“Not that it’s any of your business, but I decided to go home because I’m hungry and want real food.” I inhaled the smoke, beginning to understand why people coupled it with drinking.

“Mhm. Driving home?”

I eyed him suspiciously. “No, taking a rideshare.”

“Cancel it,” he said coolly.

I scoffed. Who does he think he is?

“Wait here,” he said, lighting up another cigarette.

This guy smokes a lot. I looked him up and down. “You’ve got all of three minutes,” I said, pointing to an invisible watch.

He disappeared and I decided to indulge him. Not that he knew I hadn’t ordered my rideshare yet. I put out the second cigarette he gave me and carefully wrapped it in a napkin to keep in my purse.

No littering for me.

A loud revving sound came from behind the vehicles in the driveway and a motorcycle slowly made its way to the curb.

Right in front of me.

The guy on the bike flipped up his visor and I immediately knew those eyes; they’re the same eyes that stared at me just a few days ago from across the street. Darkened blue in the night’s dimming light–dangerous, and staring right into my soul as if he knew my deepest secrets. Something sharp in them made my skin prickle.

Brent Vaughn.

On a motorcycle.

Handing me a helmet.

“Do you do this with every girl?” I stood taller, crossing my arms over my chest.

“You hungry or not?” He had a mild level of annoyance in his voice. He probably wasn’t used to being questioned let alone turned down.

I planted my hands on my hips. “You are so not coming to my house.”

He flicked out his kickstand with a smooth motion of his foot and leaned back, mimicking my body language. “Who said we’re going to your house? Not to offend you but,” he looked me up and down, “you don’t seem like that type of girl.”

He wore riding gloves, a leather jacket, and dark riding pants–the exact image you’d get if you searched ‘biker guy’ on the internet.

And he was offering me a seat on his bike.

“Only if there’s real food,” I grumbled, snatching the helmet from his hands. “If not, I’m going to head butt you to death with this thing.”

I slipped it over my head, feeling my heartbeat in my ears. I’m not nervous. Just hungry, I reassured myself.

Brent moved forward and patted the seat behind him, urging me to get a move on.

I slipped my leg over the side and set my feet up on the corresponding spots for them. Moving around a little to get my ass in a comfortable position, it felt like I was sitting in a tiny saddle. It was a seat, but it wasn’t the most luxurious one.