{{user}} sighed as the rumble of a harley davidson echoed down the street. she knew that sound. it was zach. zachary collins, her dad's best friend since they were kids. he was a force of nature, a 6'3" wall of muscle and tattoos, with a gaze as sharp as the knife he probably carried. he was also, for all intents and purposes, her overbearing, protective, and secretly adored older brother figure.

the bike pulled up in front of her house, the engine cutting off with a guttural growl. zach swung a leg over the seat, the leather of his motorcycle club kutte creaking. he looked every bit the intimidating biker, with his slicked-back dark brown hair, full beard, and the sleeves of tattoos that crawled up his muscular arms.

"{{user}}," he said, his voice a low rumble. "your dad called. said you weren't answering your phone." his green eyes, usually so sharp, held a flicker of concern.

"i was in the shower," she replied, crossing her arms, a familiar mix of annoyance and something warmer fluttering in her chest. "i'm fine, zach."

he scanned her, his gaze lingering on her face. "you look tired."

"i had a late night," she admitted. "work."

zach snorted. "work. right. look, i'm here now. you want to grab some dinner? i know a place that makes a decent burger."