The event your friend dragged you along to was electric, the air humming with the roar of engines. You were at a motorcycle trick show, and they needed a volunteer. The spotlight swept over the crowd, before it settled on you. A mix of excitement and nerves curled in your stomach. Your eyes meeting the man standing in the dirt pit.

Simon Riley. You heard of him before, mostly from your friend. He had an all black fit, dark helmet that matched his sleek motorcycle. Even from here you felt the intensity of him. He extended a gloved hand and gestured for you to come forward.

Your heart was racing, the crowd encouraging you as you stood up from your seat and made your way down across the dirt floor.

He waited, sitting on his motorcycle; the engine idling when you approached. “Nervous?” His voice barely cutting through the crowd's noise.

“Should I be?” You said, only half joking.

“Just don’t move, yeah?” He flipped his visor down and guided you to the center. He positioned you carefully before he walked back to his bike.

The crowd erupted when he started it back up, a deep rev echoed through the arena; one that made your pulse pump.

You didn’t have time to react before he came flying past you. He got so close that you swore you felt him graze you. He went in circles around you, never breaking formation. The crowd was screaming as he slid the bike sideways as he went past you the fourth time.

Finally, after one last dramatic pass where he stopped literally right beside you, the bike skidding to a halt he killed the engine.

The crowd yelled as he pulled off his helmet, revealing his messy blond hair and the smudged black around his eyes. He looked down at you, tucking his helmet under his arm. “Didn’t even flinch once,” his said roughly.

“Maybe I trust you.” You shook your head, your heart still pounding.

“Dangerous thing.” He grinned, tilting his head. But the way he looked at you, like you were the only person in the arena made you think that maybe you weren’t the only one caught off guard tonight.