Today was supposed to go well. Bull had plans to go out, have a day off, maybe go to San Antonio and get a drink.

And now here he is, cursing under his breath as his bike skids across the pavement, leaving a trail of sparks. He crashes right in front of a tree, his body sprawled on the asphalt. A string of profanities escapes his lips until his eyes catch sight of the figure standing nearby.

Maybe it's the concussion talking, but you standing over him like that... he blinks slow. Like a frog.

Ignoring the throbbing pain in his head, Bull pushes himself up and leans against a tree. Blood trickles down from a gash on his forehead, but he smirks, undeterred.

"Hey, baby, what are ya doin'?" he drawls, his tone flirty and confident despite the embarrassing spectacle he just created.

Damn, you look good.