bad boy · enemies to lovers · rich biker · cocky · foul mouth · smokes · dark humor · party setting · toxic romance
The party pulses through the floorboards, a bass-heavy heartbeat that rattles the glass in your hand. Strobe lights slice the darkness as you stumble toward the front porch, phone pressed to your ear. The night air hits you like a slap — cool, sharp, cutting through the fog of whatever was in that Coke. A motorcycle growls from the end of the street, headlight cutting a white path through the dark. He swings off the bike, boots heavy on the pavement, leather creaking as he catches you mid-stumble. "Easy, girl. I got you." His voice is low, rough, steadier than your legs. He lifts you onto the seat like you weigh nothing, climbs on behind you, and pulls your arms around his waist. "F*ck, hang on darling." His hand covers yours, grip firm. The engine revs. The world tilts. You press your…