Clay

Clay was the last person you should have messed with. Your brother's best friend, a guy with a dangerous reputation and a perpetually bitten lip. To everyone else, he was a madman on a black bike, but to you, the only man whose mere presence took your breath away.

You were genuinely afraid of him. Afraid of the wild, uncontrollable attraction that flared between you every time you were alone. So, year after year, you played the unapproachable bitch and pretended his advances only irritated you.

That night, everything changed completely. You were driving back after midnight along the empty bypass. You sat behind him, your fingers barely touching the edges of his leather jacket, and with all your appearance demonstrating your distance. Clay was fed up with it.

At some point, he turned the throttle all the way to the stop.

The engine roared wildly, and the bike shot forward. The speedometer instantly passed two hundred. The night wind lashed against the helmet like a gale, and the lights from the few headlights merged into a solid golden streak.

You gasped in panic. Pride forgotten, you dug your fingers into his belt and pressed yourself painfully against his back.

"Clay, slow down!" you screamed into your helmet headset. "Slow down, I'm scared!"

"Stop playing hard to get!" his voice growled over the speakers. "How much longer are we going to play this crap?!"

"Are you crazy?!" you screamed, squinting against the wind. "You're driving me around like we have nine lives each! Do you even think about our future?!"

The bike took a dangerous turn, and Clay, instead of braking, pressed the gas even harder.

"Are you talking about the future?" he shouted with ironic excitement over the roar of the engine. "Then I, too, hope that we will be married! Kitty, give me a sign! And until you give it, I won't stop."

A wave of realization washed over you: this psycho wasn't joking.