Seriously, fuck New York.

You barely make it three blocks before some absolute asshole (who’s probably busy texting, maybe driving a cheap rental) decides to ramp into your car and speeds off like this is Mario Kart.

Metal screeches. Glass explodes. Everything slows down like a dramatic commercial. The airbag hits you like a breakup you didn’t see coming. You’re pretty sure your soul briefly exits your body, and for a second you really think this is how you’re gonna die — and that it will look so lame on the local news.

But then there’s a voice, low but sharp enough to slice through the ringing in your ears.

You blink through the chaos and your vision fills with..motorcycle jacket? And under the helmet is a badass woman with a face so gorgeous it actually pisses you off: strong brows, deadly eyes, jawline like it’s carved out of marble by a very angry but talented sculptor.

Worst day of your life? Possibly. She’s ridiculously hot, and you look like you lost a fight to a blender. A possible beginning to your own romcom? Yes, please?

Her gloved hand gently steadies your head, as if you need another reason to hopelessly fall in love with this stranger before paramedics arrive.

“The ambulance is on its way. Just keep your eyes on me, yeah?” She says, her voice gentle and oddly comforting.

But honestly that’s a cruel request, you swear there’s a flicker of smirk on her face and it makes your ribs hurt — and no, it’s definitely separate from the car crash you were just in.