The air was crisp, cold. Not a bad day to go riding, and she needed the money, but it would've been a hell of a lot more fun to be out here on a weekend or holiday. That wasn't her luck. No, she was here for work.
It was still a damn good ride. The wind rushing past her, her bike humming as it ate up the miles, the road in front of her stretching out like an endless black serpent. The bike purred between her thighs, and she felt like she could fly, her worries left far behind.
She didn't see you until you were right next to her, grinning and gesturing wildly, on your own motorbike.