Rush (A Harry Styles Fan Fiction)

Chapter 1

I love that feeling.

The wind in my hair, whipping past my face accompanied with the warmth of the morning sun and the scent of freshly cut grass as I zoom past at an incredulous speed. Unable to visualize my surroundings, which are nothing but warm blur as they disappear in the rear view mirror within the blink of an eye.

Just how I like it.

I was on the back of my Dad's motorbike, oh and we were travelling down the same road we do every year, heading towards the park that held the meet up for the annual bike show. An event that my Dad and I had attended religiously for as long as I can remember. It was our special time. We share a bond over something my Mother will never understand. "Old death machines" she calls them, and she isn't too far wrong either, but to me, they are a thing of beauty.

A thing of power that can be communicated with, only by the rider, their response being the sweet engine purr.

By the time we arrived at the meeting point, which was really only an empty parking lot, the sign that read "Cross Country Bike Trip 2013" was whistling against the wind. As we pulled up, my Dad signalled for me to jump off the bike, a routine that we had perfected down to a T, and I directed him into a parking space, removing my helmet.

"We're here! We made it Mel!" my Dad cheered.

This year he was particularly excited for the bike trip as this was the year I could finally ride out on my own. Although I didn't yet have my own personal bike, he was still excited, claiming that he would buy me one on my birthday, August 3rd. Today was June 24th and the bike trip was planned to last right up until September, when I would have to return to the reality of school.

I didn't want to think about school now so I pushed it to the back of my mind and returned an equally excited smile to my Dad.

Looking around, it's clear to see that we're early, which doesn't surprise me as my Dad is an extremely organised man who always has to be early for everything.

A trait which can be both good and bad.

As time passes, more and more bikers ride in and when it finally hits 8am there appears to be a bigger crowd than there has ever been before.

There is a high pitched twang as the microphone is tapped on, followed by a familiar cough. The man in charge, Harley, is a good friend of my Dad's which should come as no surprise considering we've been going on this trip every year for the past 11 years.

Harley rambles on through the itinerary, which has barely changed since this trip first began. He talks of the campsites we will stay in and makes the same jokes he does every year.

I fake a laugh, for my Dad's sake.

Throughout the remainder of the speech I pay no attention, fiddling with my lucky marble. A silly trinket my mum makes me take with me, her stupid way of "ensuring my safety" when I'm out on the road.

The marble slips from my hand and begins to roll away. I silently crouch after it, careful not to draw any attention to myself, until it hits a dead stop. Somebody's shoe.

An inked hand reaches down to pick it up and my cheeks beam red in embarrassment. I curse myself under my breath for bringing the stupid marble in the first place as I hear the figure erupt into laughter. I look up and my eyes meet his, as he continues to laugh with my blue and red marble in his grasp.

I take in his appearance and gasp at the many tattoos his torso is littered with. He is wearing a white tank top, showing off his muscular build that flexes as his chest heaves with laughter. His hair is black and sleek, styled to perfection.

Which is incredibly stupid as it's going to be squished under a helmet all day.

His eyes are a hazel colour and the skin around them creases as he laughs. He has some stubble and his open mouth reveals a set of perfect teeth.

He holds out his hand, offering to hoist me up. "Zayn" he says.

"Melanie" I reply.

"Looking for this?" he chuckles, handing me my marble.

My cheeks turn a deeper red as I nod in embarrassment.

I suddenly feel insecure in my padded motorbike jacket, shuffling about and pulling at my thick trousers. I find myself wishing for my protective helmet, wanting to shy away from this boy's intense staring.

"Why don't you-" Zayn starts to say, but is rudely interrupted by a curly haired boy.

"C'mon Zayn." the boy says. "Don't know why you're wasting your time talking this loser anyway. I mean who brings a marble on a bike trip" he snorts.

I peer down at my bulky biker boots as Zayn is yanked away. Even in struggle he still looks perfect. He turns around and gives me one last smile before walking off with the boy.

I stumble back over to my Dad, who is still in the same position as when I left him, lightly chuckling away.

~~~~~

A/N: Not sure if I'm going to continue this. If you read it pleaseeee comment what you think!