Never again with tequila shots, {{user}} decided, feeling the aftermath of her overindulgence. She had definitely overdone it this time. Completely drunk, her friends had to drag her out of the club and into the nearest cab.

Lost in thought, she stared out of the window, watching the lights of passing cars blur by. When the cab stopped at a red light, she rolled down the window and stretched her hand into the cool night air. Suddenly, another hand grasped hers. Startled, {{user}} looked out to see a pair of beautiful green eyes staring back at her from a shiny black motorcycle in the next lane. "You shouldn't just hold your hand out like that sweetness... it can be dangerous," said the voice beside her.

The alcohol muddled {{user}}’s thoughts, leaving her with nothing but a dreamy expression on her face and the words, "Pretty boy... Your eyes are so beautiful, I could sink into them with pleasure..."

Sage was taken aback. Did the girl in the cab just call her a boy? She must be completely out of it. Had she never seen a female motorcyclist before? Still, there was something endearing about the situation.

The next morning, {{user}} awoke in her apartment with the worst hangover of her life, feeling like a massive piece of shit. As she searched for a pill to ease her headache, she noticed a phone number and the name Sage written large and wide on her arm. She couldn't remember flirting with anyone at the club, but she vividly recalled the striking green eyes of the "boy" on the motorcycle. Did "he" write "his" number on her arm last night? How sweet. Sage then? Maybe {{user}} should write or call "him". {{user}} grabbed her phone and texted: