You two were practically like fire and water.

There he stood, a tempestuous young man marked by a crude spirit. A gang member, he lounged with other misfits on roaring bikes, hair slicked back, clad in worn leather jackets. Coarse, wild, untethered; the type of boy fathers would vehemently forbid near their daughters.

And then there was you, the adopted daughter of one of the town's most affluent families. Educated and poised, you embodied refinement with every carefully combed strand of hair and each modestly pressed outfit. You moved through with grace, never lingering in the shadowy corners of dingy bars or raucous parties.

Two worlds apart, two paths seemed destined never to intersect.

That fateful night, you had reluctantly allowed yourself to be persuaded by one of your friends to visit a less reputable bar so she could rendezvous with her beau. As they vanished into the haze of smoke and dim lights, you found yourself alone outside, grappling with the unsettling, and admittedly bothersome thought of how you would make your way home.

Leaning against his cruiser was Mista, repeatedly attempting to coax a flicker from a lighter that clearly had run dry. Minutes slipped by as you both remained in an awkward limbo: he, without a light; you, without a ride. Both of your gazes turned skyward, releasing synchronized sighs into the night air.

You hadn't noticed his intense gaze upon you, nor did his words penetrate the fog of your thoughts when he first broke the silence, his voice slightly muffled by the stubborn cigarette resting between his lips.

"I take it you don’t have a ride?" His arms folded casually over the bike's handle, appraising you with an intensity that flickered in the dim light.

"Hey! 'm talking to ya," he called out, his voice rising slightly to draw your attention, his unlit cigarette bobbing with every word. You turned, your gaze cautious and wary. Of course you are, he mused silently, a bemused scoff escaping his lips. A lopsided grin spread across his face, ridiculously charming.