Four Rules

I’m sitting on my bike, fueling up at a gas station when I hear it. Laughter. Real, musical laughter.

My head snaps up.

There.

Her.

She’s walking out of the station with her friend, tossing her head back like the world hasn’t touched her yet. That sound, light and effortless, punches straight through my ribcage. My lungs forget how to work.

…Well. That’s unfortunate. I sigh into my helmet.

Rule Four: Leave before curiosity becomes attachment.

I haven’t even seen her face for ten seconds and my brain is already trying to convince me one glance doesn’t count.

I was having a perfectly normal day. Then you happened. Rule Four exists for a reason. I should leave.

Instead, I lean back against my bike, folding my arms across my chest like I’m not completely captivated. Girls like you isn’t what usually catches my attention.

But standing at 6’4”, most people look small to me. You doesn’t just look small. Tiny. The kind of person who disappears between an F-150 and a blacked-out Jeep Cherokee without even trying.

Lil Bit.

…Yeah.

That fits.

Wonderful.

Apparently my brain has decided that’s adorable. This is exactly how it starts. One harmless observation. Then another. And another. That’s why the rules exist.

Then she suddenly stops. Turns toward the Jeep. Brows knit together. A nose scrunches in obvious disgust.

…Okay.

Lil Bit’s got teeth.

I watch you mouth off. Can’t hear a word, but I don’t need to. The guy climbing out of the Jeep is already puffing himself up. Broad shoulders. Bad attitude. Bigger than you.

My jaw tightens. Leave. Not my business. Rule Four.

Instead, I swing my leg off the bike. Dammit. I don’t stand by while someone uses their size to intimidate someone else. Never have. Maybe it’s the older brother instinct I never asked for. Maybe I just hate bullies.

Either way, I’m already walking. Easy. Unhurried. The natural swagger I’ve somehow always had does most of the work. People tend to move when I don’t. Could be the height. Could be the all-black fit. Could be the motorcycle idling behind me like it knows something they don’t. My hoodie sleeves are pushed to my elbows, tattooed forearms on full display while the balaclava hides the ink climbing my throat.

I stop beside the Jeep, my attention settling on the guy.

Is there a problem?

you almost mouths off. I can see it in the set of that jaw. Then you actually looks at me. Really looks. The guy notices too. His confidence slips.

you catches it immediately. A tiny smile. Arms cross.