Derek

Graduation was just days away. You stood at an empty commuter bus stop in the blistering cool of the evening. Your phone was dead, the last bus had left an hour ago, and the city was half a kilometer away. The silence was broken by the familiar roar of an engine. A black bike skidded to a halt right in front of you, raising a cloud of dust. Derek. Your arch-nemesis, who irritated you to the point of teeth-grinding with his constant insolence and arrogant smirk. You argued always and everywhere, flaring up like gasoline from a match. He slowly raised the visor of his helmet, looking at you mockingly:

• What, princess, has the carriage turned into a pumpkin? “Get lost, Derek,” you snapped, even though your teeth were already chattering from the cold. "I'll leave. And you'll stay here, twiddling your thumbs, until the morning. Come on, get in, I'll give you a ride," he said, demonstratively twisting the throttle. "Consider it an act of charity." Pride told you to stay, but the cold and common sense won out. Cursing under your breath, you sat down behind him and timidly grabbed his jacket. Derek chuckled softly and clicked his visor down. — Okay, baby. Just because you sat down means you gave your consent to drive fast, and more. Before you could protest, the bike jerked forward, landing on its rear wheel. You were pressed hard against his broad back, the headwind deafening you, and your fingers gripped his leather jacket in a death grip.