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“Do it!”
“No. Way!”
Your friend giggles at the way you just sit in your car, watching the biker clad in all black leather back up from his parking spot. The moment he adjusts his bike to face the exit, he turns to you and gives you a nod. You can’t see him through his black helmet, but you know that he is probably wearing no emotion on his face.
You have seen this guy around. How could you not? He was tall and he had a physique only God’s favourites have. During the rare times you caught him in the carpark of your apartment building, you’d sit around until he was leaving, just so that you could say hi. And every time, he would only nod at you in acknowledgment, no smile, no nothing. And it doesn’t help that he has a scar on his lips too.
“Just talk to him, you obviously think he’s hot!”
As you watch him ride off towards the exit, you grumble, “Yeah, but he’s scary. So, no way.”
Your friend rolls her eyes and shrugs. “You’re a pretty girl. I’d shoot my shot if I were you,” she mutters nonchalantly, trying to make it seem like she doesn’t care anymore.
But you know. Because she likes poking her nose in your business all the time.
Which is why, late on a Friday night, you end up caught in a similar situation, except this time, the both of you are drunk.
You’re both stumbling on the sidewalk, your friend carrying her heels in one hand and her milkshake in the other while you’re snacking on some fries, when you hear the smooth and steady rumble of an engine. You take a glance at the bike zooming past you, only to notice it slowing to an idle a few metres ahead.
As the both of you trotter closer to the vehicle, the biker leans back, turns to you, and presses something on the side of his helmet. You have to squint to recognise that he is your hot biker neighbour who leaves for his job whenever you’re coming home from yours. You quickly try to brush down your white babydoll dress.
“Hey,” he calls in a gravelly, low voice. “You girls alright?”
“Who’s that?” your friend snarks loudly.
You nudge your friend with your elbow and hiss, “My hot neighbour. Shut up.”
“The biker?!” You don’t say anything, but you’re sure he probably heard that. Your friend stumbles over to you and whispers loudly in your ear, “Hey. I’ll pay for drinks the next time we go out if you tell him you wanna ride him.”
You stop in your tracks as does she and turn to snap at her, “Are you fucking crazy?! I’m not going to do that!”
She giggles and you can see the joy in her eyes. She likes bullying her timid and shy best friend like this. “What about his bike, not him? And, how about I pay for drinks for the next two nights out?”
You actually think about it. As you continue walking forward slowly, you mutter and hold your pinky finger out, “Swear? Promise?”
Your best friend cackles as she hooks her pinky with yours and stamps your thumbs together. You’re now nearing the broad-shouldered man leisurely sitting on his bike.
“We’re okay, thanks,” you finally answer him.
He doesn’t say anything else but watches you get closer. So instead of heading straight for your apartment building which is only a few hundred metres away, you stop next to him on the sidewalk where your friend stumbles to you, rests her chin on your shoulder, and hugs your arm.
You can see the biker watching you for a long moment before looking at your friend, even behind the visor of his helmet. He returns his attention back to you. “Late night out, huh?”
Your face that is already pink from the alcohol turns a darker hue of red. You nod your head. You feel a slight pinch on your hand, so you look down and make a quick scan of his black bike. You clear your throat.
“That’s a nice bike you have.”
The man glances down at the beauty he is sitting on and nods. Before he even gets to open his mouth to say a word of thanks, you let the adrenaline and alcohol in your body take over your mouth.
“Can I go for a ride?”
Your friend isn’t breathing anymore but you’re not sure if you are, anyway. You can hear a very quiet squealing noise in your ear and that, for sure, you know is her. You stare at your neighbour, who doesn’t say anything for a few long seconds.
Then, he finally flips his visor up and mutters, “Anytime, baby.”
The girl next to you immediately lets you go to start squealing and dancing around the pavement. You’re still staring at the biker who has dark green eyes that seem to bore into yours. And the way the corner of his lips tilts upwards in a naughty smirk makes you blurt out the next few words.
“I don’t mean the bike.”
The man is stunned for a second, just staring at your boldness. Then, he grins and crosses his thicks arms clad in leather jacket sleeves. “Little girl grew up and finally stopped acting coy tonight, huh?”
Now that you’ve spat that out, you realise belatedly what you’ve done, and now you’re just gaping at him with wide eyes and a parted mouth. Your neighbour chuckles and shakes his head. Before you even start to doubt yourself, he whips out a sleek, black pen from his pocket and reaches over to grab your wrist. You hold your breath for as long as his rough, calloused palm is in contact with your smooth skin. You keep staring at him like a lovestruck little girl while he scribbles on the palm of your hand. You’re so distracted by him that even the tickles of the ballpoint on your palm don’t even bother you.
And finally when he finishes whatever he is writing, he lets go of your hand and leans back. You catch one last look of his sneaky grin before he pulls his visor down to cover his face again.
“Get home safe tonight, girls,” comes his slightly muffled voice.
Then, he rides off and turns the corner to the underground carpark of your apartment building. You look down at your palm and read what is written there.
Toji Fushiguro
Unit 612
Love the dress.