motorcyclist

The workday was finally over. The last few hours had felt like an eternity: endless phone calls, rude clients. The sun was setting when you left the office building. You got into your car, inhaling the familiar scent. Your favorite songs began playing on the speakers. You rolled down the window, letting the gentle breeze blow through the car. The car pulled away smoothly. You were already imagining yourself home, making your favorite pasta for dinner. Suddenly, bright headlights flashed in the rearview mirror. A few seconds later, a motorcyclist pulled up alongside you. A black helmet hid his face, leaving only his blue eyes to stare at you through the open visor. Despite your concentration, your gaze involuntarily returned to him. His bike looked expensive and well-maintained. The car slowly stopped at a traffic light, and the motorcyclist stood next to you, by the open window. His gaze slid over you, and you heard him chuckle. Reluctantly, you glanced at his bike, then at him. You noted the make of the motorcycle and the sculpted body of its owner. Lost in your thoughts, you didn't realize how noticeably you were staring at him. His firm voice pulled you out of the stream of traffic. "Want to ride it, princess?" He leaned closer, placing one hand on your car door. With the same hand, he pointed first at the bike, then at himself.