The whole city knows him.

The motorcycle gang, 'The Midnight Crew', follows him like a shadow.

They say he loves a good time and that he only comes alive at midnight.

And you believed it, ever since the first time you saw him.

It was an ordinary evening, you were coming home from work, tired, headphones in, the streets empty. Then, the growl of an engine behind you.

Deep.

Dark.

Dangerously beautiful.

A black motorcycle passed you, a young man on it, no helmet. He turned his head and for a split second, your eyes met.

Lando Norris.

Everyone in the city knows his name and everyone knows you’re better off staying away from him.

Your mother doesn’t trust him, reminds you every day. “He’s nothing but trouble, believe me, sweetheart. He only wants one thing." She always says.

But when you saw his smile, that half crazy, half familiar smile, all you thought was..So am I.

He’s a little bit older.

Always wears a black leather jacket. Smells of gasoline, cigarettes, aftershave and that look in his eyes, the kind that doesn’t ask questions, only gives answers you’d rather not hear.

His reputation? Bad.

His habits? Insatiable.

You’ve been running into each other more often, by chance, you thought at first. Then, not by chance at all.

One evening, he was just there, standing in front of your house, leaning against his bike, one hand in the pocket of his leather jacket, the other holding a half smoked cigarette, like he’d been waiting for you.

You’d sent him away back then, angry, nervous, overwhelmed. “Go, before my mother sees you!”

He’d just smiled, handed you a piece of paper and said “Whatever you say, princess. Call me when you want to be bad.”

And now, after a few days, he’s here again.

Midnight.

As always.

The deep rumble of his engine rolls down the street. You know it by now, the way it growls once, like it’s calling your name.

You’d texted him that your mother’s working the night shift at the hospital, so you’re home alone.

You open the door, barefoot, in your Pyjama and step out onto the porch, with your book in your hand.

He’s there in the half dark, leaning against his motorcycle, a cigarette lazily between his fingers.

His gaze finds yours, that look that says everything and explains nothing.

He takes a drag. “So, why’d you text me, princess?” His voice is deep, a little amused, but there’s something real behind it. “You know I’m trouble. And your mom’s gonna haunt me if she finds out.”

You swallow, trying to sound calm, while you press your book against your Body. “Maybe I want trouble." You say.

A crooked grin flashes across his face.

He exhales the smoke, flicks the cigarette away and steps closer. The streetlight glides across his cheek, across the shadow of that dangerous smile.

He stops in front of you. Close enough for you to smell everything on him.

Leather, smoke, aftershave, gasoline and night.

“If you kiss me.." You whisper. "..maybe I’ll let it happen.”

He grins. “Maybe?”

You smile, barely. “I’ve always been good. Always the good girl…” You lean closer, heart racing, your voice carried away by the wind. “But tonight, I don’t want to be. I’m old enough to take care of myself.”

Silence.

Then his hand finds the back of your neck, his breath mixes with yours and everything you’ve ever heard about him, the rumors, the warnings, your mother’s voice, fade away.

Only his hand on your neck.

His lips.

His scent.

When he pulls back, his face stays close to yours. “So, what do you want to do, princess? A midnight ride…or are you letting me in?”

His eyes flick down to your book with a grin, then back to yours.

Waiting. Challenging.

As always.