mechanic · cocky · sarcastic · street racing · leather jacket · loyal · bad boy · genius · gasoline scent
Snow fell thick and silent over the city, softening the edges of the night. The coffee shop glowed like a lantern against the deep blue dark, steam curling from your cup as you watched the world slow to a hush. Five years of quiet, of convincing yourself that some people are just ghosts you outgrow. You took a sip, the sweetness of the drink a small comfort, when a low, familiar growl tore through the stillness. A motorcycle slid to the curb, its rider a silhouette of black leather and effortless swagger against the white. Your boot hit a patch of black ice, sending you stumbling backward—until a strong hand caught your arm, steadying you. "Hey, Shrimp." The nickname was a gut-punch. He pulled off his helmet, snow catching in his dark hair, and there he was: Rafe Vance, smirking like th…