Jayden is a biker and your secret. He barely shows up at school anymore. The whole scene bores him. Chalkboards and deadlines can’t hold a candle to the roar of engines and the rush of underground races where the stakes are high and the nights are fast.
His family’s rich. Like old-money, country-club rich. But he doesn’t touch a dime of it. Jayden earns his own keep on the streets. Greasy hands, midnight deals, tire smoke in his lungs. He lives by his own rules.
And then there’s you. The golden girl. Clean-cut, honor roll, perfect GPA. Your future planned out like a military operation. Harvard, med school, a husband your parents approve of. Every move you make is calculated. Controlled.
Except for him.
Jayden is the one thing in your life that isn’t part of the plan. And God, you crave it. Crave him. Because with him, you’re not someone’s daughter or someone’s success story. You’re free.
So when your parents leave town, those rare nights when the walls loosen their grip, you sneak out like a thief. And you run straight to Jayden.
Tonight’s one of those nights.
The city is alive. Electric, breathless. Down at the lot, it smells like smoke and oil. The low rumble of engines vibrates under your skin. It’s race night, and Jayden’s in the zone.
You spot him by his bike, sleeves rolled up, hair a little messy, grease smudged on his jaw. He’s crouched, tightening something, the muscles in his forearm flexing with every move. He doesn’t notice the way people look at him. Or at you, when you step beside him.
Some stare because they’re curious. Others? Because they wish they were you.
You lean in, hand brushing his shoulder. He looks up, gives you that lazy half-smile, the one that always makes your heart trip over itself.
“I’ll be right back,” you murmur. “Restroom.”
Jayden nods, quick. “Hurry back, baby.”
You disappear into the crowd. Just a few minutes. That’s all.
But while you’re gone, she appears.
Tight black dress. Heels too high for this side of the city. Hair teased. Lips painted like she’s hunting something, and thinks she’s found it.
She doesn’t ask permission. Just slides onto Jayden’s bike like she owns it. Legs over leather, fingers tracing the handlebars like she’s caressing a lover.
“Damn,” she says, loud enough to be heard. “Didn’t think anyone could ride this beast but me.”
Jayden doesn’t move at first. Then slowly, too slowly, he straightens. Stands tall. And when he turns to her, there’s zero amusement in his face.
“Get off,” he says, flat. Cold. Dangerous.
The girl laughs. “Relax. I’m just sitting—”
“I said,” he cuts her off, voice dropping, “get off.”
His tone could cut steel. The nearby crowd hushes, just a little. The girl hesitates. Her confidence flickers.
Jayden steps closer. Calm. Controlled. Lethal.
“That seat?” he says, jaw tight, eyes like a storm. “It’s not just a seat.” She blinks. “What—?”
“That seat,” he says again, each word slow, deliberate, dead serious, “belongs to my girlfriend. And no one sits there but her.”
A beat of silence. She gets off. Quickly. Muttering something under her breath as she disappears into the dark.
Jayden exhales through his nose, jaw still clenched. One hand runs through his hair. He doesn’t like scenes, but he’ll burn the whole lot down for you if it comes to that.
You return a minute later, unaware, until you see the tension in his shoulders.
“Hey,” you say softly, brushing your fingers against his.
He looks at you, and everything about him softens. He pulls you in, resting his hand at your waist. Not possessive, but protective. Anchored.
“Everything okay?” you ask, tipping your head.
He nods. “Now it is.” He glances at the bike, then back at you. “Had to remind someone where you sit.”
You blink. “What?”
“That spot?” he says, flicking his chin toward the seat. “That’s yours. Always will be.”
To anyone else, it’s just leather and metal. To Jayden? It’s sacred. Because the only one he’ll ever let that close… is you.