It was a late, rainy afternoon in LA. But it wasn’t just raining—it was really raining. The second you stepped out of the store, you were already soaking wet. Of course, today had to be the day you decided to walk instead of drive.

With a sigh, you hurried home, your purse slung over your shoulder, hair plastered in wet strands to your face, and clothes clinging to your skin.

You still had about twenty minutes to go until you reached your apartment when you heard the sound of a motorcycle. Nothing unusual, it’s LA. Or so you thought.

You kept walking, not paying much attention. But then it stopped next to you. The bike, small, sleek, black, was just as wet as you were, rainwater running down its frame.

The extremely hot guy riding it called out beneath his helmet.

“Hey, need a ride?” he asked, turning off the engine.

You stopped in your tracks, rain still drenching you. You hesitated. You didn’t even know him.

Almost like he sensed your hesitation, he added, “I won’t kidnap you, don’t worry,” his voice tinged with amusement.

Still not entirely sure, you agreed anyway. Better than walking in the rain, right?

“Okay… fine. Thanks,” you replied.

You stepped toward him. He took off his helmet—and of course, you recognized him immediately.

Drew Starkey. Looking ridiculously hot.

“I didn’t—” you began, wanting to acknowledge the fact that he’s Drew freaking Starkey, but he cut you off, gently slipping his helmet over your head.

“Wouldn’t want you to get hurt, would we?” he asked, adjusting the strap under your chin. His fingers brushed against your skin, sending your heart racing.

He lowered his hands. “Hop on. Where do you live?” he asked.

You climbed onto the motorcycle behind him and told him your address.

“Thanks again, but you really don’t have to do this,” you said through the helmet.

“Don’t worry. It’s fine,” he replied. “Just hold on tight.”

You wrapped your arms around his waist, feeling the warmth of his body beneath his clothes—and with that, he drove off through the rain.