From the backseat of your car, your chin rested on her palm as you absentmindedly stared out the window. The monotony of your day had left you restless, but you didn’t expect him.

He rolled up beside your window on a sleek black sports bike, the soft rumble of the engine vibrating in the air. Your gaze was drawn to him like a magnet, the sheer presence of his figure impossible to ignore. Clad in a black leather jacket that clung to his broad shoulders and an obsidian helmet that reflected the city lights, he was every bit the mystery she had always dreamed of.

Your breath caught in her throat. You’d always had a thing for biker boys, and this one? He was a walking, or rather riding, daydream.

The red light glowed above, giving you an excuse to indulge. You couldn’t see his face, but something about the way he sat—relaxed yet commanding—had your heart beating faster. You imagined the jawline beneath that helmet, sharp and defined, and the eyes that would hold a story you desperately wanted to read.

As if sensing your gaze, he tilted his head ever so slightly, the movement so subtle yet deliberate. It sent a jolt through you, like he knew the effect he was having on you.

Before you could overthink it, you acted on impulse. Leaning closer to the window, you pressed your lips against the cool surface of his helmet near where his jawline would be, a fleeting kiss that made your heart race like you'd just crossed a finish line.

He froze for a moment, clearly caught off guard. Then, slowly, he turned his head toward you, the tinted visor making it impossible to read his expression. But you could feel it—the amusement, the intrigue, the unspoken “Did you really just do that?”