Chapter 3: First Sparks
1356 Words
MIA
Marcus has been lecturing me since we left the apartment.
“…I’m serious, Mia. Guys like him don’t help for free. They think everything is a game.”
“He is fixing my bike, not my life,” I mutter, staring out the window.
“You don’t even trust him,” he fires back.
He is right. I don’t. But trust doesn’t get my bike running. This deal does.
We pull into Chrome & Thunder, and of course—there’s an audience. A group of riders crowd around a Ducati, heads turning the moment we step out.
Perfect. Attention is my least favorite thing.
One of them whistles.
“Yo, K! Your girl is here!”
“I’m not his girl,” I grumble.
Inside, the garage is alive—music vibrating, engines rumbling. I spot Khalid on a creeper under a bike, legs stretched out, grease streaked across his white shirt. He rolls out, sees me, and gives me that stupid, effortless smile.
“Morning,” he says like he’s been waiting. “Right on time.”
Marcus moves in like a shield. “We need to talk. About this arrangement.”
Khalid wipes his hands and nods toward the small office. “Sure. Come in.”
The moment we are inside, Marcus starts interrogating him like yesterday never happened.
“What exactly does this date involve?”
“Charity gala. Fancy dinner, rich people pretending to care—nothing dramatic.”
“And why my sister?”
Khalid doesn’t look away from me.
“Because she won’t fall for me, and my family will believe it. When it is over, it’s over.”
Something in my chest twists.
“How do you know I won’t fall for you?”
He meets my eyes, steady. “Because half the time you look like you want to punch me.”
He is not wrong.
Marcus keeps pushing. “And if your family wants to see her again?”
“I will handle it.”
“And if they don’t believe you?”
“That is my problem, not hers.”
He says it so firmly I almost—almost—believe him.
Marcus turns to me, concern etched across his face. “Are you sure?”
No.
But I nod anyway. “I need my bike fixed.”
Khalid straightens. “Parts arrive Wednesday. Bike will be ready Friday.”
“So I get it back before the gala?”
“Yes.”
“And you prep me before then? Teach me how to act around your family?”
“If you want.”
Marcus looks like he is swallowing nails. I cut in before he explodes.
“Fine. But I have conditions.”
Khalid nods. “Name them.”
“One—you pick and drop me.”
“Done.”
“Two—you pay for the dress.”
“Obviously.”
“Three—if I feel unsafe, I leave.”
Something softens in his eyes. “Of course, Mia. I’m not trying to trap you.”
I study him. His voice sounds… honest. I can’t tell if that scares me or reassures me.
Marcus suddenly adds, “I’m attending the gala too.”
“What?!” Khalid and I snap in unison.
“You are not going alone. Get me an invite.”
Khalid hesitates only a second. “Fine.”
Marcus storms out.
I move to follow, but Khalid’s voice stops me.
“Mia.”
I turn… and he is closer than I expected. Too close.
“I know you don’t trust me. I get why. But I will make this as easy as possible. Okay?”
“Why be so nice?”
“Maybe I’m not as terrible as you think.”
“Still deciding,” I say quietly.
He actually laughs. But then he gestures to the back.
“Want to see your bike?”
I shouldn’t, but I nod.
My Suzuki sits on a lift, parts laid out neatly. He points to the corroded fuel pump.
“You are lucky it didn’t give out at seventy,” he says.
“How much would fixing this cost anywhere else?”
“About fifteen hundred.”
My stomach drops.
“Then… I made the right choice.”
He looks at me again—really looks.
“She is a good bike,” he murmurs. “Worth saving.”
“So am I,” I want to say. But the words stick.
Someone yells from outside. “K! You coming?”
Khalid glances back. “Riding up the coast. Want to come?”
“What? No, I—”
“You can borrow a bike. And you look like you need a ride.”
He’s right. I do. Even though agreeing is absolutely a bad idea, the answer slips out anyway.
“Okay.”
His eyes light up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. But if your friends are weird, I’m out.”
“Deal.”
⸻
Ten minutes later, I’m on a Triumph Street Triple, four guys watching me with open curiosity.
“You sure you can handle her?” Zane asks.
“I have been riding since sixteen.”
He grins, impressed. Khalid throws a helmet at him.
“Quit interrogating her.”
We take off, engines roaring down Highway 101, ocean wind slapping my face.
God, I needed this.
For the first time in days, I feel free.
Khalid keeps checking on me in the mirror. Annoying. Sweet. Both.
We stop at a lookout. I pull off my helmet, hair wild.
“You good?” Khalid asks.
“I’m great.”
“Where did you learn?”
“My dad. Before he left.”
I shouldn’t have said it. His expression shifts.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs.
“It was a long time ago.”
“Doesn’t mean it does not hurt.”
Something tightens in my chest. Too raw. I look away.
Before I can change the subject, a BMW rolls up. Blonde girl steps out like she walked off a magazine cover.
“Khalid! I thought that was you!”
Khalid stiffens.
Oh.
Oh.
She stares at me like I’m dirt under her designer shoes.
“And who is this? One of your mechanics?”
“No,” I say, voice cold. “One of his riders.”
Her eyes widen. Judging. Calculating.
She touches Khalid’s arm. “We should catch up.”
He gently moves her hand off. “I’m busy.”
Her smile strains. “Nice meeting you, Mia.”
She leaves, and the guys all groan.
“She is a piece of work,” one of the twins mutters.
“Ex?” I ask quietly.
“Something like that,” Khalid says.
Something like that.
Why does that bother me?
That evening, I’m at Safe Harbor, helping a girl named Jasmine with homework when my phone buzzes.
Khalid:
About earlier… sorry Vanessa showed up. She is my ex. It ended badly. Just didn’t want you thinking—whatever.
Jasmine leans over. “Ooooh, is he cute?”
I shoot her a look. “Do your homework.”
But I reply anyway.
Me:
She seemed like the type.
Khalid:
She is the type. I will text you tomorrow about Gala prep.
Me:
Sure.
Khalid:
Night, Mia.
Me:
Night.
Jasmine watches me with a smirk.
“You are smiling.”
“I’m not.”
“You totally are.”
I check the window reflection.
…Damn it. I am.
KHALID
“She smiled,” Zane says, throwing popcorn in his mouth.
I look up from my phone. “Who?”
“Mia. When you texted her earlier.”
“You were watching her?”
“I observe things,” he says smugly. “She likes you.”
“She tolerates me.”
“Same thing.”
It is really not.
But God, I hope he is right.
Because the more I get to know Mia—the sharp mouth, the guarded eyes, the hidden softness she doesn’t realize leaks through—I want to know her more.
And that is dangerous.
For both of us.
- Writer
