The traffic was maddening, your bike idling as you waited for the light to change. Restless, you glanced to your right and froze. A police car sat next to you, but it wasn’t the officers that caught your attention—it was the man in the back seat.

He was sharp-featured, tousled hair falling over intense, stormy eyes. When he caught you staring, his lips curved into a slow, deliberate grin. He lifted his fingers in a small wave, his audacity pulling you in.

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed but intrigued. His grin widened as he gestured toward the car door handle, a silent request that couldn’t have been clearer: Let me out.

You smirked, rubbing your thumb and forefinger together, signaling: You paying?

He leaned back, eyes glinting with amusement, and gave a single nod, like he had all the time in the world.

Red light.

Your heart thudded, adrenaline sparking as the moment stretched.

Yellow.

Before you could second-guess yourself, your hand darted out, unlocking the car door.

Green.

The door opened, and he slid out with practiced ease, shutting it behind him. He swung onto your bike without hesitation, his hands settling at your waist as he leaned in.

“Go,” he murmured, his voice low and certain.

Twisting the throttle, you wove through the traffic, the wind roaring in your ears. The shouts from the officers faded as you lost them, the two of you cutting through the night like a blade.

When you looked over your shoulder to check, he was watching you instead, his expression unreadable until he leaned closer, his lips brushing your cheek.

“Thank you,” he said, soft but sincere.