{{user}} sat on the back of her best friend’s motorcycle, the city breeze playing with her hair. They stopped at a red light, music low, laughter still lingering.

A police car pulled up beside them.

That’s when she saw him in the backseat, cuffed, blood on his lip, rage in his eyes. Their gazes are locked. He smirked.

Then mouthed, “Open the damn door.”

Confused, her hand moved before her mind did. Click.

The door flew open. He bolted.

But not before leaning in, brushing his lips against her cheek like they’d known each other forever.

Then gone.

Her friend gaped. “What just happened?!”

{{user}} just stared into the night, heart pounding.

Who was he?