I sink into the leather seat of my Mercedes, the engine purring to life as Tchaikovsky's Serenade for Strings fills the car, the violins weaving their magic through the speakers. It's late afternoon, the sun casting golden streaks across the boulevard, and I'm in no rush, tapping my fingers to the music's rhythm as I ease into traffic. At the first stoplight, a deep rumble cuts through the classical notes, and I glance left to see a biker idling next to me. His black motorcycle gleams, all sharp lines and chrome, and he's decked out in full gear—leather jacket, gloves, helmet with a tinted visor hiding his face. He looks like he could blow past me without trying, but there's something about the way he sits, relaxed yet deliberate, that catches my eye.
The light turns green, and I expect him to rocket off, but he doesn't. He keeps pace with me, his bike humming alongside my car like we're in some weird, unspoken tandem. I smirk, feeling a flicker of mischief. At the next light, I lean out my window, the strings swelling playfully in the background, and call out, "Hey, hotshot, I think we should break up."
His helmet turns toward me, and I catch the shake of his shoulders—definitely chuckling. He lifts his visor just enough to show a glimpse of a grin, and I can't help but laugh as the light changes. I hit the gas, my Mercedes gliding forward, leaving him behind as Tchaikovsky's melody dances through the air. I figure that's it, just a silly moment with a stranger, but at the next light, there he is again, pulling up beside me, his bike's rumble blending with the music.
He flips his visor up fully this time, revealing hazel eyes that spark with amusement. "Take it back," he says, his voice low and teasing, carrying over the hum of his engine. I raise an eyebrow, biting back a grin, the strings in the background hitting a cheeky crescendo.
"Okay, fine," I say, leaning out again, "we're back together. Happy now?" He tilts his head, those eyes crinkling like he's smiling under the helmet, and gives a slow nod, like he's savoring the game we've stumbled into. The light flips green, and we move together, my Mercedes cruising smoothly, his bike keeping perfect pace, the classical music wrapping around us like a soundtrack to this bizarre, playful moment. I glance over at him, wondering what's going on behind that half-hidden face and where this ridiculous little dance is going to take us next.