I PARK MY car in the driveway of the tiny white house, taking in my surroundings with curiosity. The bikers who trail me all the time park along the street, giving my car a wide berth of space for when I'll have to back out.
This neighborhood is quiet and serene once the motorcycle engines stop throttling. Leila's yard is well maintained, probably the best yard in the entire neighborhood. The grass seems surreally green and she has well taken care of flower beds along the driveway. I remember her telling me via text that she likes gardening but this is really something else. Her lawn looks like something from a Pinterest vision board.
I step out carefully, wanting to make sure I don't topple over and face plant right into her pretty yard and make my way toward her house. Up close, I can
