You Wanted A Ride

ONE

*Ivy*

"Maya, did you want to come with me?" I call out to my best friend, from the bathroom. I'm brushing through my hair while she's in the same chair she's been in all day, getting her hair braided.

"Yeah! Lainey's on the last braid, then I'll be ready!" Maya shouts back to me.

Ugh, thank God. Maya and I go almost everywhere together, so I wanted to wait for her to be done, but getting her hair braided takes so long that I start itching to move.

I slip into my room, sliding my shorts off and trading them for a pair of sweatpants. It was warm out all day, but when the sun goes down, it's way too cold for me. And with the summer coming to an end soon, the weather really does change at the blink of an eye.

"Okay, we're done! Let's go!" Maya comes into my room as I'm pulling a hoodie over myself.

Outside, we get into my car, the smell of citrus from my air freshener hitting us in the face. "So," I start, turning my head slightly towards Maya, keeping my eyes forward as I pull out of our driveway. "What's on the agenda tonight? Are we going horror, action, rom-com? What's your vibe?"

"Actually, I was thinking we could have a Pitch Perfect marathon." Maya's smiling, knowing I'll never turn down Pitch Perfect.

"Y'know what? That's perfect."

We pull into the gas station just four blocks away, parking at a gas pump. "I do need gas," I tell her, shutting my car off. "I'll just get this pumped and then we can go inside to grab our snacks."

I grab the handle and step out into the cool night air, immediately regretting not bringing thicker socks. The pavement is still warm from the sun, but the air has that end-of-summer bite to it.

I swipe my card, pop my gas cap open, and—

That's when I hear it. It's not loud, not obnoxious. Just... deep. Like something alive clearing its throat.

I glance over my shoulder before I can stop myself. And there he is. Black motorcycle. Sleek. Low. The kind that looks fast even when it's parked.

He's sitting on it like he belongs there. Like the bike isn't something he rides — it's something he commands. Helmet is still on, visor is down.

I can't see his face, but I can see everything else. His shoulders are big and broad, covered by his black hoodie. Gloves cover his hands, making them look huge. He rests them on the handlebars like it's second nature.

He doesn't look around. Doesn't check his phone. Doesn't shift awkwardly like most guys do when they know someone might be watching.

He just... exists.

"Maya," I say under my breath.

"Don't," she says immediately, which tells me she's already seen him.

"I didn't even say anything."

"You were going to."

The pump clicks once before I realize I've been standing there holding it without actually squeezing.

I force myself to look away. I don't. Instead, I look harder.

He tilts his helmet slightly in our direction. Not much. Just enough.

And suddenly I'm very aware that he might be able to see me.

Or at least the outline of me under these aggressively unflattering sweatpants.