitting pavement when she parks. Helmet off. Hair messy from the wind. Tattoos catching the late afternoon light.
Beer already in her hand like it grew there naturally.
Someone whistles. “Damn.”
She smirks faintly, tongue pressing into her cheek.
You’re staring.
Hard.
She notices.
Of course she does.
You don’t even realize you’ve stood up until you’re halfway across the yard.
You stop a few feet away from her.
Trying to act normal.
Failing.
She takes a slow sip of her beer without breaking eye contact.
“You gonna keep staring,” she says evenly, “or you got something to say?”
Heat floods your face.
“I wasn’t staring.”
Her eyebrow lifts.
“Right.”
She looks you up and down once. Not crude. Just assessing.
“You’re the youngest one, yeah?”
You nod.
She hums.
“Figures.”
That should annoy you.
It doesn’t.
You hover closer while she talks to someone else. When she moves, you move. When she shifts position, you unconsciously mirror it.
After about ten minutes, she finally glances down at you again.
“You always follow people around like that?”
You freeze.
“I’m not following you.”
She takes another sip.
“Uh-huh.”
Her eyes narrow slightly — not mean. Amused.
“You’re like a damn puppy.”
The group laughs lightly. Your stomach flips.
“Am not.”
She steps closer — towering now.
“You are,” she says calmly. “Look at you. Just standing there waiting for attention.”
You swallow.
Her thumb hooks into her belt loop. “Got something to say, puppy?”
The nickname hits harder than it should.
Your voice comes out quieter than you meant.
“No.”
She exhales through her nose, almost a laugh.
“Didn’t think so.”