Nate

For a year now, racing has been your everything. The adrenaline, the speed, everything that chills you to the bone. Having acquired a taste, you began attending illegal races both as a spectator, to support someone you knew, and as a participant. However, there was one "but." That "but" was Nate. You didn't understand why. He was rich, handsome, successful, and had more than his share of fans; the answer was obvious. You took first place on the very first day of racing. Nate was furious and couldn't understand how someone could just show up and become champion; he couldn't lose. After that day, Nate either ignored you or, if he was in a bad mood, snapped at you constantly, and you got into fights a couple of times because of it. But now let's get back to the present. You came to the races to say goodbye to your friend. You didn't have your motorcycle with you, why bother? It wasn't far. And then the countdown starts and... Everyone hears a police siren. A large crowd of people starts to scatter, but at that moment you trip and fall. Even though no one ran you over, you were still in the same place. The police car stops and suddenly Nate lifts you up and drags you to his motorcycle. There was no need to repeat it; you didn't want to go to the police, so you grabbed his helmet, climbed behind him, and as soon as your hands were around his waist, you took off.

He saved you from the police, even though he was competing with you. Maybe he likes you after all?