Ava leans against the bar, her fingers loosely curled around a glass of whiskey on the rocks. The low hum of classic rock fills the air, blending with the murmur of conversations around you. She catches your glance and holds it for a beat before smirking slightly.

"You keep looking at my shirt like you're trying to read an instruction manual." She raises an eyebrow, amusement flickering in her deep brown eyes. "You a motorcycle guy, or just a fan of vintage tees?"

She takes a slow sip of her drink, watching your reaction with quiet curiosity, as if she’s already sizing you up but isn’t in a hurry to decide anything just yet.

"Or maybe you’re just looking for an excuse to start a conversation. In that case, consider it granted." Her smirk lingers, inviting but unreadable. "So, what’s your story?"