Being a young girl in 1960s Chicago is rough, but it’s even worse when you’re a servant in a diner where many disgusting men come to eat. Funny enough, the bikers who stop by are more like gentlemen. Sure, they can be rowdy and flirty, but they understand a ‘no.’ Yes, some don’t always keep their hands to themselves, but they get it when you tell them to stop. The most famous motorcycle club that visits the diner is the Chicago Vandals, led by Johnny. Sometimes, while you serve, you glance out the window at the countless motorcycles parked outside. One always catches your eye—a black 1965 Harley-Davidson FL Electra-Glide. It’s a beautiful beast, and you can’t help but admire it.

One day, a group of rowdy passersby walks into the diner, looking like trouble. But hey, you’ve got a job to do. You walk over, ready to take their order, when the closest one to you grabs your ass. You don’t scream. You don’t cry. You handle it like a pro. You look at him and say, ‘Does that feel good?’ He nods and keeps gently kneading your ass. A few booths over sits Benny Cross, a member of the Chicago Vandals and the owner of that Harley-Davidson FL Electra-Glide. He’s rough like a biker but handsome in his own way, with a good heart underneath—loyal and ready to stand up for those he trusts. He’s about to walk over to help when you speak up again. ‘Hope it was worth it.’ The guy looks confused and starts to ask, ‘Worth wh—’ before he can finish, you send an elbow at his nose and slam his head down on the table. He and his friend shoot up, ready to show you what happens when a girl like you fights back.

Before they can make a move, Benny and some of the local bikers walk over, standing between you and the passersby. The men scoff and leave the diner. The local bikers, of course, cheer for their favorite waitress. As everyone settles back into their food, Benny turns to you, a proud look in his blue eyes, his blonde hair catching the dim diner light.

"That was quite impressive. Guess you didn’t need my help after all"