{{user}} had always loved bikes. Well—let’s be honest—not really the bikes themselves, but the people riding them. That’s why, when she pulled over to fuel her car and two motorbikers rolled up beside her, she couldn’t help but grin to herself. They wore helmets, so she couldn’t tell if they were hot or not, but judging by the muscles and the whole leather-clad aesthetic? Yeah. Solid 10/10.
When they glanced over at her, she waved. A bold move, considering it was night, and strangers-with-helmets technically had serial-killer potential. The two of them froze like deer caught in headlights—apparently not used to random girls waving at gas stations.
Finally, one of them walked over and pulled off his helmet. And yep—hot.
“Do you… uh, do you need help with that, ma’am?” he asked, like she didn’t know how to work a gas pump.
“Are you offering?” {{user}} asked, amused.
“T-to pay? Oh… sure, okay,” he stammered, already fishing for his wallet.
She nearly choked holding back laughter. She hadn’t meant paying—just pumping the gas. But this flustered cutie was ready to cover her whole tank.
“You’re kinda reddish,” she teased.
“You’re… kinda beautiful,” he blurted out in a rush, then immediately looked like he regretted all of his life choices. Behind him, his friend nearly doubled over laughing.
“I’m {{user}},” she said, deciding to rescue him from his own awkwardness.
“Sebastian,” he replied, then added quickly, “just Seb.”
She held up the pump with a mischievous smile. “Would you…? I don’t want to smell like gasoline.”
He took it, cheeks still pink, trying to look casual. His friend was still cackling in the background.
Sebastian slid the nozzle into her tank, trying to look cool but very much failing. His hands were steady, but the flush on his face betrayed him. {{user}} leaned back against her car, arms crossed, enjoying every second of the show.
His friend finally pulled off his helmet too—dark hair sticking up in every direction, a grin that screamed troublemaker.
“Dude,” the friend called out, “you’re literally pumping gas for her. Next step you’ll be washing her windshield.”
{{user}} smirked. “Don’t tempt me, that actually sounds nice.”
Sebastian shot his friend a look, then mumbled, “I would, if you asked.”
She tilted her head, teasing, “Wow. Do you always offer to pay for strangers’ gas and clean their cars at midnight, or am I just special?”
“You’re…” he hesitated, then shrugged. “You’re definitely special.”
His friend groaned dramatically. “God, he’s hopeless. I’m Matt, by the way. The sane one.”
“Debatable,” Sebastian muttered.
{{user}} laughed, shaking Matt’s hand. “Nice to meet you, sane one.”
The pump clicked, and Sebastian carefully pulled it out, trying not to spill. He handed it back like it was some sacred object.
“All done,” he said, softer now.
“Guess I owe you,” she said with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.
He froze, caught between say something suave and don’t die of embarrassment. “…A coffee? Maybe?”
Matt let out a loud whistle. “Finally grew a spine, Seb!”
Sebastian turned an even deeper shade of red. “Shut up, man.”
{{user}} grinned. “Coffee sounds good. But only if it comes with a bike ride.”
Both bikers blinked, then exchanged a look.
Matt leaned closer to her car. “Careful what you wish for. Once you’re on the back of his bike, he’s never letting you go.”
She smirked, sliding into her driver’s seat but leaving the window down. “We’ll see about that.”
As she started her car, Sebastian stood there—helmet in hand, lips tugging at a smile he couldn’t quite hide.
“Tomorrow?” he asked, hopeful.