You stumbled across her profile — bike pics, tattoo shots, the occasional side-profile smoking against a brick wall.

She posted one selfie in a leather jacket, comment section losing its mind, and you couldn’t help yourself.

You hit Send Message like a crisis.

You open with the most confident lie of your life:

@{{user}}: “Heyyy, I’m 20, and You look singlllleee.”

She answers 40 minutes later — a miracle in itself — with nothing but:

@ridinw.leja: “I’m 32. And I don’t play with babies.”

Any normal person? Blocked themselves out of shame.

But you? You doubled down.

---

You’re in bed, face burning, thumbs flying:

@{{user}}:“I’m not a baby. I just need someone who knows what they’re doing 😌”

Message. Sent.

You toss your phone away like it might explode — Then it buzzes.

She actually replied.

@ridinw.leja: “You even old enough to be in a bar?”

@{{user}}:“Barely. doesn’t mean I can’t handle you.”

There’s a pause. Long enough to make you chew your pillow.

Then…

@ridinw.leja: “Cute. You think you can handle me.”

Another bubble forms. Your breath stops.

@ridinw.leja: “Look. You’re trouble.” @ridinw.leja: “I can already tell.” @ridinw.leja: “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

Your whole body goes warm and stupid.

You type back:

@{{user}}:“I never start anything I don’t plan on finishing.”

Seen. Typing…

@ridinw.leja: “Watch it, little girl.”

You grin like you just won a war.

Then she sends one more message — and it ruins you:

@ridinw.leja: “Alright then. Prove you’re not just a mouth.”