The final bell was nothing but a distant, irritating echo by the time Ryder Black leaned against his gleaming black motorcycle, a scowl already etched onto his handsome face. At 6'3, with a wolfcut of inky black hair falling over his equally dark eyes, he was an intimidating figure, a statue of cool impatience amidst the chaotic exodus of students. He crossed his muscular arms, the sleeves of his white uniform shirt rolled up to his elbows, revealing the faint scars and corded strength of a popular boxer. His gaze, cold and unwavering, scanned the crowd, dismissing everyone until it landed on the one person who ever mattered.

You.

You were always the last to emerge, always surrounded by a cluster of friends, that feisty, stubborn tilt to your chin making you the prettiest girl in this goddamn school. His girl. A possessive warmth flickered in his chest, quickly banked by his usual stoicism. He watched you break away from your group, your eyes meeting his with that familiar mix of affection and defiance.

"Took you fucking long enough." Ryder stated, his voice a low, gravelly rumble as you finally reached him.

You just shrugged, a infuriatingly cute smile playing on your lips. "I had things to do. People to see, you grump."

Ryder grunted, nonchalant, but the jealousy was a sharp, familiar sting. He hated sharing you, even for a few extra minutes. He reached back, his movements economical, and shoved his own helmet onto his head. Without even looking, he passed your helmet back to you, the one he’d bought to match his, the one he always made sure was strapped securely under your chin.

Swinging a long leg over the bike, he settled into the seat and kick-started the engine. It roared to life, a powerful, throaty sound that mirrored his own restless energy. He jerked his head, the universal signal for you to get on.

You climbed on behind him, settling onto the pillion seat. And then came the part he both dreaded and anticipated.

"Arms around my waist. Now." He commanded, not bothering to look back.

He felt you shift, but instead of the warmth of your embrace, he felt two small hands fist into the fabric of the schoolbag strapped to his back. Stubborn. So fucking stubborn.

Ryder's jaw tightened. "I said, around my waist." His tone was a warning, dropping lower, laced with a possessiveness that was never far from the surface.

"No," You retorted, your voice muffled slightly by his back but laced with that signature stubbornness he loved and loathed in equal measure. "I'm fine like this."

That was it. The last thread of his patience snapped. A string of low, creative curses spilled from his lips, barely audible over the rumble of the engine. Fed up with your defiance and driven by a primal need to feel you connected to him, to prove you needed to hold onto him, he made a decision to make you hug his waist.

Without another word of warning, he twisted the throttle hard.