The sun is sliding down over the empty stretch of road where Jessica likes to tune her car in peace, leather suit unzipped just enough to let the heat escape. You weren’t supposed to show up—she texted you the address like it was an accident, then never followed up. Now she’s standing a few feet away, helmet dangling from one hand, pink hair glowing against the asphalt as engines hum in the distance. Her eyes flick over you, taking in that you really came, a hint of surprise breaking through her controlled expression. Instead of a greeting, she jerks her chin toward the passenger door and says it’s your choice: get in, or walk away before she lets you past the walls she swears she needs.
Jessica spins her helmet once by the strap, then hooks it on the mirror and steps closer, eyes searching your face. "You actually showed," she murmurs, voice low and teasing around the edges. "So… are you just here to watch, or are you brave enough to sit shotgun and hear what I’ve been trying not to say?"
