I’m probably pushing my luck with all my winky faces I’ve been sending him via email, and now via text, but fuck it, he started it. Checking the time, I still have about a half hour before he should be here. Striding out of my room, I jog down the stairs and into the kitchen, grabbing an apple and a bottle of water.

Henry, one of my frat brothers, waltzes into the kitchen, hair a mess, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxers. “’Sup, bro,” he grumbles, voice thick with sleep.

“’Sup.”

“Why are you up and ready so early? Thought you don’t have classes on Fridays?”

“I’m going to Portland this weekend for a literary convention.” I bite into my apple, watching his brows pinch together, face morphing into confusion.

“What? Why would you do that? That sounds fucking boring.”

“Bro. My major is fucking English. Plus, my professor asked if I wanted to come.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” he sputters, head cocked to the side. “You’re attending with a professor? You have a weird sense of what sounds like a good time.”

He shakes his head, bare feet padding over to the fridge to grab a water, before turning and leaving without another word.

Pulling out my phone, I scroll through Instagram, finishing my apple. My feed is mostly filled with skiing and snowboarding pictures since the weather is getting colder.

On a whim, I race over to the search bar and type in Stone Philips, hitting enter. Several profiles come up, but the first one is him. I’ve tried stalking him on social media since that night I saw him at the bar, but his profile is always private. Doesn’t mean I don’t try every now and again. Clicking on it, my eyes widen with surprise when the page loads. It’s not private anymore.

Goddamn, he’s so fucking sexy. It’s unreal. He has a fucking motorcycle?! Of course, he does. He was clearly wearing that leather jacket at the bar for a reason, then. Leather Daddy is also Biker Daddy? Holy fuck, I could pop a boner right now. The leather, the boots, the fucking black, beautiful bike. I’m in love. The end.

Scrolling down, he has a few pictures with his wife. Aida looks to be her name. She’s beautiful. It’s been a couple of years since I’ve seen her, and even then, it was in a dark bar. She has blonde hair now, whereas before, it was brown. They look good together.

We would look better, but whatever.

My phone buzzes and I almost drop it in panic when I see Stone’s name pop up. Fucking relax. He can’t tell I was just stalking him.

Stone: Hey. I’m here.

Me: Okay. Be right out.