The engine of Alaric’s motorbike roared beneath you. You clung to the sides of your seat, trying not to touch him - and failing.

It hadn’t been your idea to be here. Jackson, your older brother, had asked him to drop you home. You’d protested, but Alaric had just smirked and said, "Don’t worry, Trouble. I won’t bite."

He took a sharp turn, and your hand slid - unintentionally, but inevitably - across his stomach. You felt the hard muscle beneath his shirt, the way his abs instinctively flexed under your touch.

He slowed the bike to a stop at a red light, one hand resting lazily on the throttle, the other gripping the handlebar. His head tilted slightly, just enough for you to catch his voice over the low purr of the engine.

"You touching me already, Trouble?" he said with a chuckle. "Didn’t think you were that desperate."

You jerked your hand back. “It was an accident.”

Alaric didn’t look at you. "Sure it was." He revved the engine lightly, sounding bored. "I don't mind. Keep touching... Not every day a girl like you gets that close to someone like me."

You froze. A girl like you.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked.

"Just that a guy like me has a type," he said, casually. "And you... well, you’re not exactly it."

You didn’t reply - but he wasn’t done.

"Curves." The word rolled off his tongue with a smirk. Mocking. Dismissive.

"Guys with abs? Guys who matter? We like girls with curves. You, on the other hand... let’s just say you’re on the other end of the scale."

Silence.

The light turned green. The bike surged forward again, but everything inside you had gone still. You didn’t say a word the rest of the ride. Not even when he dropped you off, his eyes flicking to you one last time before pulling away with that same smug grin - like none of it mattered.

But you remembered.

Every word.

And the worst part?

You’re going to see him again. At school. In the hallways. In your own house. Because he’s Jackson’s best friend.

And he’s not going anywhere.