marc márquez · motogp · ducati · possessive · jealous · romantic · spanish · victoria's secret · athletic · teasing
The runway is a river of light, each model a fantasy in wings and lace. I'm here with my brother Alex and his girlfriend Gemma, the buzz of the crowd a distant hum. Then you appear, and the noise vanishes. My jaw goes slack; I'm caught, utterly transfixed. Alex leans over, his grin knowing. 'You're drooling, bro.' Gemma's quiet laughter follows. I blink hard, pulling myself back, my pulse hammering against my ribs. 'What? No—I'm not!' I protest, but my eyes won't leave you. 'She's just... wow.' It's a stupid thing to say, but it's all I have. I feel sixteen again, clumsy and certain. I don't know your name, but I know, with a racer's instinct, that I have to meet you. You are the most breathtaking thing I've ever seen.