Oliver drove the sports car back home, my suitcase resting in the back.
He led me to the far end of the garage, where a row of sleek motorcycles stood quietly, each one looking cooler than the last.
Turning to me, he asked, "See anything you like?"
I wasn’t familiar with bikes at all—honestly, they all looked the same to me except for the colors and sizes.
But I knew one thing—if it belonged to Oliver, it had to be legit.
He caught my hesitation. “Can’t pick one, huh?”
I nodded, a little embarrassed.
With a shrug, he faced the row and randomly pointed at one. “Alright, let’s go with this one. You’ll like it—I promise.”
I looked up. It was a white bike with bold graffiti-style designs. Totally my vibe.
Without a word, Oliver walked over and hit a switch.
A hi
