SWEETHEART | 18+

Chapter Six

 "Text me when you get home. Bike safe." I giggle and kiss Marcus' cheek again, and then he waves and goes down the stairs. I shut the door and slump against it.

So, he raced. Raced me a couple of times, too.

Famous among street racing in San Francisco, Specter was one of the best. His bike was red, with a red and black helmet. I modeled after him. Seems that he switched colors up since then. I was madly in love with him, with his bike, with his racing style. I was his replacement in the community. He left about four months after my debut.

Narcissus rubs up against my legs, meowing. It was past his dinnertime, so I stand, refill his bowl, and make my way to my bedroom. I needed to get ready for racing tonight. I strip my dress from my body, eyeing the thong. I might as well keep it on. Pulling on black cargo pants, a bra, and a long-sleeved black athletic top, I feel the adrenaline rush through me. Another night, another race, another win-to-be.

I zip up my leather jacket and pull on some combat boots. Then I finish the routine. Biker snood, helmet, fingerless gloves. Turn off all the lights. Say goodbye to Narcissus. Leave the apartment very quietly, get on my bike, and leave. As I'm getting on the freeway, my Bluetooth starts ringing.

"Hey Siri, answer the call," I say. Marcus' voice floods my helmet. I chuckle.

"Hey, sweetheart. I forgot to ask you a question." I speed up, weaving around a couple of cars. I spot another bike in the distance.

"Ask away," I say, revving my engine. I catch up to the sleek green motorcycle and toss them a peace sign.

"Are the races still at the same spot and time? I think I might go see a friend and surprise them some time." The other biker returns the symbol, and I quickly throw up a sign for 'speed up.' They give me a thumbs up. Race is on.

"Yes, they are. Is that all?" I ask. I hold up a four to the other biker, saying four miles, and another thumbs up.

"Mhm. See you soon, sweetheart." And Marcus hangs up. Wait. What? See you soon? Was he coming tonight? Damn. Before I can ponder any more, the green bike starts the race with a burst of speed. I chuckle and catch up quite quickly. My bike was made for racing. She isn't slow. Soon enough, the both of us are head to head, easily at 105mph.

I assume it's a tie because we are still tied together when we reach the four-mile mark. I pull off on the exit and pull into the closest parking lot. I need to catch my breath.

I don't dare take off my helmet, as I'm in my racer gear and cops could see my face, but I see that the green bike has pulled into the same lot. Normally doesn't happen, but every once in a while, they want to talk. The rider hops off their bike and flicks up their visor. I tell Siri to pause my music, but I don't open up my visor. Absolutely nobody can see Vixen's face. Besides Marcus, it seems.

"Hello, speed demon." I can tell from the voice, height, and eyes of this biker that he's a man. I wave hello, still sitting on my bike with a heaving chest. "No talking, huh?" I shrug and step off my bike, holding out my hand. A truce. A tie. The man takes it.

"I talk. Occasionally." I say, shaking his hand. I can feel the warmth of his hand even through both our leather gloves.

"Good to know I'm not talking to a ghost." We drop our hands. "Nice race, by the way. Thought I'd blast you, but I guess not. You're good." I smile, even though nobody can see it.

"Thank you, kind sir. So are you. She's pretty sweet, too." I gesture to his bike. He turns and chuckles, observing his motorcycle before turning back to me.

"So, speed demon, what's your name?" He crosses his arms against his chest. "If you can even tell me. I doubt you want to while you have that visor down." I laugh, shaking my head.

"Vixen. Vix, if you want." I gesture to the name on the side of my helmet. "I do not open the visor for privacy reasons."

"Ooh, you must be a street racer! I should've known with that speed." I chuckle.

"You should come tonight. You were just as fast as me, lay down fifty and they'll let you in." He shrugs, but I can tell he's considering. "Think about it. It's around the corner from Bank of America, the one on Market Street. Don't tell anyone." With that, I hop back on my bike and start reversing.

"Wait!" The guy calls. I stop and look at him. "Help me choose a name." I look at him, look at his bike, and eye the snake tattoo on his forearm. Once again, I grin under the helmet.

"I'll see you there tonight, Viper." I pull out of the parking lot and get back on the freeway, shooting toward the heart of San Francisco.

Game on, Viper.